Gemotions

Coach Thompson’s office felt smaller than usual. The stale air seemed to thicken with each passing second, making it harder for Liam to draw a full breath. He kept fiddling with the frayed edges of his team-issued sweatshirt, his fingers picking at the loose threads. The low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed in his ears, amplifying the silence between him and the coach. Liam could feel a tremor in his hands.

He had rehearsed what he would say, crafting a speech in his head about working harder and proving himself. He knew he was on the bubble, but the thought of his dad’s disappointed face was like a stone in his stomach. The leather of the chair dug into his back, and he shifted uncomfortably.

Thompson finally looked up from his clipboard. His gaze felt heavy, and Liam felt a sudden urge to flee, to vanish. He swallowed hard, the taste of cotton in his mouth.