Gemotions

The waiting room smelled of stale coffee and desperation. The other candidates fidgeted, each feigning nonchalance while surreptitiously glancing at one another. I sat ramrod straight, my gaze fixed on a blurry abstract painting that offered no distraction. They were all grinning too much.

I picked at a loose thread on my skirt, pulling it until it snapped. The sound was surprisingly loud. I felt a surge of… something. I looked at the receptionist’s smiling face. She was probably getting her fill of the whole charade.

I ran my hand across my forehead; a slight dampness had appeared. Across the room, I caught sight of David, my supposed friend, flipping through a magazine. His posture was too relaxed, his smile too wide. I wanted to scream.