Shadowed

Kaela

For the past week, something has felt… wrong.

It’s in the way the air shifts when I walk into a room, like someone has just stepped out of sight. It’s in the corners of my vision, where shadows seem to move before I can focus on them. It’s in the quiet moments—brushing my teeth, tying my shoes, packing my bag—when a chill crawls up my spine for no clear reason.

Someone is watching me. I don’t know who, or why, but the sensation follows me everywhere.

I try to shake it off as I walk downstairs, but my mother’s voice slices through the uneasy silence.

“Kaela Primrose, get down here!”

She’s angry. More than angry—furious. I’ve heard her annoyed, irritated, even disappointed, but this… this is new. My hand tightens on the railing for a second before I force myself to keep moving.

Each step feels heavier than the last.

When I reach the living room, she’s perched on the edge of the couch with her glasses low on the bridge of her nose. That’s her serious look, the one she saves for report cards and doctor calls. My heart sinks. If she’s wearing those glasses, whatever’s about to happen is already decided.

“I just got a call from your school,” she says, her tone controlled in that way that’s somehow worse than yelling. “Do you want to tell me where you were during seventh period?”

My mind scrambles for an answer I should’ve prepared. Seventh period. The period I skipped. The mall. The icy drink. The hour wandering through stores like nothing mattered.

My palms feel sweaty. “I… I was in the counselor’s office,” I say.

The lie feels flimsy the second it leaves my mouth. My face betrays me almost instantly—heat rising beneath my skin, my cheeks flushing. It always happens when I lie. I hate that about myself.

My mom notices. She always does.

“No,” she says, firm and final. “You’re grounded. No going out unless it’s for school or a friend’s house.”

There it is. The verdict. No discussion, no appeal.

But as the words settle, something else stands out to me—small but important: a friend’s house. She didn’t say no exceptions. She didn’t say no visits, no plans, no leaving the house at all. She left a door open, even if she didn’t mean to.

I keep my expression neutral, but inside, a spark lights.

Grounded doesn’t mean trapped. And if she thinks this is going to keep me confined and obedient, then she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks.

“Okay,” I say quietly, because arguing won’t help. Not right now.

Mom sighs and pushes her glasses up, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Maybe she thinks this is the end of it.

But the uneasy feeling from before creeps back in, stronger now that the house is silent again. Like something is listening. Waiting.

I turn toward the stairs, already planning how I’m going to use that tiny loophole she left open.

She might regret giving me that freedom.

And whoever’s been watching me… I have a feeling they’re not going to wait much longer to make themselves known.