Gemotions

The worn envelope was addressed in clumsy, familiar handwriting, and Miss Evans’ jaw clenched. It was from Mark, the student who'd spent more time doodling in class than listening. He was now, apparently, a published novelist. She would have bet money he’d end up in prison.

She tore open the envelope with a dismissive flick of her wrist. Inside was a signed copy of his book. The cover featured a lurid painting of a woman in a red dress. She rolled her eyes.

She flipped through the pages, her lips pressed into a thin line. She scanned a few paragraphs, struggling to avoid a snicker. The writing was mediocre, the plot predictable. He’d probably self-published, she thought, and felt a strange sense of vindication.

She slammed the book shut, then picked up her pen, marking the book for donation.