Page 34 of First Echo

MADELINE

L ight streamed through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the empty bed beside mine.

Brooke was gone—again. I stared at the perfectly made covers, the abandoned space where she should have been, and felt a hollow ache spread through my chest. It was becoming a pattern—waking to find her already gone, as if she couldn't bear to spend even those first waking moments in my presence.

Not that I could blame her. Not after last night.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the memory that refused to fade: Brooke standing there in the soft light, curves and angles of her body on display, that knowing smile playing on her lips when she caught me staring.

The electricity in that moment had been undeniable, crackling between us like static before a storm.

And I had run. Like I always did when something threatened the careful construction of who I thought I was supposed to be.

"You're a coward, Madeline Hayes," I whispered to the empty room.

I dragged myself out of bed, movements heavy with the weight of confusion.

The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger—same blonde hair, same blue eyes, but behind them lurked questions I had no answers for.

Who was this girl who couldn't stop thinking about her roommate?

Who felt more like herself in the company of someone she was supposed to hate than with the friends she'd cultivated her entire life?

Who am I when I'm not being who everyone expects me to be?

The question haunted me as I dressed, as I brushed my teeth, as I applied just enough makeup to maintain the illusion of Madeline Hayes, Queen Bee. The perfect girlfriend. The perfect daughter. The perfect everything to everyone except myself.

My phone buzzed with incoming texts—Victoria coordinating our morning meet-up, Sam checking in, Julian complaining about his bruised jaw. The usual voices that dictated the rhythm of my days. Today, they felt like noise drowning out something essential I was struggling to hear.

I needed space. Distance from Brooke, distance from these feelings I couldn't name. Maybe if I surrounded myself with the familiar—Sam's steady presence, Victoria's confident certainty, the well-worn paths of my established life—I could find my way back to solid ground.

I texted back quickly: Be there in 15. Lifts at 9?

As I headed out, I cast one last glance at Brooke's empty bed, fighting the irrational disappointment that she hadn't left a note, a sign, anything to acknowledge what had passed between us. The door clicked shut behind me with a finality that felt oddly like loss.

"So you're actually sticking with the snowboarding thing?" Julian asked, eyebrows raised as we stood in the lift line. "I thought that was just a one-time humiliation."

I adjusted my stance, the board feeling both foreign and familiar beneath my foot. "I like it," I said simply, offering no further explanation.

The truth was more complicated. Snowboarding connected me to Brooke in a way I wasn't ready to examine too closely—her patient instruction, her genuine smile when I linked my first successful turns, the freedom I'd glimpsed through her eyes.

But it was also something I'd discovered for myself, something that existed outside the narrow confines of who Madeline Hayes was supposed to be.

Sam squeezed my hand, his smile warm with pride. "You're picking it up really quick. Natural talent."

"Or she had a good teacher," Victoria said with a pointed look, the edge in her voice unmistakable. She hadn't missed the time I'd spent with Brooke. Victoria never really missed anything.

I shrugged, aiming for casual indifference. "Beginner's luck."

The lift carried us up the mountain, the resort shrinking below as we ascended into clearer air.

Sam's arm draped around my shoulders, a familiar weight that should have been comforting.

Instead, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to ride the lift with Brooke again, to revisit that strange, charged conversation we'd shared.

Stop it , I told myself firmly. This isn't helping anything.

We spent the morning on the easier runs, my friends skiing while I cautiously snowboarded, testing the limits of my newfound skills.

I fell more than once, earned Julian's relentless teasing, but there was a satisfaction in the effort, in the moments when everything clicked and I felt the rush of controlled speed.

Still, my eyes kept scanning the slopes, searching for a familiar figure with graceful turns and perfect form. Not intentionally—my gaze seemed to have developed a will of its own, constantly seeking what I told myself I didn't want to find.

"Looking for someone?" Victoria asked during a water break, her tone deceptively light.

I busied myself adjusting my bindings. "No. Why?"

"Just curious why you keep checking out every brunette that flies past us."

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I was grateful for the cold air that had already painted them pink. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just... observing other riders. Learning techniques."

Victoria's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Right. Techniques."

By early afternoon, a restlessness had settled beneath my skin, an itch I couldn't scratch. Sam suggested lunch at the lodge, and I agreed more out of habit than hunger. As we headed toward the base area, I overheard excited chatter about a student race happening soon.

"We should check it out," Julian said, already veering in that direction. "I bet I could smoke everyone."

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "Not with that hangover, you couldn't."

But Julian was already striding toward the registration area, his competitive nature fired up by the prospect of public victory. The rest of us followed, Victoria and Audrey exchanging eye rolls at Julian's predictable ego.

