Gemotions

"You're too slow for the relay, Emily," the track coach said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "We're moving you to the high jump." Emily’s stomach twisted into a hard knot. The relay! It was her dream. The feeling of the baton in her hand, the thrill of the race, the camaraderie with her teammates.

Her vision swam for a moment. She felt the blood draining from her face. High jump? It seemed a cruel and senseless demotion. She’d spent the last year training to be a sprinter, pushing herself to the limit, honing her speed and endurance. The other runners' faces were a blur; their faces were an unknowable expression.

Later, she watched the relay practice, the team practicing the hand-offs. A hot tear traced a path down her cheek. The ache in her heart was as sharp and painful as a splinter.