Page 48 of Shadowed Whispers

Even though I rushed out on them last night and hid like the coward I’m being right now, I can’t deny the fact that I actually didn’t hate the attention or the fact that they all focused on me while Matteo strummed me like one of his favorite string instruments.

Just thinking about it sends a shudder through my body.

No. I won’t think about men right now.

We are hiding from those kinds of people.

The ones with dicks.

Don’t think, just knock. I quickly rap on the door three times, knowing damn well that I will, in fact, have to eventually figure out how I’m feeling. Preferably while no guys, I mean dicks, are near me.

Professor Blackwood opens the door to his office, wearing a lime-green cardigan, a stark contrast to his usual somber attire. “Miss Vale!” He beams, his voice carrying a warmth that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He reaches out a hand, which I tentatively shake, and he clasps it with both of his a little too tightly.

“I’ve been eager to meet with you one-on-one, Frankie. Your previous advisor mentioned your unique perspective on technology—a rare quality here,” he says, holding onto my hand just a moment longer than comfortable. His grip feels calculating, as if trying to subtly assert dominance.

I try to free my hand, but he tightens his grip slightly. “That’s wonderful,” I reply, pulling my hand away more forcefully this time and crossing my arms protectively. “But I’m curious, Professor, why the sudden interest in me?”

Blackwood’s smile falters momentarily, revealing a glimpse of his true intent. “Every student is a puzzle, Ms. Vale, and I pride myself on unlocking their fullest potential.”

Right. What potential? In my mind, I’m a C student in everything but tech, where I excel. Could he be referring to that?

“Come in, come in.” He waves me into his cluttered office. “It isn’t much, but it’s what we have to work with this afternoon.”

His desk is against one wall, jutting out to allow for a barrier between us. I move toward the chair across from his desk, letting my book bag sag to the floor. Along the right wall and behind his desk in an L pattern are his bookshelves, which are double-stuffed.

“Go ahead, have a seat.” He points to the worn, threadbare chair, the black looking as if other students have slowly scratched off the paint. “Your academic record is impressive.”

He doesn’t move away until I lower down, placing my hands in my lap. Then and only then does he head to his cushy chair behind his desk.

“I suspect you’ve barely scratched the surface of what you are capable of.” He beams at me, his fingertips pressed together. “But right now, I want to talk about how you’re fitting in here at Shadow Locke.”

I feel my brow rise before I can get control of my face. Clearing my throat, I ask for clarification. “What do you mean?”

“Well, how are you socializing?” He’s looking at me with far too much interest. It’s almost unsettling. I hate the way he’s looking at me, as though I’m a bug under a microscope.

I scoff, a laugh spilling out of my lips before I can bite it back. “Socializing?”

“Yes, socializing.” He winks at me, and I can’t tell if he is trying too hard or if he just has this strange, slimy vibe to him. I’m betting on the latter. “I saw you with Matteo yesterday.”

Who didn’t?

Luckily, there is a distinct knock on the door a moment before it opens, and the desk jockey walks in. His cruel eyes flicker to mine a microsecond before he nods to the professor.

“Ah, you’ve met my teaching assistant, Dorian Gray.” He waves at him like the guy is on display. “If it doesn’t bother you, I’d like him to sit in on your sessions. I have a feeling you two will be plotting against me before long.”

What a strange thing to say.

Dorian doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he leans against the bookshelf, somehow making it look like he and he alone is holding up the entire thing. Those cruel eyes of his fall on me and somehow make me feel even more like a bug under a microscope.

Scratch that, he makes me feel like I’m under a magnifying glass.

“I was just asking Ms. Vale how she is socializing.” The professor returns right to the topic I hoped he’d forget.

“I’m not great with socializing.” I twitch in my seat and resist looking at the clock on the wall.

Dorian doesn’t react, but Professor Blackwood leans forward and gives me one of those looks I thought was only reserved for therapists and parents. “Well, Ms. Vale, it is very important that we look into why you aren’t into socializing. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but the bonds that we make in college can last a lifetime.”

I don’t know what it is about this conversation, but it feels off. Under my feet, I feel my shadow slowly pull in. Hopefully, I don’t look like Peter Pan tossing my shadow all around. “That’s fine.” I brush off his words. “I don’t plan on making lifetime bonds.”

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