The course was a blue run, marked by flags and ending at an improvised finish line.

A small crowd had gathered to watch—other students from our school, resort guests, a few amused locals.

I scanned the participants, telling myself I was just curious, that the leap in my pulse when I spotted her was meaningless.

Brooke stood slightly apart from the other competitors, snowboard tucked under her arm, expression unreadable behind her goggles. She looked different somehow—more confident, more present in her own skin. Or maybe I was just seeing her differently now.

Beside her was a boy I vaguely recognized from school, with curly dark hair and an easy smile.

Is she friends with him? When did that happen?

The irrational surge of jealousy caught me off guard. I had no claim on Brooke, no right to care who she spent time with. I had Sam. I had my friends. I had the life I'd carefully cultivated over years.

So why did seeing her smile at someone else feel like losing something precious?

The race began with little ceremony, just the lift operator's whistle signaling the start. From my vantage point at the finish line, I could see the competitors surge forward, a chaotic mass at first, then spreading out as skill levels became apparent.

Julian was doing reasonably well, his natural athleticism compensating for a lack of technique.

But Brooke—Brooke was something else entirely.

She carved through the snow with a grace that made it look effortless, finding the fastest line down the mountain as if drawn by invisible forces.

Even those who knew nothing about snowboarding could see she was in a different league.

"She's incredible," Sam murmured beside me, genuine admiration in his voice.

"Yeah," I agreed softly, unable to tear my eyes away. "She is."

Brooke crossed the finish line well ahead of the others, carving to a stop in a spray of snow that glittered in the sunlight.

Without conscious thought, I found myself clapping, a smile spreading across my face.

Pride swelled in my chest—not for anything I had done, but simply for witnessing her excellence, for knowing there was more to Brooke Winters than most people ever bothered to see.

Her curly-haired friend reached her first, his face split with a wide grin as he offered a high five. I watched their interaction with that same strange ache, wondering what it would be like to be the one celebrating with her, to share in her moment of triumph.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, Brooke turned. Our eyes met across the crowd, and for a breathtaking moment, everything else fell away. I raised my hand in a small, uncertain wave, the gesture awkward with all the things I couldn't say.

"You were amazing," I called out, the words inadequate but sincere.

Something shifted in her expression, a hardening around the eyes, a tightening of her jaw. And then she turned away, deliberately, unmistakably. She tucked her board under her arm and began walking, her path taking her directly past me as if I were nothing more than air.

The dismissal was so unexpected, so complete, that for a moment I simply stood frozen, unable to process what was happening. Then instinct took over—the girl who'd never been ignored, never been dismissed, reaching out to grab Brooke's wrist before she could disappear entirely.

"Seriously?" I demanded, hurt transforming instantly to anger. "What's your problem? Why are you being rude all of a sudden?"

Brooke stared at me, her eyes cold and detached. But beneath the surface, I could see something trembling, something raw and wounded that belied her composed exterior.

"I thought you made it very clear we're not friends," she said, each word precise as a blade. "Right?"

My own words, thrown back at me like a slap. I stood there, speechless, the ground seeming to shift beneath my feet. What could I say? She was right. Those had been my words, my defense mechanism, my way of maintaining the distance I thought I needed.

Before I could find my voice, Brooke tugged her wrist from my grasp and walked away, her shoulders straight, her steps unhurried. As if the exchange had meant nothing. As if I had meant nothing.

I remained rooted to the spot, a strange hollowness expanding inside me. Around me, the celebration continued—Julian loudly explaining how he would have won if not for a patch of ice, Victoria and Audrey laughing at something on someone's phone, Sam waiting patiently for my attention to return.

But all I could see was Brooke walking away. All I could feel was the ghost of her wrist slipping from my fingers, taking with it something I hadn't known I wanted to keep.

I avoided going back to our room for as long as possible, making excuses to stay with Sam and the others until my smile felt painted on and my patience had worn tissue-thin.

But as dinner time approached, I couldn't delay any longer.

I needed to change, needed to at least attempt to look like the Madeline Hayes everyone expected me to be, even as I felt less and less like her with each passing hour.

The door to room 217 loomed before me, a portal to a confrontation I wasn't sure I was ready for. I stood there for a long moment, key in hand, gathering courage like armor around my faltering heart.

This is ridiculous. It's just Brooke. Just my temporary roommate. Just a girl who means nothing to me.

The lies felt hollow even in my own mind.

I unlocked the door, and pushed the door open, bracing myself for whatever awaited me on the other side.