Page 18 of First Echo

When we reached the top, I felt a jolt of panic.

The run looked even steeper from up here, a daunting expanse of white stretching out below us.

Around me, everyone was unloading from the lift with practiced ease, skiers pushing off with their poles, snowboarders gliding away on one foot before stopping to strap in their second binding.

I managed to slide off the lift without falling, which felt like a small victory.

Sam stayed close, waiting patiently as I awkwardly lowered myself to the snow to secure my other foot to the board.

Victoria, Audrey, and Julian were already a few yards away, waiting with varying degrees of impatience.

"Ready?" Sam asked once I'd finished strapping in.

"As I'll ever be," I replied, trying to sound confident as I pushed myself up to standing.

The board felt unwieldy beneath me, a foreign object I couldn't quite control. I wobbled precariously, arms outstretched for balance, feeling ridiculous and exposed. A small child zoomed past on skis, making it look effortlessly easy, which only added to my frustration.

"Just take it slow," Sam advised, hovering nearby. "Remember what the guy said—weight on your front foot to go straight, shift to your heels to slow down."

I nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed off.

For about five seconds, it wasn't terrible.

I was moving, staying upright, the board sliding across the snow in a more or less straight line.

But then the slope steepened slightly, my speed increased, and panic set in.

I tried to remember what I was supposed to do—shift my weight to my heels?

Or was it my toes? My body seemed to freeze, unable to translate thought into action.

Before I knew what was happening, the front edge of my board caught in the snow, stopping abruptly while the rest of me kept going. I pitched forward, arms flailing uselessly, and slammed face-first into the snow with enough force to knock the wind out of me.

The fall was spectacular and humiliating. I slid a few feet on my chest, snow finding its way into my collar, my gloves, somehow even under my goggles. When I finally came to a stop, I was dangerously close to the edge of the run, where the groomed snow gave way to deeper powder dotted with trees.

"Madeline!" Sam's voice rang out, filled with concern. I heard the scrape of his skis as he quickly made his way to me.

But it was Julian's reaction that really stung—a loud, unmistakable burst of laughter that carried across the slope. "That didn't even take five minutes!" he called out, not bothering to hide his amusement. "I believe that's twenty bucks you owe me, sis!"

I pushed myself up slowly, brushing snow from my clothes, my cheeks burning with embarrassment beneath my cold-reddened skin. Sam reached me, his face a mask of worry.

"Are you okay? That was a hard fall."

"I'm fine," I said through gritted teeth, though my wrists ached from trying to break my fall and my pride was severely bruised.

The fact that other skiers were slowing down to check out the commotion only made it worse.

I imagined them all laughing at me, the girl who thought she could just pick up a snowboard and master it immediately.

"Maybe we should stick to skiing today," Sam suggested gently, helping me brush snow from my back.

His kindness, normally so comforting, felt patronizing in that moment. I didn't want his pity or his help. I wanted to be left alone to deal with my humiliation in private.

"Just go on without me," I said, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. "I'll catch up later."

"I'm not leaving you here," he protested. "Not after that fall."

"Sam, I'm serious," I insisted, my tone hardening. "Just go. I need a minute, okay?"

He hesitated, clearly torn between respecting my wishes and his desire to help. Julian made the decision easier by sliding over, still smirking.

"Come on, man," he said to Sam. "She's fine, just her ego's bruised. Let's hit that double black before it gets too crowded."

Sam glanced between us, uncertainty written all over his face. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure," I replied firmly. "Go. Have fun."

After another moment's hesitation, he nodded, giving my arm a gentle squeeze before pushing off.

Julian shot me one last amused look before following, already launching into some story about a worse wipeout he'd once seen.

Victoria and Audrey skied past with sympathetic but slightly smug expressions, neither bothering to stop.

I watched them go, a mix of relief and abandonment washing over me. At least now I could figure out how to get down the mountain without an audience. I was considering just unstrapping my feet and walking down when I heard a voice behind me—a voice I recognized immediately.

"Are you okay?"

I turned slowly, already knowing who I'd see.

Great. Perfect. Of all the people to witness my humiliation, it had to be her.

Brooke stood a few feet away, her snowboard tucked under one arm, her expression a careful mixture of concern and wariness.

It was clear she hadn't realized it was me at first—she'd just stopped to help what she thought was a stranger who had taken a bad fall.

The kind of decent thing a genuinely good person would do.

I watched as recognition dawned in her eyes, her expression shifting from general concern to something more complicated when she realized it was me sprawled in the snow.

There was a flash of surprise, followed by what might have been amusement quickly masked by renewed concern.

But there was no mockery in her gaze, no satisfied smirk at my failure.

Just genuine concern, which somehow made it worse.