Gemotions

Mr. Peterson was on his third cup of lukewarm coffee, trying to muster enthusiasm for the afternoon's lesson. His phone buzzed, a notification he ignored. He had a mountain of paperwork to get through. Then, a student from the art class (he couldn't remember which one) knocked and presented him with a small box. “This is for you, sir. From Maya.”

He opened the box. It contained a hand-painted portrait of himself. The painting was… adequate, he supposed. But his expression was distorted, almost cartoonish. Maya. The student who was always doodling instead of paying attention, the student whose artwork often seemed to intentionally disrupt class. He didn't want to look at it. He slid it to the back of his desk.