Gemotions

Coach Miller watched the late afternoon sun bleed across the gymnasium floor. The dust motes danced in the golden light, a silent ballet. He smoothed his tie, a practiced movement, then reached for the file on his desk. His breathing was slow, deep, as if he were preparing for a long swim. He knew this conversation would be difficult, but a quiet certainty settled within him.

He picked up the phone, the plastic cool against his palm. He took a long moment before pressing the dial button. The rhythmic click of the rotary dial sounded like a metronome, counting down the seconds until this act was complete.

"Liam, could you come to my office? Now, if possible." His voice was low, even. He listened to the reply, acknowledging the affirmative with another steady breath. He knew it had to be done.