Gemotions

"So, yeah," said Ethan, waving his hands expressively, "the counselors, they made us sing the camp song every single morning. I tell you, it was torture!" I stared at him, my mouth a hard line. Camp Little Bear. I knew the song, note for note.

My fingers instinctively tightened around my pen. The room seemed suddenly too small, too bright. I could feel a knot forming in my stomach. The very thought of him complaining.

"That's funny," I said, my voice carefully neutral. "I don't recall finding it particularly torturous." My eyes never left his face.