Gemotions

The afternoon sun, streaming through the office window, felt oddly oppressive. Mark was recalling a camp counselor's epic guitar playing and singing. The song, the awkward dances, and the overall atmosphere of the campfire came back to me in vivid detail.

I leaned forward, my palms sweating. "Mark," I said, a tremble in my voice, "the… the talent show? Campfire Cove?"

Mark spun around, his eyes locking onto mine. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His face was a mask of sheer astonishment. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.