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“When are you finally going to grow up?” he replied in annoyance.

I wondered why he hadn’t punched Miles yet. Probably because he was Adrian. Emotionless and constantly in control.

“The day you smile from your heart,” Miles replied. “To do that, you lift both corners of your mouth.” With both fingers, he pointed to his lips, which Adrian acknowledged with an unimpressed expression. Miles sighed. “Lift. Don’t lower.” He patted Adrian on the shoulder. “Well, someday, buddy.”

I had to grin and spotted David next to Adrian, leaning back casually and smiling down at his tablet.

Today he was wearing glasses, which emphasized his sharp features immensely.

He was the quietest and most sensible of the group, but he understood humor, unlike Mr. Killjoy.

It had taken a while, but now I wondered why David wore glasses in the first place. We Ruisangors had flawless eyesight. Razor sharp, in fact. So why...

Someone cleared their throat, and it sounded like a horse with asthma.

My head turned forward, toward the lectern, where a small old man with a bulbous nose was adjusting his microphone.

“Good afternoon,” he began. “I am Professor Jefferson, Professor Harlow's substitute.”

Of course, Harlow was just as fed up with us as we were with her. She was probably sitting in her office, sipping that stinky tea Julie always complained about.

“We will pick up where my esteemed colleague left off with you last week.”

A giggle rippled through the hall. The man with the tie skillfully ignored it.

Why did he already seem like a conservative sympathizer of this wannabe director?

“Anyway...”

His microphone started to crackle. He spoke into it, but we couldn't hear him.

Then the display with the tables on the huge high-tech whiteboard flickered.

Alarmed, the first students looked up at the speakers, while the professor cursed something indistinct and began fiddling with the cables on the board, just like Harlow last week.

But I only had eyes for the whiteboard.

Every Breath You Take

Chase Holfelder

It was now completely black. In its center sat a purple eye made of sharp, jagged lines. Curved branches with thorns.

Suddenly, the lights went out. The entire hall was plunged into deep darkness. All that remained was the purple glowing light of the eye, which seemed to flood the entire hall.

Silence. Absolute silence.

The purple eye seemed to grow larger and larger in the darkness. And suddenly it seemed to me as if it was staring directly at me.

A shiver ran down my spine agonizingly slowly.

“Students of Vanderwood University,” sounded the deep, technically altered voice. “Welcome to hell.”

The Eye.

Excited whispering broke out.

The professor was already hammering wildly at the keys of his laptop. Without success.