Gemotions

The smell of microwaved popcorn hung heavy in the break room, a suffocating aroma. "Remember the talent show?" Michael asked, his eyes sparkling with a childish glee that grated on Eleanor’s nerves. He was gesturing wildly, a half-eaten bag of popcorn clutched in his hand.

Eleanor slowly took a sip of her tea, the lukewarm liquid doing little to soothe her. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to be anywhere else. The thought of spending her summer in a place like that sent a chill down her spine.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. She was remembering the meticulously planned schedule of her own summer activities. This conversation was an intrusion. She focused on the patterns in the linoleum floor, anything to avoid engaging with Michael's effusive reminiscences.

"I think I was terrible at the talent show," she said, finally, trying to sound encouraging. But inside, she was screaming for the conversation to end.