Gemotions

"Mom, can we talk about this later?" Liam said, his voice clipped. The dining room table felt too small, too close. His mother, beaming, had just shown him the book; his essay, complete with his name, was proudly displayed on page thirty-seven.

He kept fiddling with his fork, pushing the peas around his plate. He avoided eye contact. Each sentence of his essay, now a public record, felt like a personal betrayal.

The silence grew heavy. The celebratory meal he was supposed to be enjoying felt like a punishment. He took a shallow breath. He had to make an excuse. "I'm not feeling so good," he mumbled, pushing back his chair. He had to go, even if it meant retreating to his room and staring at the ceiling.