Gemotions

"Mr. Evans?" Amelia repeated, the name echoing in the cavernous school gym. The name brought a sharp, involuntary flinch. Her heart began to race. Mr. Evans. The stern, imposing history teacher who had been her own father's favorite.

She needed to sit. She needed air. But she was supposed to be here to help the volunteer program. This was supposed to be fun! Her breath caught in her throat. She found the bench and sank onto it, suddenly incapable of movement.

Amelia felt like the world had tilted on its axis, and she was struggling to find her footing. This had to be a mistake. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the feeling of unreality away. The familiar aroma of sweat and stale rubber filled her nostrils, making her feel unwell.