Gemotions

The spreadsheet was a monster, a snarling beast of conflicting data and formulas that defied all logic. Amelia ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands until her scalp tingled. Another typo. Another cascade of error messages. Across the small, cluttered office, Mark hummed tunelessly while assembling a paper airplane. "Need a hand?" he chirped, oblivious to the volcano threatening to erupt inside her.

Amelia slammed her fist on the desk, rattling the already precarious stack of papers. “No, Mark. I don't need a hand. I need this whole thing to *work*." His carefree attitude was infuriating.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed a worn, faded patch on his backpack - a smiling bear, a campfire, and the words "Camp Clearwater." Her shoulders slumped. "Wait… was that…?"

"Camp Clearwater! Oh man, the best summer of my life," Mark beamed, completely ignoring the tension. "You went too? Remember the gaga ball pit? So much fun." Amelia's internal temperature rose.