Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Marco's forehead as he walked towards Coach Davies' office. His palms felt slick against his worn-out cleats. The knot in his stomach tightened with each step, a vise slowly crushing his insides. He rehearsed the pep talk he'd prepared, the one about working harder next season, the one about being a team player. It felt hollow, like a birthday candle burned to its nub.

The door creaked open, revealing Coach Davies leaning back in his chair. A half-eaten apple sat on the desk, its skin bruised. "Come in, Marco," the coach said, his voice unusually gentle. Marco forced a smile, the muscles in his face protesting.

He sat down, the plastic chair groaning under his weight. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap. The silence stretched, each tick of the clock amplifying the frantic drumming in his chest.