Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the gymnasium buzzed, a high-pitched whine that seemed to burrow into Coach Miller’s skull. His palms slicked against the worn clipboard, the paper crinkling with the slightest movement. He paced, the polished wood floor reflecting his agitated silhouette. He kept repeating the player's name under his breath - "Jackson, Jackson, Jackson..." He had to do this. He had to tell Jackson. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, leaving it standing on end in defiance.

He grabbed the gym door handle, it felt foreign in his sweaty grip. He wanted to shout, to run, to scream out the pent up energy. He needed to get this over with, the anticipation was a torment. He opened the door and stepped into the cool evening air.