Gemotions

He adjusted his visor, the bill casting a shadow that obscured the lower half of his face. The heat of the gymnasium clung to him, but he barely noticed. The squeak of sneakers, the rhythmic thud of the basketball, all faded into background noise. His mind was elsewhere. He knew this moment was coming. He’d worked for it.

The coach, a woman built like a brick wall, called everyone to the center. Her usual booming voice was softer, laced with a weariness. Her gaze swept over the team. He allowed his own eyes to briefly meet hers, holding it for a beat longer than necessary. Then, he shifted his weight, a subtle repositioning, an outward display of confidence.

He listened as the coach spoke. He knew the words, knew the disappointment, knew the weight of the decision. He knew, most of all, that he was safe. His performance had been consistently exceptional, his dedication unparalleled.

"I need to cut one player to make the team," she said. He took a deep, steadying breath.

"It's Sarah." He allowed himself a small, private nod.