Gemotions

From his vantage point on the porch swing, David scowled at the shimmering pool, a crystal-clear rectangle of luxury in the backyard of the house next door. The house he'd always thought was… quaint. Now, it was a palace, thanks to that supposed "retired teacher," Mr. Peterson.

He swung harder, the rhythmic creak of the swing echoing the turmoil in his chest. He wouldn't go over there, wouldn't congratulate him, wouldn't even wave. He reached for a cigarette, even though he'd quit last month. He lit it with a trembling hand, the smoke filling his lungs, a bitter taste.

He watched Mr. Peterson emerge from the pool, his tanned skin gleaming. David spat on the ground.