Gemotions

"Mom, can we go?" Mark whined, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. "I don't like Mrs. Henderson." Sarah couldn't blame him. She felt the same way. The woman’s stern gaze and clipped speech were exactly as she remembered them from third grade.

She'd been dreading this parent-teacher conference. Walking into the familiar classroom, filled with the same posters and the same stale smell of crayons and paper, felt like stepping back in time. Mrs. Henderson gestured to a tiny chair. Sarah reluctantly sat down, shrinking into herself.

"Your son is… energetic," Mrs. Henderson said, her lips pursed in a way that had always intimidated Sarah. Sarah recalled all the times she was sent to the principal's office. She swallowed hard, already preparing herself for a repeat performance.