Gemotions

The clipboard felt heavy in Maya’s hands as she leaned against the cool brick wall. Sunlight dappled through the leaves overhead, creating shifting patterns on the asphalt court. She watched the tryouts for the senior team, her own number still pinned to her chest. A gentle breeze rustled her hair. The younger girls, all energy and elbows, fought for possession of the ball. She traced circles on the smooth plastic with her fingertip, a small, rhythmic action.

Her name wasn’t called. Not for the A-team, at least. Not immediately.

Maya heard the coach’s voice, a steady drone over the squeak of sneakers and the thud of the ball. She imagined the disappointment etched on her teammates' faces as they learned their own fates. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass. The air held a particular clarity that came with the end of summer.

She would wait. She would be ready.