Gemotions

My stomach was doing somersaults. The smell of the gym – sweat, rubber, and stale popcorn – normally brought a sense of comfort, but today it was a nauseating mix. I kept fiddling with the laces of my high-tops, pulling them tighter and tighter, as if I could somehow squeeze away the feeling churning inside.

Coach Reynolds had called me aside after practice, the words hanging in the air like a phantom weight. “Meet me in my office, kid.” Just that, nothing more. He hadn't met my gaze.

I felt a tremor run through me. The other players were laughing, joking around, oblivious. They didn't know the icy dread that was consuming me. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.