Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a familiar sound that usually faded into background noise. Today, however, it seemed particularly intrusive, each buzz a tiny hammer blow against Maya's skull. She tapped her pen against her desk, the rhythmic clicking a frantic counterpoint to the drone. Across the room, David was humming tunelessly as he organized his files. "Hey, David," she suddenly blurted out, the words bursting from her. "You ever go to Camp Clearwater?"

David looked up, brow furrowed. "Clearwater? Yeah, a lifetime ago. Why?" His voice was casual, but Maya’s pulse quickened.

"No way," she breathed, leaning forward. "I went there too! Cabin 7, 2008. Remember the talent show? I did a terrible juggling act!" She felt a rush of something – excitement? Recognition? – that made her legs want to bounce.