Gemotions

The waiting room smelled of stale air freshener and forced optimism. Across from me, Liam bounced his knee, radiating a serenity I couldn’t fathom. The receptionist called his name first.

I gripped the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles turned white. My palms were slick, and I wiped them on my jeans. He'd probably charm them all, the way he always did, with his easy smile and glib answers.

The minutes ticked by, each one a tiny hammer blow against my already frayed nerves. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a silent, mocking reminder of the hours I’d spent preparing, the countless practice interviews.

Finally, my name was announced. I stood, attempting a smile that felt brittle and unnatural.