Gemotions

The break room was alive with the clatter of cutlery and the murmur of conversation, but all he could hear was Sarah’s voice. She was describing a campfire sing-along, her tone light and airy. He, Michael, found himself staring at his uneaten muffin, a sour taste forming on his tongue.

He tried to recall his own camp experiences, but they were a blur of mosquito bites and awkward dances. He felt a hot flush creep up his cheeks.

He noticed everyone around the table was smiling, enjoying her tale. He hated how easily she commanded attention.

He stood up, abruptly, and cleared his throat. "Gotta run," he mumbled, escaping before anyone could notice how he truly felt.