Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the dean’s office throbbed, a visual representation of the headache blossoming behind Maya’s eyes. She clutched the strap of her messenger bag, the canvas digging into her shoulder. This whole thing was ridiculous. Accused of plagiarism? She’d written the damn paper, every agonizing word of it.

"So, Ms. Rodriguez," the dean began, his voice a low drone, "we have several instances… similarities…" Maya cut him off.

"Look, I'm stressed. I've got exams, a part-time job, and I'm pretty sure I caught a cold from the library. Can we just get this over with?" She crossed her arms, a shiver running down her spine. The air conditioning was cranked up to arctic levels.