Teacher Campus Short Stories & Novels

My online boyfriend is my university professor and the future werewolf king, Sarek. And me? I’m Mila—just a human hunter’s descendant scraping by in the cracks of an era where species coexist in uneasy peace. What he doesn’t know is that his online girlfriend, whom he wishes to tear apart a thousand times over, is sitting in the very last row of his classroom. The online relationship was never meant to be real. It started as revenge to get back at him for failing me. But who would’ve thought this werewolf was so starved for affection that he’d fall deeper and deeper in love? Again and again, he pushed to meet in person. However, if we ever really met face to face, I’d be torn apart and swallowed whole—bones and all. To save my life, I made a split-second decision and broke up with him. The result? The “abandoned” werewolf king lost his mind. Classes dragged on for three extra hours, and homework increased fivefold. For the sake of my classmates’ mental and physical health, getting back together… wasn’t entirely impossible. There was only one condition: he could never find out who I really am.

I've worked as a university dorm supervisor for five years. I've seen all kinds of outrageous student behavior, from sneaking out over walls to secretly tampering with the dorm's electricity and hiding pets in their rooms. During the holiday break, I'm making my usual rounds to check on the students staying on campus. In the last dorm room, all four young women are lying in bed, fast asleep. The doors and windows are shut, all four students are accounted for, and the electricity records show nothing unusual. I'm just about to sign off on my inspection sheet when something catches my eye on the bottom bunk. I stare at the wrinkles in the bedsheet for three seconds, a cold sweat breaking out across my back. Pretending nothing is wrong, I quietly step out of the room. I close the door, lock it from the outside, and call the police immediately. Three minutes later, the entire dorm building is sealed off. Police cars and ambulances arrive at the same time.

The day my scholarship came through, I was about to send the money to my grandfather in the hospital. Then I suddenly heard a voice. [The Transfer System says that as long as someone eats or drinks something I give them, I can move their money away without anyone noticing.] [Julian just got his scholarship. He'll make the perfect test subject.] [If the transfer works, I can use the money to buy those sneakers I've been wanting.] That voice clearly belonged to my roommate, Caleb Foster. Puzzled, I was just about to turn around to confirm it when a bottle of water was set on my desk. Caleb smiled warmly and said, "Julian, thanks for picking up my package yesterday. Here, have some water." A second later, his delighted inner voice rang out again. [Drink it. Drink it. Once you drink this water, your money will be mine!] Seeing the expectation and greed he couldn't hide in his eyes, fury rose from the bottom of my heart. He knew full well that scholarship was my grandfather's life-saving money. I took the bottle with a blank expression. He wanted to transfer my money away? Then I'd make sure he transferred more than he could handle.

During study hall, everyone in the classroom was going through their homework. Meanwhile, I had my earphones plugged in, playing a mobile game. My teacher and classmates all noticed this, but no one stopped me. After all, I was the state's top scorer. The headmaster gave me privileges, and I could spend my time how I wanted. However, the new dean of students had no idea. He snatched my phone away and bellowed, "What's your name? What do you think you're doing? Everyone else is working hard, so why aren't you?" With a deadpan face, I answered, "My name's Finn Wood." "You're at the top of your year, right? Just because you have good grades doesn't mean you get to disrespect your teachers! Everyone else is putting in the effort, and sooner or later, they'll catch up to you! You'll write a 5000-word reflection, and you're not going to bed until it's done!" I wrote two copies of the reflection. One for the dean, and the other for the headmaster. The reflection only had one string of numbers written on repeat. "154-XXX-XXX." Only the headmaster realized what number that was. It belonged to the headmaster of another high school.

The night before our big offline meetup, my roommate took one look at my internet boyfriend's photo and declared it was a fake. "Using a stolen photo for an online romance? He's definitely insecure and too ugly to show his real face!" The next day, my boyfriend texted: [Sorry, something came up at the last minute. Can you wait half an hour?] I breathed a sigh of relief because I had just been notified about an exclusive expert lecture on campus. Word was, the speaker was an academic powerhouse, and the university had paid a fortune to secure him. I snagged a seat in the front row. But the moment I looked up at the podium, my stomach dropped. Why did this famous scholar look so much like my boyfriend in the "stolen photo"?

