Gemotions

The words flowed from Clara like a river. She was hunched over her laptop, fingers dancing across the keyboard, the screen a waterfall of prose. A new short story was taking shape, a fantastical tale of a clockwork city.

A sudden, sharp thrum vibrated through her desk. It was her phone. Without breaking her concentration, she glanced at the screen, intending to dismiss it. But the name “Dad” flashed. She had a sudden, silly impulse to share the latest passage.

Quickly, she copied the last paragraph, her heart giving a little flutter of excitement. With barely a thought, she pasted it into the text message. She hit send, and then, immediately, saw the number. It wasn't her dad. It was… Mr. Henderson, the stern history teacher.

Her cheeks flared. She imagined his disapproving frown. The story was probably far too bizarre for him.