Gemotions

Liam drummed his fingers against the polished wood of the bench, the rhythm a nervous staccato. The aroma of popcorn from the concession stand did nothing to soothe his nerves. He'd always been the point guard, the one directing the offense, dictating the tempo. Coach Thompson wanted him to be a center now.

He felt a tremor in his hands when he received his new jersey. It was too big, too baggy. He imagined himself clumsy, out of place among the giants under the basket. The bright lights of the stadium seemed to glare at him, their brilliance mocking.

He tried to stretch, but his muscles felt stiff, as if unused to the looming shift. Every cheer from the crowd echoed in the sudden hollowness inside him.