Gemotions

The locker room buzzed, but Maya barely noticed. The scent of sweat and liniment, usually a familiar comfort, felt almost effervescent today. Coach Miller had just called her over, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Now, the news. "Maya," he'd said, "we need you at center field."

Her heart leaped. Center field! After years of chasing ground balls at third, she’d always dreamed of patrolling the vast expanse of the outfield. She was going to be running and chasing and diving for balls, feeling the grass beneath her cleats. She could already picture it, the sun on her back, the roar of the crowd, the satisfying *thud* of the ball meeting her glove. Excitement made her toes tingle.

She strode towards the equipment room, humming a tune she'd made up herself. Grabbing her new mitt was like holding a promise. The change of position would demand a new kind of athleticism, a fresh challenge to conquer. She slapped the leather with her palm, her grin widening. This was going to be spectacular.