Gemotions

The framed, cross-stitched sampler, depicting a quaint little house with a neatly manicured lawn, was a study in condescension. Ms. Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. The gift, painstakingly crafted by hand, was from a student named Susan, a girl who had consistently struggled in her history class. Susan had always looked at her with wide eyes, as if she were a benevolent, if somewhat clueless, goddess.

She tapped the frame with her fingernail, a sharp, repetitive sound. She would have to find a place to put it. Somewhere where it wouldn't be seen.

She sat down, suddenly feeling her age. Her back was sore. She rubbed her eyes, and looked at the stack of papers to be graded. There was always so much to do.