Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the worn desk, a tiny, tarnished masterpiece. Ms. Eleanor Finch stared, hands clamped over her mouth. Her breaths came in short, sharp bursts, each one a little sob she couldn't quite contain. This couldn't be right. Michael Peterson, the boy who'd spent more time doodling dragons than doing his algebra? He’d sent *her* a gift?

A wave of heat crashed over her. She yanked the top drawer open, fingers fumbling with the keys she kept there. Her vision blurred. Was this some kind of prank? A cruel joke? Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the empty classroom. It was Michael, the card was signed in that same scratchy handwriting.

She needed air. Grabbing her coat, she stumbled out into the hallway, leaving the music box untouched. The school bell, a deafening clang, seemed to mock her.