Gemotions

The clipboard felt surprisingly light in Coach Evans’ hand. He tapped it against his chin, humming a jaunty tune. He’d practiced this conversation a dozen times, but now, face-to-face with the trembling teenager, all his careful planning seemed… unnecessary. He felt a bubbly lightness.

"So, Mark," he started, his voice unusually high-pitched. "You know how these things go, right? Tough choices, lots of talent..." He gestured vaguely at the empty bleachers, the setting sun painting the court in orange hues.

He pulled a small rubber band off his wrist and started snapping it at his knuckles, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet gym. He felt a sudden urge to start juggling. "You put in a good effort. Really good! But..." he trailed off, then let out a sudden, boisterous laugh. "Well, that's just the way the cookie crumbles, isn't it?"