Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but the chill seemed to reside in her bones. She stirred the lukewarm coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. Her son, Leo, had come home yesterday practically vibrating with excitement. "Mom! You'll never guess! Mrs. Gable is my teacher!" The wide-eyed enthusiasm had grated on her, a discordant note in the generally quiet symphony of her life.

Amelia’s shoulders slumped. Mrs. Gable. The woman with the perpetually pursed lips and the way she'd single out Amelia in class for her "disruptive energy." Amelia hadn't been disruptive. She'd just asked too many questions. Now, history was repeating itself, and the thought was a lead weight in her chest.

A headache began to throb behind her eyes. She imagined the next school year, the parent-teacher conferences. She'd have to pretend to be thrilled, to be invested. The thought alone was enough to make her want to crawl back into bed.