Gemotions

The PTA meeting was already dragging on, a sea of lukewarm coffee and forced smiles. Sarah kept tapping her pen against the plastic table, the sound a sharp counterpoint to Mrs. Peterson's breezy pronouncements about fundraising. Then came the teacher introductions. Sarah nearly choked on her stale pastry when Mr. Henderson’s name was called. *Mr. Henderson?* The same Mr. Henderson who'd made her cry in sixth grade over a misplaced comma? A sudden heat prickled at the back of her neck.

She found herself subtly observing the man as he spoke. He hadn't changed much, a little grayer perhaps, but the same overly-enthusiastic hand gestures. Her jaw clenched. *This was not happening.*

Later, walking to her car, she kicked a rogue soccer ball that had rolled onto the sidewalk. The injustice of it all – that *he* was now shaping her son's mind – felt like a physical weight in her chest.