Page 33 of First Echo

I allowed myself a small smile in return, surprised by how natural it felt. "Don't get too excited. I said maybe."

"I'll take it," he replied, settling onto the bench beside me, leaving just enough space that it didn't feel intrusive.

The conversation flowed with unexpected ease, touching on snowboarding techniques, music preferences, the best places to ride.

Luca was funny in an understated way, his humor dry and self-deprecating.

He didn't push when I gave short answers, didn't seem bothered by my guardedness. It was... nice. Simple. Uncomplicated.

Everything that was happening with Madeline wasn't.

"So," he said eventually, checking his watch. "Race starts in thirty. Still a maybe?"

I looked out at the mountain, then back at him, at his easy smile and uncomplicated interest. Suddenly, the idea of racing—of doing something purely for myself, something that had nothing to do with Madeline Hayes or complicated feelings or the ache in my chest—seemed incredibly appealing.

"You know what?" I stood, reaching for my helmet. "I think I will."

His expression brightened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I strapped my board back on with newfound determination. "Might as well show everyone how it's done."

The starting area for the impromptu race was crowded with students, a mixture of skilled riders and novices all jostling for position.

I hung back, observing the chaos with detached amusement.

There was no official organization, just a general understanding that when the lift operator blew his whistle, everyone would charge down the designated run, racing for bragging rights and fleeting glory.

I spotted Julian among the competitors. But no Madeline. The realization brought a mixture of relief and disappointment that I immediately tried to squash.

"Thought you might bail," Luca said, appearing beside me with that same easy smile.

"Still might," I replied, but there was no real intention behind the words.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Nah. Something tells me you're not the type to back down from a challenge."

The assessment was surprisingly accurate, hitting closer to home than I wanted to admit. I adjusted my goggles, hiding whatever might have shown in my eyes. "We'll see."

As the starting time approached, more spectators gathered at the bottom of the run, small figures in the distance that would witness whatever happened next. I positioned myself toward the edge of the group, away from Julian, focusing on the path ahead rather than the people around me.

The lift operator's whistle cut through the crisp air, sharp and clear.

And then we were off, a wave of riders surging forward, boards cutting through snow with varying degrees of skill. I held back for just a moment, letting the initial chaos sort itself out before carving my own path through the powder.

The world narrowed to just this: the bite of cold air against what little skin was exposed, the burn in my legs as I pushed myself harder, the perfect harmony of body and board working as one.

I wove through other riders with practiced precision, finding the fastest line down the mountain as if by instinct.

This was freedom. This was clarity. This was where I belonged.

I hit a section of fresh powder, using it to gain speed rather than slow down, feeling the exhilaration of perfectly executed turns. The finish line approached, marked by two ski poles stuck in the snow with a bandana strung between them.

As I crossed it, I heard cheers from the small crowd that had gathered to watch. I carved to a stop in a spray of snow, heart pounding with exertion and something that felt dangerously close to joy.

Luca was among the first to reach me, his face split with a grin. "Told you! Absolutely smoked everyone." He held up a hand for a high five, which I returned before I could overthink it.

Other riders finished behind me, some wiping out spectacularly, others making respectable showings. Julian crossed with a decent time, immediately surrounded by friends congratulating him as if he'd won. I rolled my eyes, unsurprised by his ability to make everything about himself.

And then I saw her.

Madeline stood at the edge of the crowd, her designer jacket unmistakable against the white snow. She was clapping, a smile lighting up her face as she cheered. For me. She was cheering for me.

Our eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the crowd, the noise, even Luca standing beside me. There was just Madeline, looking at me with something like pride, something like admiration, something like—

I turned away.

The anger I'd been nurturing all day flared hot and bright. How dare she? How dare she disappear all morning, run back to Sam and her perfect friends, and then show up now, acting like she cared? Acting like she had any right to celebrate my victory?

"You okay?" Luca asked, noticing the sudden shift in my demeanor.

"Fine," I replied, the word clipped. "Just ready to go."

I unclipped my board with more force than necessary, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here, anywhere Madeline Hayes wasn't looking at me with those blue eyes that somehow saw too much and not enough all at once.

People always leave. They always choose someone else. Opening yourself up only creates more opportunities for abandonment. The lessons I'd learned the hard way echoed in my mind, hardening my resolve.

Whatever had flickered between Madeline and me—whatever strange, unnamed connection had formed in the quiet moments of honesty we'd shared—it wasn't real. It couldn't be. Girls like Madeline Hayes didn't choose girls like me. They never had, and they never would.

Better to end it now, before she had the chance to walk away first. Better to be the one who leaves than the one left behind. Again.

The decision settled over me like armor, protective and cold. I wouldn't give her the power to hurt me. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

I tucked my board under my arm and walked away from the finish line.

This time, I would be the one to disappear.