Gemotions

Sweat slicked Liam's palms as he waited. The gymnasium buzzed with the aftermath of tryouts; a chorus of shouts and hurried footsteps echoing off the polished floor. He’d visualized this moment a hundred times: the coach clapping him on the shoulder, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. Now, his stomach churned. He fiddled with the strap of his duffel bag, the leather digging into his skin. He hadn't seen the coach's face, but he’d heard his name called last. A bad sign.

He saw the coach emerge, a clipboard clutched in his hand. Liam’s chest felt constricted. He watched the coach approach, each step a hammer blow against his hope. “Liam,” the coach began, his voice surprisingly gentle, “I'm sorry, you didn't quite make the A team.”

Liam felt a strange pressure building behind his eyes. He managed a curt nod, forcing his voice into a neutral tone. "Right. Thanks, coach." He turned quickly, the familiar scent of the gym suddenly suffocating.