Gemotions

"You got this, kid," the coach had said, clapping him on the shoulder. Alex swallowed hard, the phrase echoing in his head. He was a shortstop, always in motion, the heart of the infield. They wanted him to be a designated hitter now.

He walked toward the batter’s box, the bat feeling alien in his hands. The roar of the crowd felt distant, muffled. He focused on the pitcher, trying to ignore the prickling heat behind his ears.

He watched the first pitch whiz by, a perfect strike. He gripped the bat tighter. He wanted to run, to field a ground ball, to *do* something. He felt trapped.