Gemotions

Sarah’s breath hitched. She clutched the worn leather of her volleyball, the familiar texture a small comfort against the tremor in her hands. The coach had pulled her aside after practice, beckoning her into the echoing stillness of the gymnasium office. Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, illuminating swirling motes of dust that seemed to dance mockingly. Each step she took felt heavy, and the floorboards creaked under her weight.

The coach sat behind his desk, a stack of papers meticulously arranged before him. His expression was a mask, impossible to decipher. Sarah forced a smile, but it felt brittle and artificial. The words seemed stuck in her throat. Her stomach churned. The chair across from the coach seemed a mile away.