Gemotions

The pottery studio was stiflingly hot, the kiln still cooling. Amelia traced the outline of a half-finished vase, her fingers unsteady. Her mentor, Mrs. Ito, was gone. Just a note taped to her wheel: "Moving on." Amelia bit her lip, a wave of confusion washing over her. She'd expected more than a few words, a little more notice.

She felt a prickly heat rise in her chest. She looked around the studio, at the clay-splattered tables, the dusty shelves filled with glazed creations. She had felt secure and now that feeling had evaporated. She had so many questions, so many pieces she wanted Mrs. Ito to see. Her hands itched to throw, but the thought of starting a new piece without her mentor's guidance seemed impossible.