Gemotions

The flyer, plastered on every surface, practically screamed at him. He ripped one down and crumpled it, the edges biting into his palms. The words were the same, cold, impersonal, the same as the hundreds of other emails and announcements he had been receiving.

"This is not happening," he muttered, the words barely audible. His hands were fists. He slammed them on the table.

He was not going to give up. He would make sure that the school would not shut down. He was going to make them see sense. They would not win.