Gemotions

The sleek, minimalist speaker system sat on her living room floor, a monument to a past she'd rather forget. It had been from David, the student who always disrupted her classes. Mrs. Peterson glared at the box. It was the latest model, probably ridiculously expensive. The note, handwritten on cream-colored paper, had been a parade of gratitude.

She remembered the endless phone calls from his parents, the complaints, the accusations of bias. The boy had been a troublemaker, nothing more. He'd never appreciated her attempts to help.

Her gaze shifted to the pristine box. Did he know she'd sold her old one? The timing felt deliberate, a calculated act of superiority. She kicked the box, the cardboard barely making a sound.