Gemotions

The coach's office felt close, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and unspoken criticism. My stomach clenched as Coach Miller gestured toward the whiteboard. He'd called me in. Alone. My name, in bold, on a new starting lineup, the position beside it a different one than I was used to. Defensive end. "Think you can handle it, Jones?" his voice was casual, but his eyes held an intensity I hadn't seen before. I swallowed, the saliva gone dry in my throat. Every muscle in my body felt like a coiled spring, ready to launch in any direction.

He began explaining the intricacies of the switch, but my mind was elsewhere. Why me? Was this some sort of test? A way to see if I'd crack? I kept looking at his hands, watching his fingers tap the desk. My teammates gave me strange looks in the locker room. Suddenly, the equipment room seemed cramped, the space around me shrinking as the day went on. I felt like everyone was watching, assessing my every move, waiting to see if I’d fail.