Gemotions

The coach's words hung in the humid air like a noxious cloud. "Sarah, we need you to move to wingback." Sarah clenched her jaw, the muscles in her face rigid. She’d spent the last decade perfecting her goalie skills, the sting of the ball against her gloves, the roar of the crowd, the satisfying block. Now, after all that dedication, this.

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the handle of her water bottle, the plastic groaning under the pressure. She wanted to scream, to lash out at the coach's smug, placid expression. He acted as though it was no big deal. This wasn't some casual suggestion. This was a betrayal of her entire athletic identity.

She refused to meet his eyes, instead staring at the scuffed cleats of the other players, the vibrant green of the field, the oppressive heat of the afternoon. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of frustration. This was absurd.