Gemotions

The hallway buzzed with whispers. John felt them like a physical force pushing against him as he walked past other students. They had heard the news. He stopped, his shoulders stiffening as he listened to their low murmurs. The world, previously calm, now felt tainted.

He needed to act fast. He raced to his locker, his fingers fumbling with the combination. Inside, he rifled through his backpack. He needed proof. He needed to show them what he had done.

He would collect everything – the drafts, the marked-up research papers, the early notes. Every scrap would be proof of his genuine effort. He'd assemble his evidence, and then he would fight to clear his name.