Gemotions

“I… I don’t understand,” Maria whispered, the words barely audible above the rhythmic thud of a basketball being dribbled in the next gym. The air seemed to have thickened, making it hard to draw a breath. She gripped the worn strap of her duffel bag, her knuckles turning white.

She felt a strange disconnect, as if she were watching a play, not participating in it. Coach Thompson's explanation – some vague business about “fit” and “team dynamics” – sounded like a foreign language. The familiar scent of the gymnasium, the squeak of shoes on the polished floor, everything was alien, unreal.

Her throat ached. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the already hazy world around her. She focused on the scuff marks on her sneakers, the evidence of countless hours spent on the court, hours now rendered meaningless.