Gemotions

The locker room felt like a pressure cooker. Coach Miller’s voice, normally booming with instruction, was hushed, almost apologetic. Sarah tugged at the frayed hem of her practice jersey, the material scratching at her skin. Her palms were slick, and she wiped them surreptitiously on her shorts. Every creak of the door, every whispered conversation between teammates, ratcheted up the tension. The air hung thick with unspoken fear, a palpable weight that settled in her stomach.

The rhythmic thud of her own heartbeat was the only constant she could rely on. It pounded against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the impending silence. She kept avoiding eye contact, fixing her gaze on the scuffed toes of her basketball shoes, as if by staring intently, she could somehow make the moment disappear. She wished they would just get it over with.