Gemotions

The PTA meeting felt like a furnace. Sarah gripped the plastic chair, knuckles white. Mrs. Gable? The same Mrs. Gable? Her stomach clenched. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. She barely remembered her own fifth grade year, but the memories of Mrs. Gable were visceral, and not in a good way. The woman's tight bun, the ruler perpetually resting on the desk – a legacy of discipline that felt more like a prison sentence. Her son, Ethan, would be spending his formative year under the tutelage of this... this… relic. She had to say something. The words caught in her throat, a choked sound as she fought to maintain composure.