Dad is my homeroom teacher. He loves using me to assert his authority. He firmly believes that the more I suffer, the more the other students will fear him, which, in turn, gives him more authority. When I help my classmate pass an eraser to their friend, Dad slaps me in front of everyone until my face is swollen. When I sneak a bite of my friend's leftover chips after class is over, he drags me to the podium and pokes my lips with needles until I'm bleeding profusely. Later, the school's head of discipline, Mary Milner, catches a pair of students dating on school grounds. Dad insists that I'm one of the culprits. He doesn't even give me a chance to defend myself and drags me to the hallway and strips me of my clothes. He then heads to Mary's office and says with a smile, "My apologies, Ms. Milner. It's my fault for failing to raise Zack properly. Don't worry. I'll definitely teach him a lesson he won't forget this time!" Mary frowns and asks, "Zack Curtis? He's not involved in this dating incident." Dad is briefly stunned before he nonchalantly says, "It doesn't matter. I'll still punish him as a warning to the others. Besides, Zack always breaks the rules. He has already received countless punishments. What's one more?" However, Dad doesn't know that every time he punishes me, I secretly deduct a point from him in my heart. I've already deducted a total of 100 points. I make my way to the hallway on the sixth floor and jump out of the window without hesitation. I wonder if my death will be enough to assert Dad's authority.

An hour before the SATs, our homeroom teacher suddenly had a medical emergency. Before he was rushed away, he handed the folder containing everyone's admission slips to Leo Jordan—the notorious, pretty-boy troublemaker at school. Thirty minutes before check-in closed, he still hadn't shown up. By then, the rest of us were standing outside the exam center, completely freaking out. Without that folder, none of us could get in. I rang his phone until he finally picked up. I begged him to hurry and bring the folder over. Everyone was still waiting for him outside the exam center, after all. He scoffed on the other end. "Just because you're at the top of the class doesn't mean you get to boss me around. I'm getting tattooed right now, and I'm not leaving until it's done." I nearly lost my mind. There was no time to argue. I grabbed a few guys from our class, and we ran nearly two miles to the tattoo store. By the time we got there, the artist was finally finishing the last bit of color on the huge dragon covering Leo's back. I thought, 'Thank God. We can finally grab the folder and go.' Just then, Leo stood up. He unbuckled his belt and yanked his pants down, revealing his hairy legs. "What's the rush?" he said. "We haven't even started on my legs yet." He turned back to the tattoo artist nonchalantly. "Okay, the dragon and tiger are done. The legs are next. Put Bugs Bunny on one leg and Lola Bunny on the other. They're my favorite couple."

When I missed the passing grade by one point, my best friend dragged me to a bar. She said there was nothing a drink couldn't fix. I drank until I blacked out. When I woke up, a man lay beside me, all cool eyes and tightly leashed control. I left two hundred dollars on the nightstand and ran for my life. I thought I'd never see him again. Then, on the first day of the new semester, the class I'd failed had a new professor. I looked up at the podium. The man from that night stood at the lectern, opened the roster, and read my name in a cool, even voice. "Vivian Harper, come see me in my office tomorrow." The color drained from my face. Convinced he was here for payback, I stayed up all night writing a transfer application. The next day, I clutched my transfer application all the way to his office. Before I could work up the nerve to speak, he pulled out a sheet of paper and studied me with an unreadable expression. "I've read the assignment you turned in." "Care to explain why a positive pregnancy test was bound into your term paper?"

Because I have a baby face, people often mistake me for a student. On the first day of the new semester, I have barely stepped onto campus when a well-dressed young man stops me. I look down and realize we're wearing the same outfit. The freshmen around us stop and start whispering. "Isn't that Harvey Jetson?" "I heard he's a freshman in the School of Finance this year. The Jetson family donated 30 million dollars to the school. Even the board of directors personally welcomed him." "How dare a nobody wear the same shirt as Mr. Jetson? They must be asking for trouble." I don't pay any attention to their comments. After all, the Jetson family hardly qualifies as an influential or powerful family in my eyes. When I don't move aside, Harvey takes off his sunglasses and looks me up and down. He sneers, "How could you wear the same outfit as me? Take it off!" I glance at the time. There are still 40 minutes until the new president's inauguration ceremony. "Sorry, I'm in a hurry."

