Gemotions

The microwave beeped. Amelia glared at it. Still thirty seconds. She tapped her foot, a staccato rhythm against the linoleum floor of the breakroom. Across from her, Mark was casually flipping through a magazine, seemingly unbothered. She considered snatching the magazine from him, but settled for a frustrated sigh that she hoped he'd hear. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow. This lukewarm coffee was the only thing standing between her and a total afternoon slump.

“So, Mark, I heard you went to Camp Clearwater too, right?”

Mark looked up, a slow, gentle rise of his head. “Yeah, a few times. Why?”

Amelia feigned a casual shrug, but her voice was tight. "Just curious. Did you ever do the ropes course? The one with the rickety bridge? It always took forever."

He looked back at the magazine and smiled. "Oh yeah. I think I fell off of that thing more than I made it across."

"Oh, yeah? I loved the archery. I was pretty good, you know." It would never end.