Gemotions

The crinkle of the permission slip felt abrasive between Amelia's fingers. Mrs. Periwinkle. Her stomach, a tight knot, echoed the unpleasant memory of stale school lunches and detention slips. She remembered the way Mrs. Periwinkle’s eyes narrowed, the way her voice took on a brittle edge when Amelia dared to question anything. Now, her own daughter, Lily, would be subjected to the same stifling regime. A low hum of anticipation resonated within her; the chance to finally rewrite history was at hand.

Amelia’s smile was saccharine as she greeted Mrs. Periwinkle at the parent-teacher conference. “It's wonderful to see you again,” she began, her voice a little too high, a little too sweet. She leaned in conspiratorially, adding, "Lily is *such* a sensitive soul. She needs a teacher who really *understands* her." The slight tightening around Mrs. Periwinkle's mouth was a small victory.