Gemotions

The announcement echoed through the locker room, a pronouncement that seemed to specifically target him. "Jackson, we're going to try you at third base." Jackson’s stomach lurched, as if he’d been kicked. He’d toiled for years to become a starting shortstop. This wasn't some simple, helpful adjustment. This was a calculated slight.

He kicked his bag, sending it skittering across the floor. He wanted to shout, to tear something apart. He focused on his breathing, trying to regain some semblance of control. His hands were shaking; he hated that feeling of being powerless.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for something, anything, that would calm him down. Nothing. He wanted to be anywhere but there, enduring the coach's perceived dismissal.