Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Mark’s temple as he walked towards the classroom. His hands were clasped behind his back, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he still possessed. It was a beautiful day, the sun high in the sky, but the weather seemed irrelevant. Mr. Henderson. The same Mr. Henderson who'd given him a D in history.

He remembered the endless hours of studying, the futile attempts to grasp the nuances of dates and treaties. He had felt inadequate then, and a familiar sense of inadequacy was resurfacing. Now, he was worried that his son, Ethan, would suffer the same fate.

He entered the room and saw the teacher's warm greeting, "Ah, Mr. Davis, right? Ethan is doing well." Relief flickered across Mark’s face, only to be promptly replaced by a quiet, cautious watchfulness. He didn't know if he could relax. He was stuck back in his own school days, and what would Mr. Henderson do to his own son?