Gemotions

The history textbook lay open on Liam’s desk, the words blurring into a meaningless stream. He tapped his pen against the laminated cover, a staccato rhythm against the hushed library atmosphere. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a mesmerizing distraction from the task at hand. He sighed, a slow, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of the entire semester. This research paper was a colossal waste of time.

His gaze drifted to the window, watching a squirrel chase another around a gnarled oak tree. He knew the professor would say his paper read too much like a website, but the information was readily available. Why reinvent the wheel? A sudden thrum of anxiety pulsed through his chest.

The professor’s voice, sharp and accusatory, echoed in his mind. *Plagiarism.* The word felt like a physical blow. He rubbed his temples, a headache already forming. He had a perfectly good explanation, of course.