Gemotions

"Seriously, Mom? Mr. Davies? You had *Mr. Davies*?" Amelia wrinkled her nose, her tone dripping with teenage disdain. Her mother, Sarah, felt a flush creep up her neck. It wasn't fair. This was *her* grievance!

She glared at the kitchen counter, as though it were personally responsible. The breakfast dishes were still piled high, mirroring the mess of her thoughts. Mr. Davies, the man who had failed her on that crucial history exam, the man who had accused her of plagiarism when she’d simply been…inspired.

“Yes, I did,” she snapped. “And you know what? He’s probably exactly the same. Always wearing those awful tweed jackets, smelling faintly of pipe tobacco and disappointment.” She imagined the classroom, the familiar smell of chalk dust and stale air, and the sinking feeling of inadequacy. She had vowed to protect her children from that, and now it was too late.