Mixed—chapter one: the bug

I woke up, my feet brushing against the carpet as I pushed out of bed. Beside my uniform, my Luminor glowed a steady green, brightening as I shook off sleep.
Footsteps echoed in the hall. My stone pulsed red—then black—before settling back into emerald, like it was warning me but unsure of what.
I ran a hand through my light ash-brown hair, the black streaks catching the light. Sliding on my semi-circle glasses, I tied my hair up—barely long enough to manage. My name’s Ryder. Sometimes I don’t know if where I live is a dream… or a curse.
Portals tear open here. People vanish. Bodies turn up in impossible places, always alive but never remembering what happened. 
They say I’ve been different since I was four, when the black streaks appeared. My mom died on the job before I ever learned her stone’s color. My dad had a bluestone—loyal to the end. He died with her. I try not to think about it.
I straightened my glasses and caught something in the corner of my eye. A black bug.
My Luminor flashed red.
I turned quickly, stomping it under my shoe. A wet crunch burst against the floor. Purple blood spread in a sticky stain.  I froze. Bugs weren’t supposed to exist on campus—let alone bleed purple.   “Gross,” I muttered, scraping my shoe against the tile. My Luminor calmed back to green.  I grabbed my uniform jacket and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The campus footpath was empty. Too empty.