My father, Richard Hayes, was the school principal, and my mother, Catherine Hayes, was the head of student affairs. They treated every student equally, earning a reputation as the fairest people in the school. Everyone, that is, except their own daughter, Madison Hayes. To avoid any appearance of favoritism, they refused to acknowledge me as their daughter at school. Even when I was bullied, they insisted it was my own fault. “Did they really bully you? We’ve never seen anything like that. “You can’t make false accusations just because we’re your parents. That wouldn’t be fair to the other students.” Then, one day, I was bullied right in front of them. In the end, I fell from an upper floor and crashed to the ground at their feet. Only then did they finally believe me…

When I picked my son up from school, he told me he hadn’t been able to fall asleep during naptime. He said he’d seen someone who wasn’t dressed like the teachers walking around the classroom, staring at each child while they slept. I had access to the classroom cameras and checked them regularly throughout the day, so I figured it was just his imagination and didn’t think much of it. Then Vivian’s mom, whose daughter was in the same class, suddenly messaged me privately. “Vivian said she saw a teacher she didn’t recognize watching her sleep at noon. It scared her. But I checked the security footage, and no one entered the classroom during naptime.” “I noticed David opened his eyes at one point, so I wanted to ask if he mentioned seeing anything.” My heart skipped a beat. I immediately pulled up the classroom footage again. After watching it carefully and confirming I hadn’t missed anything, I was just about to reply to Vivian’s mom when the class group chat suddenly blew up. “My child said there was a teacher he didn’t know walking around the classroom while they were sleeping. How are you people running this place?” The teacher immediately responded, insisting nothing like that had happened, and posted the security footage in the group chat. But then the parents of five other children began chiming in one after another. “My kid said the same thing. He saw a teacher he didn’t recognize.” “Then... what exactly is going on?”

During a public lecture on derivatives, I hurl my water bottle hard at the blackboard. Under the stunned gazes of the professor and my classmates, I stand up and say, "Seriously? Is there a need to explain a problem this simple? Move on to the next one. How did you bunch of idiots get into the accelerated program? How are you even worthy of sitting in the same classroom as me?" I turn my head and see my mother, who is standing outside the classroom to accompany me as I attend the lecture. She has a pleased and approving look on her face. A reporter sitting in the back quickly points the camera at me. I smile and call out toward the door, "Mom, I need to pee. Come take me to the restroom."

A rare chase figure popped out of my blind box and somehow bound itself to me through an empathy link. Two days later, the doll vanished. During class, I suddenly felt two warm hands stroking my neck. A shiver ran through me. Damn it! Whoever has my empathy doll is putting their hands all over it. Before I could react, those hands slid lower and squeezed my breasts. A rush of tingling pleasure flooded my body. I reached out to stop them without thinking. The sudden movement made the cold, serious young professor at the front of the room turn to look at me. With one hand in his pocket, he pointed at the formula on the board. "Dalia, come and solve it." I had barely taken two steps when a finger suddenly brushed against the sensitive slit between my legs. I wasn't used to being touched, so I couldn't take the sudden stimulation. My knees buckled, and a moan slipped out…

