Page 2 of First Echo

MADELINE

I was so tired when I woke up this morning.

The sheer coldness of the early hours seemed to creep into my bones, making every part of me want to stay buried under the blankets for as long as humanly possible.

My alarm had been blaring for several minutes, an irritating buzz that felt like it was echoing right inside my skull.

So, obviously, I snoozed it, thinking I’d allow myself just another two minutes of precious sleep.

Not exactly one of my finest moments. Because, as it turned out, my body decided it needed more than a couple of minutes.

When I finally opened my eyes again, nearly a full hour had passed, and my phone’s screen showed the time in unforgiving digits.

I realized with a jolt that I was already going to be late for school, even if I dashed out the door right then.

A quick glance outside my bedroom window showed a frost-covered lawn and a gray sky that looked heavy with unfallen snow.

It was so cold, and I wanted nothing more than to curl back up in bed.

But instead, I dragged myself to the bathroom.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a moment, taking in the slight puffiness around my eyes from lack of sleep.

My hair was an unruly mess, like I’d been thrashing around in my dreams. I reached for my brush, figuring there was no point in rushing if I was already going to be late.

I might as well take my time and try to look halfway decent.

If I’m doomed to be late, why not at least look good doing it?

By the time I was done with my hair—an elegantly tousled, blowout style that took me way too long—it was even later than I expected.

I just shrugged. I grabbed my makeup bag, dabbing a bit of concealer under my eyes and some light mascara on my lashes.

The process usually calmed me, like a small ritual that helped me get into the right headspace for the day.

I picked out a sleek outfit from my closet, something stylish but casual enough for school.

While zipping my jacket, I realized the house was still eerily quiet.

My parents had already left for work, as they often did around this time.

Julian, my twin brother, had probably gotten ready much earlier—or at least earlier than me.

I wondered if he had tried to wake me, but knowing him, he’d just let me sleep and then take the chance to mock me for being late later on. That’s typical Julian for you.

By the time I finally made it to school, I could feel the judgment in the hallway as I walked toward class.

The hall monitors didn’t even bother stopping me; they probably assumed I had some sort of free pass to do as I pleased.

My parents were well-known in this town, and I knew how that looked to everyone else, but I couldn’t care less at the moment.

Mr. Sinclair didn’t exactly look pleased when I walked in late, but he didn’t seem to care enough to say anything, either.

One glance at him told me he was probably too tired of the same old story—Madeline Hayes, rolling in whenever she felt like it.

He was a tall, lanky man with slightly graying hair, and he wore the same weary expression he usually did whenever I strolled in late.

I looked around and saw that Sam had saved me a seat, so I made my way over to the empty chair.

Sam was my closest friend, though most people found it surprising that we were as tight as we were, given how different we seemed.

As I walked, I noticed a few classmates flicking glances at me.

Maybe they were thinking about how irresponsible I was, or maybe they admired the coat I was wearing.

Honestly, it was impossible to tell, and I wasn’t in the mood to analyze it too deeply.

“Morning, Sammy,” I said as I pulled out my chair. The legs made a dull scraping sound on the floor, causing one of our classmates in the next row to wince slightly. Sam wasn’t looking very happy. His posture was tense, and he was flipping through pages of a textbook in a slightly agitated way.

“Why are you so late? Again?” he said, clearly annoyed. I noticed the faintest wrinkle in his forehead, the one that showed up when he was exasperated by something I’d done.

“Well, good morning to you too, Mads,” I replied in a playful tone, as I sat down and took my books out of my bag.

“How did you sleep, Mads?” I gave him a bright, sarcastic smile.

I hated it when he judged me for such stupid little things.

Honestly, who cared if I was late to class?

As long as I didn’t fail, nobody would even care if I didn’t show up at all.

He should just be happy I showed up in the first place.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, Mads, but you can’t keep showing up this late or not showing up at all for this class,” he said, lowering his voice so that Mr. Sinclair wouldn’t overhear.

Sam tried to maintain an air of calm, but his impatience was clear.

I could see the muscle in his jaw tighten ever so slightly.

“Why not?” I said sarcastically, flipping open my book to a random page. It wasn’t like I was failing, at least not up until recently, so what was the big deal? I got a C on the last test, which was lower than my usual grades, but nothing to freak out about.

“You know why,” he insisted, tapping his pen on the desk in a steady rhythm.

“Your grades aren’t exactly good.”

I could see Sam getting more annoyed by the second, which I actually found pretty funny. In another part of my mind, I realized he was just looking out for me, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but be irritated by his fussiness.

“Okay? So what?” I scoffed. “I got a C on the last test. It’s not like he’s going to fail me.”

“You don’t know that, Mads,” he sighed, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Just try to be on time next time.”

In that moment, I wanted to yell at him to mind his own business.

But Sam had always been kind, helpful, and supportive.

I couldn’t do that to him. Not here, at least, not in front of all these people.

The classroom was buzzing with chatter as everyone waited for Mr. Sinclair to begin his lesson.

A few other students glanced our way, but nobody seemed overly interested in our conversation.

“Fine,” I sighed.

