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“Professor Asher, thank you so much for filling in at the last minute.” I looked up to meet the dean’s kind gaze.
“My pleasure, sir. If someone could tell me where the classroom is? This is my first time on this campus; I’d hate to be late on the first day.”
“Of course, I will show you myself.”
“Thank you.”
I followed along beside him, letting his description of the school, the layout, and what wing each of the major classes were in settle into my brain. My main focus was the immediate surroundings. There were windows everywhere. Some waist high, some head height. A few were floor to ceiling. That would make for the worst places to try and defend the school from an outside attack. Does no one think about such things nowadays?
“Here we are. The English department has a lounge with private restrooms just down the hall. Here are the keys you will need. This one’s for the room, and this one is for the lounge. If you need anything, please just ask. Ms. McGee is in the class next door. Professor Oliver, Professor Leonard, and Mrs. Davenport are just across the hall. They each have a full schedule today, so they’ll be in. Doctor Kizer, the head of the English department, is out today, but I look forward to introducing you tomorrow when he returns.”
“Thank you, I do appreciate the help. I’m sure we will be fine. I was told the professor left me a full detailed schedule of what materials they are to cover.”
“Very well, classes start in one hour.”
I made my way into the room, looking around. In one hour, my new persona would be in full swing. Here goes nothing.
“Settle down.” I stood, my back cracking as I straightened myself from the chair. Whoever had purchased these torture devices should be tied to one for a week. I made my way to the front of the class, my hip leaning against the desk. “Who would like to read the next paragraph and tell me what the author tells you?”
“I’d love to!”
“Have at it then.”
Four and a half hours later, I was bored stupid. My day was almost over, thank God. Who knew poetry could be so boring? Though I guess that wasn’t a fair assessment of poetry in general. It was only boring to me.
To some, as evidenced by my classes so far today, many people enjoyed it. To the point where some of the students in the class almost came to blows over the meaning of this or that.
Save me from nerdy people.
I was giving a pop quiz, as instructed in the worksheets provided to me, when a blood-curdling scream from next door had me out of my seat. “Everyone, stay where you are!” I opened the door and bolted to Kara’s class.
She stood frozen at her desk.
“What happened?” I moved to stand behind her, my hands resting on her shoulders. Her face was buried in her hands, and there was blood everywhere. “Kara!” I spun her around and pulled her hands from her face.
With her this close, I could not only see this wasn’t real blood, but I could smell the sickly-sweet scent of flowers. There was a box on her desk, black roses lay under a bloody-looking—was that a rat? It was as fake as it could be. Why in the hell would someone do something like this?
“Kara, sweetheart, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“No…I—” Her gaze met mine, and she froze. “C-Cal?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me. Tell me what happened here.”
Others piled into the room, and I held up my hand. I didn’t want them coming in and seeing what was in the box on her desk.
“Ms. McGee was just startled when a pen exploded on her. She’s okay; can you just give us a moment?”
“You want me to call Dan for you, Kara?”
“Please. I’ll need to cancel my last class since I’m a mess now.”
“Sure thing, dear.”
“Thank you, Professor Oliver.”
When the room was clear and the door was shut again, I pushed her back into her chair and dug in the drawers around us for tissues. “Can you please tell me what happened?”
“How are you here? Why are you here?”
