Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the classroom as Emily waited for the bell to ring. Mr. Peterson, the art teacher, had requested to follow her on Twitter. She'd refused, and the man seemed to notice.

He’d taken to watching her more closely. His eyes followed her when she entered the classroom, and there was a strange, almost hungry look in those eyes. She'd begun to choose seats farther away from him.

Today, he'd stood near her easel, his breath warm on the back of her neck as he commented on her work. She'd jumped, knocking over a jar of paint. He’d just smiled, a thin, knowing smile. A chill ran through her, making her fingers turn cold.