“I’ll try to make it on time next time.” I really, really wasn’t going to, but Sam didn’t need to know that.

“Thank you,” he said, a big smile spreading across his annoyingly handsome, chiseled face. Sometimes, I really despised how he could flash that grin and make me feel a little guilty for lying. But I pushed the thought aside and focused on Mr. Sinclair, who was rummaging through a stack of papers.

Finally, Mr. Sinclair got up and started passing back our tests, a habit he had of doling out our academic fates in front of the entire class. My heart gave a little lurch when I saw my grade. An F.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered in frustration, keeping my voice low so only Sam could hear.

I had never studied so hard for a test, and I got an F?

The last time, I got a C without even trying.

I didn’t show up to class, I didn’t do the homework, yet I somehow managed to pass.

And now that I actually studied, I got an F. What was happening to me?

“What is it?” Sam asked, leaning over to see my grade. I already knew what he was going to say.

With that same annoyingly handsome grin, he looked up at me, trying to hold back a laugh. His eyes sparkled with a certain triumph, and I could see he was attempting to look sympathetic, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“I told you so,” he said, letting the laughter out in a playful snort.

Suddenly, my twin brother, Julian, who sat just one row over, immediately spun his stupid, round, oversized head around and smirked. He had a habit of eavesdropping and jumping in at the worst times.

“Oh wow, tough break, Mads. Mom and Dad are not going to be happy,” he teased, like he’d been waiting for a chance to put me down.

I hated him. I hated his constant, annoying little comments.

But unfortunately, he was Sam’s best friend, which only complicated things.

So not only did I have to deal with him at home every single day—more than enough by itself—but I also had to see him at school since we ended up in the same friend group more often than not.

“Yeah, they’ll probably have the same reaction they had when you were born,” I shot back without missing a beat, my words dripping with sarcasm. In my mind, I gave myself a big congratulatory pat on the back for that one. Well done, Mads. Well done.

“Hey, don’t be mad at me, I got a B,” he said, mocking me with a wide grin. Julian’s eyes were dancing with mischief, enjoying every second of my frustration. He was always competing with me, and each time I slipped up, he took it as an opportunity to hammer home how he had it all figured out.

He and Sam had been best friends since kindergarten.

In a way, that was how I ended up meeting Sam in the first place.

I fell for my brother’s best friend—so cliché, I know.

But Sam was so genuinely good that it was impossible not to find myself drawn to him.

Even though Julian was just about the opposite of Sam, they somehow managed to remain close through all these years, as if their differences balanced out in a weird, cosmic way.

Once the class ended, we all grabbed our bags and made our way to the door, but Mr. Sinclair stopped me.

“Miss Hayes, a word please?” he said, his eyes narrowing a bit.

I paused, bracing myself. I wondered if it was about my grade or the fact that I was late again.

I really, really hoped it was the latter.

Sam looked at me, as if uncertain whether he should wait around.

I nodded my head toward the exit, giving him and Julian permission to head out.

They both left with that same concerned look on their faces, though Julian still had a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Mr. Sinclair, if this is about the fact that I was late this morning, I just overslept and it won’t happen again,” I said as quickly as possible, trying to sound sincere. Oh, it most definitely would.

“It’s not about that,” he replied, pursing his lips.

“Well, a bit, but the main problem is that you are going to fail this class, Madeline.”

I felt my heart sink lower than it had before. Me, Madeline Hayes, failing a class? How was that even possible? Sure, I’d skated by plenty of times without studying properly, but I always managed to scrape a passing grade.

“You’re a smart girl, and I do believe that with the right guidance, you can pass. So that’s why I’m assigning you a tutor,” he said, his tone decisive.

I stared at him in disbelief. A tutor? A tutor? As if almost failing a class wasn’t embarrassing enough, now I had to spend time with some random nerd who probably thought they were better than me? The idea of it made my stomach twist with anxiety and resentment.

“Mr. Sinclair, I don’t think—” I tried to protest, but he raised a hand to silence me.

“It’s already arranged, Madeline,” he said, his voice calm yet firm.

“If you don’t agree to the sessions, I have no choice but to inform your parents. And I know you don’t want that.”

He handed me a small piece of paper with a name scrawled on it.

I skimmed it, my eyes catching the faint handwriting that detailed where and when I was supposed to meet this tutor.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not. But as I slid the paper into my pocket, I couldn’t help but realize that I might not have much of a choice if I wanted to survive my parents’ wrath and maybe even salvage my grade.

Outside the classroom, I caught sight of Sam and Julian standing by the lockers.

They looked up as I stepped into the hallway, clearly curious about what happened.

I forced a smile, though I felt anything but happy.

The halls were bustling with other students heading to their next class, some laughing with friends, some staring at their phones, a few trying to cram in some last-minute reading.

Everything carried on as usual. But for me, that one short conversation with Mr. Sinclair had changed everything.

I could practically feel the weight of that piece of paper in my pocket, the threat of failing swirling in my mind.

It was like the cold I felt this morning had settled inside me, chilling my thoughts.

I realized that, even though I despised the idea, this tutor might be my best shot at turning things around.

That didn’t mean I had to be happy about it, though. Absolutely not.