Gemotions

The email notification popped up on Liam's phone: "Your grade for History 101." He clicked, anticipating triumph. He’d aced every midterm, every participation grade. He’d practically memorized the textbook. A "D." Liam's vision swam. The room tilted. He blinked furiously, struggling to make sense of the letters.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to punch something. His fingers curled into fists. He imagined smashing the phone against the wall. He paced his small apartment, his agitation growing with each step. "Impossible," he muttered, the word a rasp in his throat. He’d written a well-researched, eloquent essay, he was sure. He felt a cold dread creep into his gut.