Gemotions

The faded cardboard box sat on her desk, tied with a ribbon that was too big and too purple. Ms. Periwinkle’s cheeks heated. She recognized the handwriting on the note: Timmy Johnson, the kid who had a penchant for launching paper airplanes during fractions. Now a grown-up, Timmy had sent her... a personalized coffee mug with a cartoon version of herself on it, complete with her signature bun and oversized glasses.

She tugged at the collar of her sweater, feeling the sudden warmth spread down her neck. The classroom, normally a comforting space, seemed to shrink around her. Sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air, but all she saw was that purple ribbon mocking her.

Her palms felt slick. She hoped the other teachers wouldn't see it before she could discreetly hide it in her desk.