When Mom punishes me, her palms are sweaty. I know she's even more nervous than I am. She's scared that others will accuse her of favoring me. When the rest of my classmates perform poorly in class, all she does is tell them to review the lesson and do a few more exercises. But when I'm the one who does badly, she points at the field outside the window. Despite the burning midday heat of June, she commands, "Julia Swanson! You're going to stand out on the field and memorize all the words you messed up. You're not allowed to come back in until you know everything by heart!" Everyone in the classroom looks at me. One of my classmates mutters, "Ms. Campbell is being way too hard on her own daughter." Mom hears that comment, and her eyes flash with satisfaction. That's precisely what she wants everyone to see. No one will dare say she's biased toward me if she punishes me the most harshly out of all the students. "Why are you still here?" she barks at me. "Get out. You think you can get into a top college with grades like yours?" The classmate sitting next to me tugs on my sleeve and whispers, "Why don't you try asking her to go easier on you? It's blazing hot outside." I shake my head. The most futile thing I can ever do is ask Mom to go easier on me in school. She prides herself on her professionalism as a teacher. It's a matter of principle to her. But she has forgotten that it's over 104 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Not wanting to disappoint her, I stand out in the sun. The blazing hot air dries up my sweat—and my tears. Eventually, my vision goes blurry. The world seems to spin around me… As I collapse onto the ground, I hear Mom tell her colleague, "I'll just get a popsicle as a gesture and bring that stubborn daughter of mine back inside later." She has no idea that I won't be able to accept her olive branch anymore.

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

When I see someone asking for help in an assignment related to the entrepreneur course on the college forum, I join the group chat using a student account. I even help refine several financial models and market strategies because of my job's nature. Everyone in the group chat is excited, to say the least. Every day, they keep calling me a genius while urging me to improve the details of the whole assignment. Two months later, the assignment's quality is very close to perfection. But the group chat suddenly goes silent. I scroll through the chat history out of curiosity, only to find out that the students have already created another group chat. "That senior isn't an official teammate of ours. Let's not tell her about us using this assignment for an upcoming competition." "Precisely! Our names are the only ones on the list! She'd better not steal the credit during tomorrow's finals!" "With one less person involved, we each get an additional tens of thousands of dollars' worth of rewards!" As I look at the screen, I just let out a soft chuckle. It appears that this isn't an assignment at all. But unfortunately for these students, I happen to be one of the judges sitting at the judging station tomorrow.

At Blackwood Academy, everyone knows I'm a Null. No magic. I'm a mocked freak. Nobody likes me. Nobody except Shadow. We’ve been online dating for a year. Every night, he texted me his darkest desires through the screen. [I can't wait to meet you. I want to pin you down and be inside you, My Light.] I craved graduation. I wanted to see him. But today, he sent a photo. It showed an open, ancient spellbook. Glowing runes covered the pages. [My Light, I just finished work. I want my reward. Preferably a naked photo.] I blushed. I was about to type "tonight". Then my eyes locked on the unique black bookshelf behind the book. It was the signature bookshelf of Blackwood Academy's Restricted Section. My heart skipped a beat. A freakish coincidence. I go to this exact academy. The Restricted Section. Only professors have access! I froze. My mind went completely blank. Is this a sick joke? My secret online lover. The guy obsessed with my body. Is he right here? Wait. Is he a professor at my school?!

My dad always calls me a lazy bum. It is because I often fall asleep without warning. I sleep in class, while eating, and even while crossing the street. My homeroom teacher, Yvonne Smith, suggests that he take me to a hospital for an examination. But Dad scoffs and says, "He's just staying up all night playing on his phone." After that, he confiscates my phone and removes the lock from my bedroom door. Every time I get sleepy, he slaps me. I don't want to be hit, and I don't want to make Dad angry. So, I start pinching my thighs, pulling out my hair, and even rubbing hand sanitizer spray under my nose to stay awake. But whenever the overwhelming drowsiness hits, nothing can stop it. On the day of the final exams, Dad happens to be one of the invigilators. I bite my lip until it bleeds and silently beg myself inwardly, "Just this once, please stay awake." Still, I fail to fight off the sleepiness. Suddenly, someone flips over my desk. The chair tips with it, and I crash to the floor. My temple slams into the corner of the desk, and darkness instantly floods my vision. Dad stands over me, furious and disappointed. "Zach Davies, are you really so obsessed with sleeping that you don't even care about your final exams? If you're that lazy, then stay down there and keep sleeping!" I lie sprawled across my exam paper as my vision slowly fades away. Dad, I think I am going to sleep for a very long time…

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."