Having spent my entire life in La Plata, Maryland, I thought I’d seen it all. The biggest challenge I assumed I’d face was surviving the infamous drama of high school. Boy, was I off the mark? The genuine terror started not on the football field or at prom, but somewhere far more unexpected – in the mundane confines of our history class, with our seemingly ordinary teacher, Mr. Collins.

Gary, my only friend in La Plata High, was the first one to notice it. One day while we were in the middle of a lecture about the Revolutionary War, he nudged me, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Dude, did you see that?” He whispered, pointing subtly at Mr. Collins.

“See what?” I whispered back, scanning our unsuspecting teacher.

“His… his arm! It… it turned green and claw-like for a second. Like some… some monster’s arm!”

I laughed, assuming it was one of his pranks. But Gary was serious, too serious. That’s when we started our mission, “Operation Alien Out.”

We began watching Mr. Collins closely, looking for any sign that he was not of this world. It wasn’t long before we saw it. A quick shift in his eyes, a shimmer of green on his skin, a furtive glance when he thought no one was looking.

One day we decided to confront him. We stayed after class, my heart pounding in my chest as we approached his desk.

“Mr. Collins, are you… not from around here?” Gary asked, trying to sound casual.

Mr. Collins looked up from his papers, a bemused smile on his face. “Well, I moved here from Boston a few years ago, so I guess you could say that.”

Before we could press further, the school bell rang, and he hurriedly packed up his things, leaving us standing there, more suspicious than ever.

As days turned into weeks, our efforts to expose him became more daring. We tried to photograph his green arm, but it always returned to normal just in time. We even tried to trap him in a classroom with makeshift ultraviolet light, hoping it would trigger his alien form.

Each time, Mr. Collins narrowly escaped. He was always one step ahead, always just out of reach. He began to sense our suspicion, and started avoiding us, always keeping a wary eye on our movements.

One day, exhausted by our fruitless efforts and the constant tension, Gary and I met at our secret hideout behind the school.

“Caesar,” Gary sighed, “Maybe we should stop. We’ve tried everything, and we’ve got nothing.”

I hated to admit it, but he was right. We had no proof, no evidence. All we had were our suspicions and a few strange occurrences. I looked at Gary, his face filled with defeat.

“Alright,” I conceded, “we give up.”

And just like that, we stopped Operation Alien Out. Mr. Collins went back to being our history teacher, nothing more, nothing less.

But even now, every so often, I’ll catch him staring out the window, his eyes distant and filled with longing. Every now and then, I’ll see a quick flash of green on his skin, a flicker of something otherworldly.

Maybe he’s just an eccentric history teacher from Boston. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s a visitor from a world far beyond ours. One thing’s for sure though, La Plata High School is anything but ordinary, and I have a feeling that the history class is only the beginning.