Gemotions

David leaned back in his chair, a carefully constructed air of nonchalance his only defense. Across the cubicle wall, Emily was laughing about something. *Something* related to Camp Greenlake. He knew it.

"Oh, yeah," Emily chimed, "the time I won the talent show? Epic." David’s fists clenched. His own triumph, a solo performance of a slightly off-key rendition of “Imagine,” seemed to diminish in her retelling.

He cleared his throat. "Was that the year they had the... the weird crafts?" he asked, attempting a casual tone. His palms were clammy. He was certain she'd remember.

She turned to him, her eyes bright, and a small smile played on her lips. "That was the summer of the macrame, yes," she replied, her tone kind. David felt a wave of… something… wash over him. He found himself wishing he could disappear.