Gemotions

Her palms were slick, even though the air conditioning in the banquet hall was arctic. The microphone, gleaming under the harsh stage lights, seemed to magnify the tremor in her hands. She clutched the crumpled notes tighter, the paper rustling like autumn leaves in a hurricane. She could feel her heartbeat hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence before she spoke.

She rehearsed the opening line in her head. "Good evening, everyone..." Her voice, when it finally emerged, sounded reedy and thin. She swallowed, trying to force the lump in her throat to disappear.

She scanned the room, each face a blur, each gaze a potential judgment. Her father sat at the head table, beaming, oblivious to her inner turmoil. She wished, desperately, that she could simply disappear.