The stapler slammed against the desk, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise quiet office. Sarah glared at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring before her eyes. Another mistake, another correction, another delay. This was the third time this week, and the pressure was mounting. She balled her fists, knuckles white, and squeezed them until her nails bit into her palms. “Damn it all,” she muttered under her breath, a low growl of frustration.
Across the room, Mark, the new intern, nervously cleared his throat. “Um, Sarah? Are you alright? You seem… intense.”
Her head snapped up, her gaze pinning him. “Fine,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “Just… busy.” She swiveled back to the computer, the screen a source of both information and current displeasure. The cursor flickered mockingly.
“Hey,” Mark said hesitantly. “Is that… Camp Whispering Pines stationary? The… the logo on that notepad?”
She froze. “What of it?” The question was clipped, her jaw clenched.
“I… I went to that camp,” he said, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. “When I was a kid. You… you too?”
She considered him, a flash of red in her vision. The memory, a very unwelcome guest, of a summer camp crush, and a lost competition. “Maybe,” she said finally, the word a tight squeeze between her teeth.