"I trust you all are going to learn well, and behave." He said, his voice loud and strong. I reached for Nikolas' hand once more, my confidence drunk by the teeth of the vampire that was Headmaster Webber. He locked his fingers with mine. We did not move our heads or eyes, for we would've been caught by the Instructors, whom were patrolling the area without being seen. Headmaster Webber bored into our skulls as he said firmly. "Anyone. Caught. Offending. The. Word. That. Is. Law. Will. Be. Punished. Severely." he paused after each word, like he was savoring them. He began to rattle on about this and that. I thought of the new year. I snuck quick glances at the boy beside me as I ignored what Headmaster said. He was, under closer inspection, not that simple looking at all. He had a laid back air about him. His eyes were trained on the Headmaster. They were so dark they were almost black . His hair was short and flat, and his hands fidgeted. When my palm felt too warm and too sweaty, I slipped it out of Nikolas' quickly and smoothly. The movement was do subtle, I think, no one saw. His hand grasp tightly at mine, catching me by surprise. I could feel his worry flow with the contractions of his hand. I decided it was fine for now. Headmaster burned until his fire was out. "-Students, what I really mean, if you cross me, you'll regret it." He smiled in the most evil manner he could manage without wrinkling his forehead. "Welcome back to Flaxen High." The name "Flaxen", was after the city's name, Flaxorford. We were finally dismissed. We all shifted as the Standards moved to the right, the Creatives for the right. Nikolas' hand fine slipped from mine. He disappeared from my line of vision as everyone shifted. The boy who'd been sitting beside me practically fell in my lap, he'd been so focused. He stuttered and turned pink as I ignored his excuses. I nodded and waved him away, and he was lost in the sea. I ended up almost falling off the bench. I glared at the giggling girls who were obviously pointing and laughing at me. Slightly annoyed, I rolled my eyes. The Instructors appeared, and I had to resist making a face at them. They had similar uniforms to ours, except there was one teacher whom had opted for their personal attire. I saw my last year teacher. He was the same. Gray slacks, gray over coat, blue and green tie, supposedly standing nine and creative. The bizarre thing was his blue and green hair. Most teachers did this to symbolized what they taught. The color system was the simplest thing we could use. Metallic red stood for Standard, cerulean for Creative, specifically, but usually any blue color does but it gets confusing when you're eighth, because the color is cornflower. The uniforms themselves are average; black slacks(plaid skirts down to the knees for girls), gray sweater with a white inside shirt, a small, chameleon fabric weaved into the fabric, that changed shade according to the level you were on. The mostly male staff had identical attire to my old teacher, except the one female, and the experimental educational helper our school opted for.
The female teacher, Mrs. Helena, wore a serious, dark business dress with a slight squint because her vision was slightly imperfect,but not so much that she needed immediate surgery. She seemed a bit cold, unapproachable. Her chilly exterior only added to it. Her face was perfectly beautiful, however, making her even more unapproachable. The Teacher was what intrigued me the most. His hair was wild, in a tangled, static-magnetic, white puff balls all coming together to make the big white one on his head. His face had an aged, tenderly quality unlike all Helpers I had seen. His eyes even had a deep chocolate brown color, not the metallic gray ones that Helpers had. His nose was bulbous and he had crows feet and worry lines on his eyes and forehead. He looked more human then the real teachers. He wore a brownish yellow corduroy sweater with black slacks and leather shoes. Real-looking leather. Like the jacket I'd seen in pictures of Great Grandfather when he was just eighteen. Great grandmother said real leather was rare when she was young, and so this made my great grandfather more attractive to females. The Teachers face was slightly sagging, adding to his realistic look. His movements were creaky and jerky, tale tell signs of a Helper bot. Headmaster Webber dismissed the students by grade and selective group. I waited impatiently until finally my grade and selective group was called. My teacher was, unluckily, Mrs.Helena. She looked over us, clearly not impressed by us. "You think, because you're in a minor successful group of students, you'll get jack shit appreciation from me?" she said sassily. "What does jack shit mean?" I thought to myself. "You will need to push yourself to be the best you can be, or your just a sorry mother fucker!" "Oh, right, she was the teacher who got lost in space. She probably picked up some lingo from 2012." I thought, albeit a bit unsure. Time travel. Go figure.