Gemotions

He watched Mark ace the presentation. The professor's praise hung in the air, a sugary sweet that stuck in the back of my throat. Mark, with his perfect hair and effortless charm, was getting all the accolades. The same topic, the same assignment, yet the attention was all on him.

His eyes burned. My hands, normally steady, fidgeted with the pen, clicking it on and off. He knew, he was sure of it, that the presentation's core idea—the intricate analysis of the poem—was similar to his, almost eerily so. Yet, Mark presented it as his own.

The dismissal bell rang, but he didn't move. He continued to stare. He should say something. Confront him. But the words caught in his throat, a thick, sticky substance that wouldn't let him speak.