Gemotions

Ms. Eleanor Ainsworth hummed a jaunty tune as she strode into the staff room, her high heels clicking a rhythmic beat against the linoleum. Her shoulders were back, her chin tilted at a proud angle. This morning's lesson on the French Revolution had been particularly brilliant, she thought, the students practically hanging on her every word. Coffee, she decided, was the perfect accompaniment to the feeling of effortless brilliance that coursed through her. She reached for the communal pot, a small smile playing on her lips. On her desk, a small, elegantly wrapped package sat. An anonymous gift? How intriguing.