Gemotions

The coach clapped him on the shoulder, a little too enthusiastically for Miles' liking. "Miles, we need you to play linebacker." Miles stared at the dusty cleats of the coach. He'd been a wide receiver his whole life. He knew the routes, the cuts, the feel of the ball in his hands. He knew how to run away from trouble, not run into it. A knot twisted in his gut.

He managed a tight, "Linebacker, Coach?" His voice sounded thin, even to his own ears. The coach’s smile widened, a beacon of forced optimism. “Yeah! We think you’ve got the speed and the instincts. You'll be great.” Miles’ jaw clenched. He pictured himself, small and slight, colliding with a behemoth running back. He felt a shiver trace its path down his spine.

The next day, the defensive drills were a disaster. Every tackle attempt felt clumsy, his movements uncoordinated. His hands itched for the ball, but they were now supposed to be stopping it. He was a fish out of water. He felt a deep sense of unease.