Page 23 of First Echo

MADELINE

W ell... see you around, I guess.

I cringed internally as the words left my mouth. Who says that? What was I, some awkward middle schooler talking to their crush? I pushed off down the slope, desperate to put some distance between myself and the embarrassment burning through me.

The mountain stretched out before me, pristine and welcoming—the perfect escape from whatever bizarre interaction I'd just had with Brooke. I focused on my form, trying to remember everything she'd taught me yesterday. Weight forward, knees bent, eyes on where you want to go. Simple enough.

Except my mind kept replaying those final moments on the lift. The way she'd dodged my question. The way she'd looked at me with those brown eyes—those surprisingly expressive eyes with that unique dark green ring around her pupils.

And that strange, inexplicable flutter in my stomach when she'd suggested I could start over. "Maybe not with everyone, but... with someone." What did that even mean? Was she suggesting—

My board caught an edge.

The world tilted violently. One second I was upright, the next I was face-down in the snow, my board twisted awkwardly behind me. Snow worked its way under my collar, icy against my skin. I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

First day on a snowboard, falls were expected. Second day? When I'd already shown I could handle it? Mortifying. At least no one had seen—

"You know, typically people watch where they're going instead of staring into space."

I looked up to find Brooke standing above me, her board unclipped from one foot, a mixture of amusement and concern on her face.

Great. Perfect. Just what I needed.

"I wasn't staring into space," I muttered, pushing myself up and brushing snow from my jacket. "I was just... thinking."

"Must have been some pretty intense thinking," she remarked, offering a hand to help me up.

I hesitated before taking it, surprised by how strong her grip was as she pulled me to my feet. "Thanks," I said, avoiding her eyes.

"You okay? That was a pretty good wipeout."

"I'm fine," I insisted, though my wrist ached where I'd tried to break my fall. "Just a bruised ego."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded toward the side of the run. "Want to take a break for a minute?"

I was about to refuse, to insist I was perfectly fine and didn't need her concern, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the way she asked without a hint of mockery. Or maybe I just needed a minute to collect myself.

"Sure," I said.

We moved to the edge of the run, finding a spot where we could sit without being in anyone's way. Brooke unclipped her board completely, setting it upside down in the snow so the bindings wouldn't collect ice. I did the same, mimicking her movements.

"So," she said after a moment, "what were you thinking about so hard that you forgot how to snowboard?"

I looked at her, ready to fire back a sarcastic response, but the genuine curiosity in her expression caught me off guard.

For a second, I considered telling her the truth—that I was thinking about her, about that strange moment we'd shared on the lift, about how confusing it was to suddenly not hate someone you thought you'd always hate.

"Nothing important," I said instead.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. "Right."

We sat in silence, watching other skiers and snowboarders make their way down the mountain. It was strangely peaceful. Sitting here with Brooke without arguing, without the constant tension that usually hung between us.

"You never answered my question," I said suddenly, breaking the silence. "On the lift. About why you don't have friends."

Something shuttered in her expression. "Didn't I? Must have slipped my mind."

"Come on," I pressed. "I answered yours. It's only fair."

"Life isn't fair," she shot back. "Besides, maybe I just prefer my own company. Not everyone needs a crowd to feel validated."

There it was—that wall she always put up, that reflexive sarcasm whenever something got too personal. It frustrated me more than it should have.

"Is it really that hard to give a straight answer for once?" I asked, my voice rising slightly. "Every time anyone tries to have an actual conversation with you, you throw up this... this shield of sarcasm and deflection. It's exhausting."

"I'm exhausting?" she said incredulously. "That's rich coming from you. At least I'm consistent. You're hot one minute, cold the next. One second you're yelling at me for waking you up, the next you're asking personal questions like we're best friends. Pick a lane, Madeline."

"I'm not the one who can't answer a simple question," I snapped. "Maybe if you weren't so closed off all the time, people might actually want to be around you."

