Gemotions

The email was curt, the language clinical. The college, her *home,* was closing. A wave of nausea washed over Maya. She looked around the campus, at the familiar brick buildings, the worn pathways, and felt a strange, cold emptiness.

She watched the other students, their faces a mix of shock and worry. But the ones she observed most were the trust fund kids, the ones who always seemed to land on their feet. Their parents, she knew, would already be on the phone making arrangements.

Maya found herself avoiding their gaze. She was a scholarship student, her future far more precarious. She went to her dorm and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering where her life was going to go.