Gemotions

The locker room felt colder than usual. Maya traced the stitching on her jersey, her fingertip pausing over the number 12. She’d always been a striker, always known where she fit. Now, Coach Miller had asked her to play defense. "We need your speed back there," he'd said, his voice firm. But her stomach clenched at the thought of the change.

She pulled on her shin guards, the familiar snap of the Velcro a comfort. It didn’t ease the tight feeling in her chest. She found herself staring at the worn leather of her boots. The scent of liniment and sweat hung heavy in the air, a different kind of familiar than usual.

During the warm-up, her passes were off, her runs hesitant. She kept looking over her shoulder, a habit she'd never developed before. The other defenders seemed to know the field better, their movements fluid. She felt like an imposter.