Gemotions

The coach’s words hung in the air, a stale pizza crust in the otherwise clean locker room. “Liam, we need you to move to defensive end.” Liam stared straight ahead, at the faded logo on his jersey, refusing to meet the coach’s eye. His jaw tightened. He’d spent his entire high school career perfecting his footwork as a wide receiver. He knew the routes, the reads, the feel of the ball in his hands. This was *his* position.

He peeled off his pads slowly, each movement deliberate, a small act of rebellion. The other players were already starting to buzz with chatter about the practice schedule. Liam stayed rooted to his bench, the silence around him a shield. He felt a knot in his stomach, a physical manifestation of his refusal to budge.

“Liam, did you hear me?” The coach’s voice was sharper this time.

“Yeah, Coach,” Liam finally mumbled, his voice flat. He slowly began to undo the laces on his cleats. He wasn’t going to change. Not now. Not ever.