Gemotions

The classroom was warm and stuffy, the air heavy with the scent of chalk and adolescent dreams. The professor, a cheerful man with kind eyes, held up the book. "And here's a prime example of a winning essay," he said, gesturing to the page. It was *his* essay.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt a wave of coldness wash over him. The admiring glances of his classmates felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing his skin.

He focused on the scuff marks on his shoes, anything to avoid eye contact. He wanted to disappear, to vanish from the room, to escape the suffocating praise that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.