Gemotions

The accusation hung in the air, thick and unpleasant, like the smell of burnt toast. Liam leaned back in his chair, the flimsy plastic creaking in protest. He almost laughed, the absurdity of it all bubbling in his chest. *Plagiarism?* The professor, with his perpetually pursed lips and wire-rimmed glasses, clearly hadn't a clue.

Liam drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic tapping a deliberate counterpoint to the professor's droning voice. He could feel a twitch in his left eyelid, a telltale sign of his growing agitation. He imagined the professor's face, contorted in outrage, and almost smiled again. It would be a waste of time to explain.

He was being treated like a child. He'd poured over the primary sources for a week; he knew more about the subject than this old man. He thought of the hours he invested, the research done, and was slightly annoyed. It was a joke.