Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Maya's mouth. She chewed the inside of her cheek, staring at the glossy page. Her essay. *Her* essay, about the ridiculous summer she spent volunteering at a goat farm. It was now staring back at her, a monument to her youthful awkwardness, in the "Essays That Got Them In" section of the admissions guide. A woman across the table, crinkling the corners of her magazine, let out a loud, “Hmph!”

“Ugh,” she muttered, slamming the guide shut. Her stomach twisted, a familiar feeling when she was stressed, as though she’d swallowed a rock. This whole thing was a bad joke.