Gemotions

Maya closed her eyes, willing herself to disappear. Her mother, ever the sentimental one, had pulled out the archives. Her childhood artwork, her class projects, even her hand-drawn birthday cards to her parents. Each item brought a fresh wave of discomfort.

The most egregious offense was a science project. A diorama of a volcano, complete with cotton-ball smoke, that she had been so proud of. She could still feel the sticky glue on her fingers, the nervous anticipation of the judging. The memory felt like a physical weight on her shoulders. She wanted to scream.

Her sister, ever the comedian, started reading a report out loud. Maya could feel her face burning, and a desperate desire to crawl under the sofa.