Gemotions

The letter arrived on a Tuesday, crisp and official-looking. Amelia crumpled it in her fist, the paper crackling in protest. "Another one?" she muttered, the voice a low growl. Her mother, who was meticulously arranging lilies in a vase, didn't even turn.

Amelia marched out onto the porch, the screen door slamming behind her. The humid air pressed against her skin, the sun a burning eye in the cloudless sky. She ripped the envelope into tiny shreds, letting the pieces flutter to the ground. Let *them* pick it up.

Her phone buzzed. Her father. She ignored it, and then ignored it again. He wouldn't understand. None of them would. This was *her* problem. She kicked a stray garden gnome across the lawn.