Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Leo’s throat. He'd stumbled up here hunting for his old baseball glove, the one with the worn leather and the scent of summer. Instead, he’d found a mountain of labeled boxes. One, overflowing, was his. He'd pulled the lid off cautiously, expecting maybe some forgotten toys. Inside, neatly stacked, were every single thing he'd ever produced in elementary school.

He felt a sudden heat prickle at the back of his neck. His hands started to sweat. He'd thought his mother had only kept the macaroni art. He hadn't known she had his report cards. C's and D's stared back at him from the faded paper. He could feel his face flush, and he slammed the lid back on the box.