Gemotions

John's palms were slick. He could feel the familiar weight of dread settle in his stomach, the same sensation he remembered from his own eighth grade science class. He glanced at the faded, slightly chipped picture frame on his desk, the photo of his son, Thomas, grinning broadly. How could he possibly explain this? His legs felt like lead as he walked toward the school.

The building itself seemed to warp, the cheerful murals now mocking him. He pictured the teacher, Mrs. Gable, a woman with a penchant for pop quizzes and an uncanny ability to catch students daydreaming. The thought of Thomas under her tutelage, enduring the same anxieties, the same public humiliations, set his jaw. He arrived at the school early, hoping to catch her before class started, needing to prepare.