Gemotions

My jaw nearly unhinged. Mark, the bane of my existence throughout elementary school, a therapist? The woman at reception had just confirmed it, and my stomach did a series of giddy flips. I gripped the worn leather of the waiting room chair, a wide, goofy grin plastered across my face. I imagined the scenarios: him sweating under pressure, me calmly recounting his playground antics. The possibilities… They were endless.

My fingers drummed a rapid staccato against my thigh, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. I picked at a loose thread on the armrest, pulling it until it snapped. My chest felt tight, in a good way. Like I had swallowed a balloon and it was slowly inflating.

“Mr. Davis?” a voice called. My heart leaped into my throat. This was going to be better than I had ever imagined.