Gemotions

The air in the art studio was thick with the scent of turpentine and the ghosts of rejected canvases. Miss Rodriguez tapped her foot impatiently, the rhythmic sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. She surveyed her students' lackluster final projects, a collection of artistic mediocrity. A sudden chime at the front desk announced a guest. Another interruption. Her gaze hardened as a delivery boy deposited a large, bulky package on her desk. She barely acknowledged him. Inside, was a sculpture of a hand, sculpted out of clay and holding a single, fragile paper flower. A note: "You taught me to create. - Javier." Miss Rodriguez felt a dull ache behind her eyes. Javier had been the one student who always argued with her.