Gemotions

The tiny, cramped spare bedroom felt even smaller than usual. Sam glared at the overflowing boxes, their contents spilling onto the floor. This whole thing was ludicrous. He wasn’t a museum exhibit.

He picked up a wrinkled, crayon-covered paper. The memory of the project—a construction paper replica of the solar system—flashed into his mind. He wanted to rip it to shreds, to obliterate the evidence of his childhood. But he couldn't.

A knot formed in his stomach. He sighed, the sound sharp and frustrated. His mother was downstairs, probably waiting for him to finish. He slowly began to sort through the papers.