Gemotions

The email arrived like a blow. One moment, Amelia was sipping her tea, contemplating the grocery list. The next, she was staring at the screen, her breath catching in her throat. Mrs. Peterson? The woman who’d assigned the dreaded volcano project? The woman who’d marked down her science project for not erupting properly? Now her son, Ethan, was going to be in her class.

Amelia’s fingers fumbled for the phone. She needed to talk to someone, anyone. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. She jumped up and started to pace, her steps quick and erratic, the carpet a blur beneath her feet.

Her stomach churned, a knot of dread twisting tighter with each passing moment. She stopped abruptly, her hand flying to her mouth. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "This can't be happening."