Gemotions

The morning air nipped at Maya's cheeks as she jogged to the campus bookstore, her breath puffing out in white clouds. She'd been up since dawn, the sleep she'd craved all semester eluding her grasp. Now, with a steaming latte clutched in her hand, she scanned the shelves, her pulse a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. There it was: “Great College Essays, Volume 7.” And on page 42, staring back at her, was her meticulously crafted, deeply personal, essay on the time she almost burned down the kitchen trying to make crème brûlée.

The cover of the book felt slick beneath her fingertips. She flicked to page 42, the print a blur at first as her vision struggled to focus. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped the shelf to steady herself, the wood cold and rough against her palm. Her heart threatened to hammer its way out of her chest. This couldn't be real.

"Excuse me," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at the cashier, who looked back, completely unconcerned, before resuming her work. Maya swallowed hard, the coffee suddenly bitter. She slammed the book shut, her knuckles white.