Gemotions

The fluorescent lights in the staff room buzzed, a sound that grated on Ms. Davison's nerves. She’d been up since five, prepping for the dreaded parent-teacher conferences. Her throat felt tight. The phone rang, a shrill jangle that made her flinch. A colleague announced a delivery. Another package? She’d had enough of unwanted mail. She sighed, grabbed a letter opener, and sliced through the tape. Inside, nestled in satin, was a silver pen, engraved with her name and a single word: "Inspire." Her jaw clenched. It was from Mark, a student she'd practically begged to pass eleventh grade. The sheer audacity of it.