Gemotions

“You’ve got a cannon for an arm, Maya. We need you pitching,” the coach said. Maya, however, wanted nothing to do with pitching. She was a catcher. The strategy, the quickness of thought, the connection with her pitcher - it was a dance she loved. The feel of the game was in her blood, and now she felt like she would have to learn it all over again.

Her shoulders slumped. She wanted to yell at the coach, to tell him that he didn’t understand, but the words caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, the familiar scent of the dugout suddenly stifling.

The thought of being alone on the mound, with the pressure of every pitch weighing down on her, sent a shiver down her spine. The mask was comfortable, the game was comfortable. This was not.