Gemotions

The red "C-" glared back at Maya from the physics test. Her stomach twisted, not with anger or frustration, but with a dull ache. She knew Mrs. Davis, the teacher, had been under pressure. Lately, the school was short-staffed and everyone was stretched thin. She imagined Mrs. Davis, late at night, grading papers under a dim lamp, the weight of the job bearing down on her.

Maya walked to the front of the class, gathering her things. She didn't say anything, but as she passed Mrs. Davis’s desk, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Later, she would bake Mrs. Davis a batch of her favorite chocolate chip cookies. It was the least she could do.