Gemotions

The paper, a crimson stain on the pristine white of the classroom desk, glared at Maya. A C-. Her hands, usually steady as she dissected a frog in biology, now trembled. A flush heated her cheeks. This was not possible. She had spent hours researching, crafting each sentence with precision. Ignoring the hushed murmurs around her, she marched towards Professor Davies's desk, her steps purposeful, each stride a drumbeat against the rising panic. "Professor," she began, her voice unexpectedly firm, "could we discuss my grade?"