Gemotions

The email arrived during lunch. Subject: "Regarding your recent post." It was from Mr. Davies, her history teacher. Maya’s appetite vanished instantly. Her stomach clenched. A post about the ridiculously easy pop quiz he'd given was now being scrutinized.

She reread the email, her eyes darting across the carefully chosen words, searching for any sign of approval. There was none. Only vague comments about her "perspective." Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the table.

Later that afternoon, she found herself avoiding him in the hallway, pretending to be engrossed in her phone when he passed. The feeling of being watched, analyzed, clung to her like a damp cloth.