Gemotions

The weight of the catcher's mitt felt unfamiliar, alien. Finn, a pitcher, shifted his weight from foot to foot in the dugout, avoiding eye contact with anyone. "Finn, we need you behind the plate," the coach had said.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture automatic, a nervous tic. His focus, the precision he worked toward, every day, suddenly felt distant. The sun was suddenly hot, the air thick.

He stared at the mound, a fresh sense of displacement washing over him. The familiar rhythm of the pitcher-batter duel was all he'd ever known. Now, everything had changed. He felt adrift. He had to learn a new game.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He grabbed the mitt and slowly walked toward the plate, his legs heavy.