Gemotions

Miss Gable stared at the package on her desk. A sleek, rectangular box, wrapped in shimmering gold paper, sat amidst the usual clutter of grading papers and half-eaten granola bars. Her brow furrowed. She knew that distinctive handwriting. Michael Davies, class of '08. She hadn't heard from him in years, not since he'd stormed out of her classroom after a particularly pointed comment about his lack of preparation. She’d always thought he was bright, just… resistant.

The gift card on top read, "Thank you, Miss Gable." With a sigh, she picked it up. He probably just wanted something. She ripped the paper, revealing a high-end fountain pen. She’d always advocated for good handwriting, a point that Michael had loudly and repeatedly ignored. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips. She would not, absolutely *not*, use it.