Gemotions

The gymnasium was unusually quiet. Ethan sat on the bleachers, the polished wood cold against his back. He chewed on his thumbnail, the familiar habit failing to calm him. The echoing silence amplified every creak and rustle, making his ears strain for the inevitable summons.

He replayed the last practice in his head, searching for a misstep, a flaw. Had he not blocked hard enough? Was his shooting off? He couldn't pinpoint anything specific, which only worsened his unease. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a sheen of perspiration on his palms.

He knew Coach Davis wasn’t one to mince words. He dreaded the directness, the clarity that would shatter his dreams. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the walls were closing in.