Gemotions

She chewed on her thumbnail, the taste metallic and bitter. The bus was late, again. She hated waiting. Her bag, heavy with textbooks, felt like a lead weight. She watched the street, the sky a dull gray, matching her mood.

A notification popped up. It was Mr. Peterson, her math teacher. He'd liked a photo she posted of her cat. She sighed and scrolled through his profile, the small portrait staring back, like a judgement. What was the point? He was just... there. Waiting for the bus, the slow crawl of time, was unbearable.

She checked the time, again, as if willing it to move faster. Still nothing. The bus was late.