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Her face went blank, that careful, controlled expression that hid whatever she was really feeling. But I caught a flash of hurt in her eyes before she masked it.

"You're right," she said, her voice unnervingly quiet. "Maybe that's it."

"Brooke, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's fine." She stood up, reaching for her board. "We should keep going. The run isn't getting any shorter."

"Wait," I said, getting to my feet. "I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. I just... I get frustrated when I feel like I'm the only one trying here."

She looked at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Trying what, exactly?"

What was I trying to do? I wasn't even sure myself. "I don't know. To understand you, I guess."

"Why?" The genuine confusion in her voice surprised me.

"Because..." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "Because you're not who I thought you were. And that makes me wonder what else I might be wrong about."

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "Look, I'm sorry too. You're right—I deflect. It's a habit. But some questions are harder to answer than others."

"Fair enough," I conceded. "Can we just... move on? Pretend the last five minutes didn't happen?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That eager to forget your outburst, huh?"

"Only when I say something stupid," I admitted, feeling a rush of relief at her softening expression.

"That must keep you pretty busy," she said, her smile widening into something genuine.

"Shut up," I laughed, surprised at how easy it suddenly felt between us. "Are we going to snowboard or what?"

She nodded, bending to strap her board back on. I did the same, and we pushed off down the mountain side by side.

We didn't talk much as we made our way down the run, but it wasn't the tense silence from before.

It was almost... companionable. I found myself watching her movements, the effortless way she carved through the snow, her body in perfect sync with her board.

She made it look so easy, so natural. There was something captivating about seeing someone do something they were truly good at.

Near the bottom of the run, I spotted a small café nestled among the trees, its wooden deck offering a perfect view of the valley below.

"Hey," I called out, pointing toward it. "Want to grab a hot chocolate or something?"

She looked surprised at the invitation, hesitating before nodding. "Sure."

We unclipped our boards outside the café, leaning them against the railing. The deck was mostly empty, just a few skiers finishing their drinks before heading back to the slopes. We found a table near the edge, with an unobstructed view of the mountains stretching out in all directions.

A server took our orders—hot chocolate for me, coffee for Brooke—and left us with the kind of silence that demanded to be filled.

"So," I said, casting around for a safe topic. "You mentioned you've been snowboarding since you were ten. Do you come up to the mountains a lot during winter?"

"Yeah," she replied, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "We used to go on ski trips as a family. I started with skiing but switched to snowboarding as I got older."

The mention of family trips caused a subtle shift in her expression, a shadow passing briefly across her face. Again, I remembered what Julian had mentioned, about the girl whose mom died a few years ago. Could that actually be Brooke?

That thought made me infinitely sad, though I couldn't imagine what it had been like for her.

"Your parents must have been into winter sports too," I said carefully.

A small smile appeared. "My mom loved the mountains. We'd come up here all the time as a family." She paused, seeming surprised at herself for sharing this. "Anyway, yeah. It's been a while.”

And just like that, I knew.

My suspicions had been confirmed—Brooke was the girl Julian had been talking about.

Our drinks arrived, steam rising from the mugs. I wrapped my hands around mine, grateful for the warmth.

"What about you?" she asked. "You picked it up pretty quickly yesterday for someone who'd never done it before."

"I'm a fast learner," I said with a small shrug. "Plus, I had an decent teacher."

"Decent?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What happened to excellent."

"That was beginner’s awe. Now I know better," I teased, enjoying the mock offense on her face.

"Watch it, or I'll let you figure out the next challenging run on your own."

"Is that a challenge?" I asked, surprising myself with how much I liked the idea.

"It's a death wish," she retorted, shaking her head. "You're not ready for that yet."

Yet. The word hung between us, implying future lessons, future days on the mountain together. The thought sent an unexpected flutter through my chest.

A comfortable silence fell as we sipped our drinks, looking out at the view. The mountains seemed to go on forever, peak after snow-covered peak disappearing into the horizon. Against that backdrop, our usual school dramas and social hierarchies seemed incredibly small.

