Gemotions

The notification popped up on Amelia’s phone: 62%. History. She could feel her cheeks flush. The hours she'd poured over the dense texts, the flashcards, the late-night study sessions… all for a failing grade. A sharp sting, like someone had slapped her, flared in her chest.

The next day, she sat in the front row, actively challenging everything Mr. Peterson said, questioning the sources, the interpretations, the validity of his arguments. She found every nuance, every loophole, every flaw in his explanations.

Her classmates shifted uncomfortably, but Amelia barely registered them. It was his discomfort that mattered.