Gemotions

The clipboard was the problem. It sat on the bench, innocently enough, but it represented everything. Jake kept his distance, but he could feel the cold stare of the roster. Each name was a threat. He was sure his was crossed out. He tried to focus on his warm-up, but his mind raced, replaying every mistake, every bad play.

He kept seeing the coach’s face, etched with disapproval, but he could only imagine his speech. He rehearsed the conversation. He argued, he pleaded, he tried everything. Each imagined response was worse than the last. He felt the air grow thin, the court closing in.

He glanced at his teammates. They avoided his gaze. He kept hearing whispers, not spoken, but in the subtle shifts of their bodies, in the glances they exchanged. He could feel it in the air, the collective agreement, the understanding.

He practiced his free throws. Each miss was a betrayal, a confirmation. The ball felt heavy, the basket, too small.