"Can I ask you something?" I said suddenly, a question forming in my mind.

"Depends on the question," she replied warily.

"Do you have a crush on Julian?"

The coffee she'd been drinking sprayed across the table as she choked in surprise. "What?" she sputtered, eyes wide with shock.

"My brother," I clarified unnecessarily. "I was just... wondering."

"You were wondering if I have a crush on your brother," she repeated slowly, as if trying to make sense of my question.

I nodded, watching her face closely. I wasn't even sure why I'd asked.

The question had just popped into my head, a sudden curiosity about who Brooke might be interested in.

I'd never seen her with anyone at school, never heard rumors about her dating life.

And the way she'd interacted with Julian yesterday. .. I just wanted to know.

"Did he say something to make you think that?" she asked, frowning.

"Well, after yesterday on the mountain..." I trailed off vaguely, letting her assume what she wanted. I knew I was being dishonest, but admitting I'd made it up entirely seemed too embarrassing.

She stared at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing—a full, genuine laugh that turned heads at nearby tables. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she said once she could speak again. "Your brother is the last person on earth I'd be interested in. No offense."

"None taken," I said, feeling strangely relieved. "Why is it so funny though?"

"Because he's—" She gestured vaguely. "He's Julian. He's arrogant and shallow and completely self-absorbed. Plus, he's your twin. That would be weird."

"Weird?" I echoed, not sure why that particular reason stood out.

"Well, yeah," she said, as if it were obvious. "You're..." She trailed off, something shifting in her expression. "You know what, never mind."

"No, what were you going to say?" I pressed, suddenly very interested in her answer.

She looked away, focusing intently on wiping up the coffee she'd spilled. "Nothing important."

"See? This is exactly what I was talking about before. You shut down the second anything gets remotely personal."

"And you push when people clearly don't want to be pushed," she shot back. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don't want to share every thought that crosses my mind? That maybe some things are better left unsaid?"

"What could you possibly have been about to say that's so terrible?" I demanded, frustrated by her evasiveness.

"I was going to say that you're different from him," she said, her voice tight.

"That despite everything, despite the act you put on at school and the friends you keep, there's something real about you.

Something genuine that he doesn't have. And it would be weird to be interested in someone who's essentially a worse version of someone else.

" Her eyes widened slightly, as if she'd surprised herself with her honesty.

I sat back, stunned. Of all the things I'd expected her to say, that wasn't it. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," she muttered, avoiding my gaze. "Can we talk about something else now?"

But I couldn't let it go. Something about what she'd said had hit a nerve. "What do you mean, 'the act I put on'?"

She sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

"Come on, Madeline. You know exactly what I mean.

The perfect popular girl routine. The way you pretend to care about the same shallow things your friends do.

The way you change depending on who you're with.

" She looked at me directly now, her eyes challenging.

"The real question is, do you even know who you are when no one's watching? "

The words hit me like a physical blow. Because the truth was, I didn't know.

I had spent so long being what everyone expected me to be—Victoria's best friend, Julian's twin sister, Sam's girlfriend, the queen of our social circle—that I had no idea who I was beneath all those roles. The realization was terrifying.

"That's not fair," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You don't know me."

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But I know what it looks like when someone's pretending. And you're pretending so hard sometimes I wonder if you remember what's real."

I stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over my mug. "I don't have to listen to this."

She didn't try to stop me as I grabbed my coat and gloves. "Madeline..."

"Save it," I snapped, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here, with anyone but her. "Thanks for the psychology session, but I didn't ask for your opinion on my life."

I stormed out of the café, leaving Brooke and my half-finished hot chocolate behind. My chest felt tight, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. I grabbed my board and headed for the lift, needing the mountain's solitude to clear my head.

The worst part wasn't that she'd said those things. The worst part was that some small voice inside me whispered that she might be right. And I had no idea what to do with that thought.