Gemotions

The basketball court seemed vast and empty. The squeak of sneakers and the bounce of the ball were a distant drone in Liam's ears. He felt a constant coldness in his extremities. Coach Johnson had tapped him on the shoulder, the gesture friendly, the words a hammer blow: *“We need you at the point guard, Liam.”* He, the center, tasked with running the offense? It made no sense.

He hated the forced smiles and the manufactured enthusiasm he felt he needed to display. He retreated to a corner of the gym, tracing the lines on the hardwood with his shoe. He just wanted to be left alone to nurse his anger. He wanted to scream.