Gemotions

He’d always been a guard. Quick, a good shooter, comfortable with the ball in his hands. Then Coach Miller pulled him aside. “Marcus, we need you at center.” A wave of heat washed over him. He was tall, yeah, but raw. Unrefined.

His fingers itched, wanting to grip the ball, to feel the familiar rhythm of the dribble. Instead, he found himself staring at the taller, beefier guys already playing center. His heart hammered against his ribs. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to do something, anything, to move.

"You think you can battle in the paint?" the coach asked, his gaze intense. "Yes, sir," Marcus managed, the word a little shaky. His legs felt like springs, ready to unleash. The prospect of banging bodies, of dominating under the basket, sent a thrill through him. This was going to be intense.