Jasmine
At first, I thought I was imagining it.
I was crossing the quad after my final lecture when the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood up. I had the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching me.
I slowed near the fountain and glanced around. Students moved in every direction, hurrying toward the library, the parking lot, or their next class.
A group sat on the grass beneath one of the trees, laughing over something on a phone. Two girls walked behind me, deep in conversation, while a cyclist cut through the crowd without paying attention to anyone in his path.
Nothing stood out. No one was keeping an eye on me, or at least no one I could see, so I tightened my grip on my bag and kept walking.
After Jason’s confrontation and Dean Whitmore’s warning, I had spent days
