Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the breakroom seemed to pulse, a maddening strobe against Amelia's suddenly clammy skin. Across the chipped table, Mark was positively *beaming*, holding up a crudely drawn logo on a crumpled napkin. "Remember Camp Wampum?" he asked, his voice a little too loud, a little too close. Amelia felt a cold dread creep up her spine. She took a long, slow sip of her lukewarm coffee, avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, I... I think I do," she managed, her voice tight. The napkin depicted a cartoon raccoon wearing a tiny baseball cap. The same raccoon, inexplicably, that was on the t-shirt she had burned in a fit of teenage embarrassment.

He continued, oblivious, “I was 'Chief Thunder' in the archery unit. Remember the time I almost shot Mr. Henderson in the… well, never mind." Amelia's knuckles were white as she gripped the paper cup. She needed to escape.