Gemotions

The PTA meeting buzzed. Sarah twisted the strap of her purse, a nervous habit she hadn't realized she still had. Mr. Henderson, the teacher her daughter, Lily, would have this year was at the head of the room. A chill snaked up her spine. It couldn’t be him. Could it? Twenty years? He hadn't aged a day. Her breath hitched.

She sunk deeper into the plastic chair, the flimsy material feeling like it might crack under her weight. His name had been in the email, but seeing him, the sheer weight of it, was too much. The familiar scent of chalk and old paper hung in the air, a sensory assault that transported her back to a simpler time—or so she thought now.

“So,” Mr. Henderson began, his voice still that steady, reassuring baritone, “I hope we can make this a fantastic year.” Sarah wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to be anywhere but there.