Page 12 of Shadowed Whispers

“Victoria,” I say, drawing out her name like a shield to guard against the pain it invokes. The urge to flee, to demand a different room, is overwhelming but futile—I’ve tried that route before.

Tori, with her flawless blonde hair and curated beauty, stands as a stark contrast to her mother, Morrow Bay’s most respected cop. Her presence fills the room, and not in a good way. When she speaks, her words lack the substance and sincerity her appearance promises.

“Oh my gosh!” The squeal instantly gives me a migraine. I know that voice.

“Amanda.” Sitting on the end of Tori’s meticulously made-up bed is Amanda, the head cheerleader, student body president, and epitome of preppy sophistication. The soft hum of the air conditioner mingles with the faint scent of vanilla perfume that seems to cling to her like a second skin. She was my roommate last year, and I did not miss her.

She hops up, clapping her hands as she steps in front of me. She’s shorter, but not by much. Her eyes are a pale blue, almost icy, like shards of glacier glass under a winter sky, and her short brown hair hangs in perfect waves to her shoulders. Her oval face is flawless, her makeup impeccable, and yet there’s just something about her—something too polished, too poised—that has always rubbed me the wrong way.

She’s too perfect, too fake. I instantly hated her the first time I saw her, and that emotion hasn’t changed.

“Look what the poor dragged in.” And there she is, the third in their trio of popularity. She might be the meanest girl of them all. I haven’t decided yet.

“Chloe Beckett.” I turn to her, sitting in the corner on the floor to the left between the bed and the closet. She doesn’t even bother to look up at me, her eyes glued to the glossy pages of the magazine in front of her, the slick paper rustling quietly in her hands.

I once thought we could be friends. We both stand out like sore thumbs around here, except Chloe made sure I knew that we weren’t the same and never would be. Tall and littered with freckles, Chloe has a foreign appeal to her, especially with her long red hair that cascades down her back like a fiery waterfall and elven features sharp enough to rival the legends of ancient lore. She is undeniably beautiful, and she knows it, wielding it like a weapon.

“Francesca Vale,” she says, again not once looking up at me.

Ignoring the three of them, I turn to my side of the room, which is barren save for the furniture the school provides. There’s a single window that sits in the center, dividing the room in two, and the afternoon sun filters through in lazy beams that dance across the cold floor. A small end table squats under it, looking lonely without any personal touches.

Under the twin bed is a set of drawers, and at the end is a desk. There isn’t a chair, but it’s just as well. My favorite part about Shadow Locke is the closet, which always comes locked. The lock clicks open with a satisfying snick as I use my key card to access my private space. Inside is my uniform, shoes, fresh linens, and towels. All my books are here, neatly arranged and ready to start the semester since I already signed up for my classes at the end of last year when I had to finally pick a major. A safe sits inside, and on this one, I can set the lock.

A small wave of disappointment sweeps through me that the rooms are much the same as the others, although this one is just a bit larger. At least next year, I should get my own room.

“I’m uninviting you to dinner,” Tori says, far too close to me. Her voice is like a cold breeze, chilling the already frigid air between us.

I guess it was just far too much to ask her to leave me the hell alone. “I work.” I sink to my knees and begin to pull out the few belongings I have. Each item—a few books, some clothes—feels heavier with the burden of isolation.

“Well, I’m just making sure you know.”

“I know,” I repeat, my focus fixed on the belongings in front of me, hoping my disinterest will be enough to send her away, but Tori being Tori doesn’t take the hint.

“Good, because it wouldn’t do for you to show up, thinking you’re welcome.” Her tone is icy, each word delivered with precision aimed to wound. I pause, my hands stilling over a textbook, the sharp edge of her words slicing through my attempt at indifference.

I stand and face her, my patience wearing thin. “Tori, why do you even care? It’s not like we’re friends.” The air between us crackles with an unspoken rivalry, our history and tension mingling into a toxic perfume.

She steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “Because, Frankie, this island isn’t big enough for the two of us, and I want to make sure you understand your place in it.” Her voice lowers, threading a vein of challenge through the air.

I want to slap the smug smile off her pretty face.

Laughing, I can’t help the disbelief that colors my tone. “My place? Tori, we’re not in some medieval court. This is college. Grow up.” That’s something I doubt she will ever do. The laughter doesn’t quite mask the sting of her words or the loneliness that tugs at the corners of my heart, a constant companion in the drama that unfolds around me.

Her laugh mirrors mine, but there’s nothing warm in it. “Oh, Frankie, you have so much to learn, but don’t worry, I’ll be here every step of the way to teach you.”

Turning away, I hide the frustration brewing inside me. Tori’s games are tiresome, but I refuse to let her see how much her words affect me. The cool air brushes against my skin as I feign indifference. “Looking forward to it,” I say over my shoulder, the lie as bitter as the truth. Once again, I sink to the floor and pull out my clothing. The coffee-stained shirt goes into the laundry basket. I’ll have to do laundry more than others here because I just don’t have as much. The mundane task briefly grounds me in the reality of everyday chores, a sharp difference from the social games unfolding around me.

Tori’s voice follows me, a shadow I can’t shake off. “You know, Frankie, not everyone is meant for Shadow Locke. It’s special for the... chosen ones.” Her words carry an insinuation, a nudge toward a secret I’m not privy to. She does this every year, and I’ve spent countless hours wandering these grounds. There is nothing here. It’s an old school on an island. Aside from what I told Leo about the caves and tunnels, the secrets that Tori alludes to don’t exist.

I stop, my curiosity piqued despite my better judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, turning to face her, the weight of her gaze heavy with unspoken knowledge.

She smiles like a cat with a mouse under its paw. “Oh, nothing much. Just that Shadow Locke isn’t just any university. It has layers, Frankie. Some seen, some... not so much.” She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And not everyone gets to see beyond the veil. Only those who truly belong.”

I look beyond her to Amanda and Chloe, who listen closely. Even Chloe dropped her magazine to tune in.

The implication dangles between us, a veiled assertion that I am an outsider, unknowingly standing on the precipice of a world I can’t enter. “And you’re saying I don’t belong,” I state, more of a fact than a question.

Tori’s smile widens, as if she’s pleased by my understanding. “Oh, I don’t say anything. The island does. Shadow Locke has a way of... sorting out its own, and trust me, it knows who belongs and who doesn’t.” Her eyes glint with a challenge, a dare, to prove her wrong.

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