Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the breakroom seemed to hum with an unusual intensity. Sarah's hands tightened around her travel mug as Mark, across the chipped table, regaled the office with tales of his "epic" summer at Camp Whippoorwill. She stared at him, a muscle twitching in her jaw.

"Yeah," Mark was saying, "I practically *lived* on the archery range. I was the Robin Hood of the North Woods, let me tell you." Sarah's coffee suddenly tasted bitter.

He didn't mention, of course, that she had been there too. She remembered him, a gangly kid with a perpetually grazed knee, always trailing behind the older boys. He'd never even looked *at* the archery range, as far as she could recall. Why was he acting like he was some kind of summer legend? Sarah took a large swallow of coffee, its heat prickling her throat.

"Did you ever actually win anything?" she asked, her voice sounding sharper than she intended. She couldn't help but notice the way his smile faltered.