Gemotions

He stared at the note clutched in his trembling hand. “Switch to pitcher.” The words swam before Leo's eyes, blurring slightly. He was a shortstop. A shortstop! All those hours practicing fielding grounders, the ingrained muscle memory, the comfortable rhythm of the game – all of it seemed to evaporate in the sudden heat.

His breath hitched. He felt a lightheadedness. He gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles white. The bullpen called to him, a place he’d rarely been.

He felt as though he was drowning. The roar of the crowd, usually a source of energy, became a deafening cacophony. He could practically feel the scrutiny of every eye. He started to sweat, the fabric of his uniform sticking uncomfortably to his skin.