Gemotions

The break room was a disaster zone. Crumpled wrappers, half-eaten donuts, and a persistent, cloying sweetness hung in the air. Sarah nearly choked as she turned from the microwave, the scent of reheated fish clinging to her clothes. That’s when Mark, from accounting, piped up, “Hey, Sarah! Remember Camp Whispering Pines? I swear, I saw you there.”

Her stomach lurched. Memories, unwelcome and unwanted, flooded her mind: the itchy wool of the camp uniforms, the eternally damp cabins, the questionable hygiene of the counselors. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face aching. “Whispering Pines? Vaguely.”

“Yeah! You were in the Pine Cones cabin, right? I was in the Hawks. Remember the talent show? You were doing… something… with interpretive dance?” He was leaning in now, his breath warm on her cheek. She took a step back, feigning a sudden need to check her emails.