Page 40 of First Echo

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D arkness settled over our room like a blanket—not comforting, not suffocating, just there.

After our conversation, after I had turned to face the wall, a strange silence hung between us.

Not cold, exactly, but not warm either. It sat in the space between our beds like something alive, something acknowledged but unnamed.

I stared at the wall, tracing the faint patterns of shadow cast by moonlight filtering through the curtains. Sleep felt impossible, my mind replaying our conversation in endless loops.

"When we're together, I feel different. Like I can just be me, not the version of me everyone expects."

Her words kept cycling through my head, along with my own:

"You don't get to want nothing and everything at the same time, Madeline."

I wasn't even sure who I was angry at anymore. Madeline, for her contradictions and mixed signals? Myself, for caring too much? Or maybe it was the impossible space between us—too far to reach across, too close to ignore.

"Brooke?"

Her voice was soft, hesitant, barely audible in the quiet room. I turned toward the sound, though I could only make out her silhouette in the darkness.

"Yeah?" I answered, my own voice rough from disuse.

"Are you still awake?"

I couldn't help the slight edge of sarcasm that crept into my response. "I just said 'yeah,' so... yeah."

A small laugh escaped her, the sound cutting through the tension like a spark in the darkness. "Right. Sorry."

I expected her to continue, to say whatever had prompted her to break the silence. But she remained quiet, as if gathering her thoughts—or her courage.

"Did you need something?" I finally asked when the silence stretched too long.

"No," she said quickly, then, "I don't know. I just... couldn't sleep."

"That makes two of us."

Another silence, but somehow less heavy than before. I heard her shifting in her bed, the rustle of blankets as she turned to face me more fully.

"Can I ask you something?" she ventured.

"You just did."

"Something else, smart-ass."

I smiled into the darkness, surprising myself. "Go ahead."

"What was school like for you? You know, before we met," she ventured.

The question caught me off guard. It was so... normal. The kind of thing you'd ask someone you were just getting to know, not in the middle of whatever complicated mess existed between Madeline and me.

"Pretty average," I said after a moment. "I kept to myself mostly. It was easier to be invisible in a good way, not the bad way."

"What's the good way of being invisible?"

I considered her question, trying to put into words something I'd never really articulated before. "When you're known but not... watched. When people see you but don't scrutinize you. I could just exist without having to perform for anyone."

"That sounds nice," she said, her voice softer now, almost wistful. "I don't think I've ever been invisible a day in my life."

"Not even when you want to be?"

"Especially not then." She sighed. "People are always watching, always expecting something. Even when I'm alone, I feel like I'm being judged by some invisible audience."

The admission surprised me with its honesty. This was a side of Madeline I'd only caught glimpses of—vulnerable, reflective, free from the polished persona she presented to the world.

“Now it’s my turn" I said. "What was Madeline Hayes like before high school?"

Her laugh was quiet, tinged with something like nostalgia. "Bossy. Dramatic. I used to direct neighborhood plays and force Julian to be in them. I was pretty terrible."

"Not much has changed then," I teased.

"Hey!" she protested, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll have you know I've refined my tyrannical tendencies."

"Is that what you call it?"

She laughed again, the sound somehow lighter, more genuine than I was used to hearing from her. It made something warm unfurl in my chest, something I tried not to examine too closely.

Our conversation flowed from there, easier than it had any right to be given everything that hung between us. There was still tension, but it was shifting into something different, something that made my skin prickle with awareness every time she laughed.

"What's your favorite class?" she asked. "Besides the ones you're annoyingly perfect in."

"History, actually," I admitted. "I took it sophomore year."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed that."

"There's a lot you wouldn't guess about me."

"Like what?" Her voice had dropped lower, curiosity threading through it.

I hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. "I used to play piano. I can bake a decent soufflé. I secretly love terrible reality TV."

She gasped dramatically. "No. Not you . Not serious, sarcastic Brooke Winters."

"Judge all you want, but 'The Bachelor' is peak entertainment."

"Oh my god," she laughed. "Wait till Victoria hears this."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," she challenged, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

"What about you?" I asked. "Any embarrassing secrets the school queen bee doesn't want getting out?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I can't snap my fingers."

"What? How is that possible?"

"I don't know! I just... can't. My thumb doesn't work that way or something."

"Show me," I demanded, suddenly needing to see this ridiculous flaw in her otherwise perfect persona.

"It's dark, genius."

"Hold on." I reached over to the nightstand and switched on the small lamp.

Soft golden light spilled across her face, catching in her hair, illuminating her features in a way that made my breath catch.

She squinted slightly against the sudden brightness, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected vulnerability.

"Go on," I prompted, trying to ignore the strange flutter in my chest. "Let's see this tragic disability."

She rolled her eyes but held up her hand, making a pitiful attempt at snapping her fingers. Her thumb and middle finger just sort of slid past each other with a sad little friction sound.

"That's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen," I said, failing to hold back my laughter.

"It's not funny!" she protested, but she was laughing too. "Julian used to torture me about it."

"Poor little rich girl," I teased. "Couldn't snap along with the cool kids."

She swatted at my arm. "Shut up. At least I can whistle."

"Who says I can't whistle?"

"Can you?"

I pursed my lips and blew, producing a perfect, clear note.

"Show-off," she muttered.

“My turn again. What’s your middle name?" she asked, the question coming seemingly out of nowhere.

“Don’t have one."

"You don't have a middle name?" Her voice rose in surprise, her eyes widening. The lamplight caught the blue in them, turning them almost silver at the edges.

"Nope."

"That feels illegal."

"Do you?" I countered, trying not to stare at the way the light played across her features.

"Madeline Grace Hayes." She said it with a flourish, like it was something precious.

"That's kind of pretty," I admitted, the words coming out softer than I intended.

" Kind of? " she said, indignant, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at me. "Rude."

"Okay, it's very pretty," I conceded, suddenly aware of how close her face was to mine. "There. Satisfied?"

She smiled, triumphant, and for a moment we just looked at each other, something unspoken passing between us.

I could see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, the slight curve of her lips, the strand of blonde hair that had fallen across her cheek.

I had the sudden, irrational urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear.

She looked away first, falling back against her pillow with a small laugh that seemed to break whatever spell had momentarily fallen over us.

I found myself laughing too, the sound filling our small room with unexpected warmth.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like this with anyone, let alone with Madeline Hayes.

I switched off the lamp, not trusting myself with the way the light painted her features, making everything between us feel too real, too possible. Darkness felt safer, a shield against whatever was building between us.

After a few minutes of silence, I shifted in my bed, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. A slight chill had crept into the room, and I shivered despite myself.

"Are you cold?" Madeline asked, noticing the movement.

"A little."

"That's what you get for picking the bed across the room from the heater."

"You picked yours before I could blink," I reminded her.

"Because I'm smarter."

I smirked, even though she couldn't see it in the dark. "Debatable."

"What's to debate? I'm over here all warm and cozy, and you're over there shivering like you're in the Arctic."

"Maybe I like the cold," I countered, though another shiver betrayed my lie.

"Right," she said, skepticism dripping from her voice. "That's why your teeth are practically chattering."

"They are not," I protested, though I was clenching them to keep them from doing exactly that.

A brief silence fell, and then she spoke again, her voice carrying a note of hesitation I wasn't used to hearing from her. "You want to come over here or are you just going to freeze out of spite?"

The offer caught me completely off guard.

My heart did a strange stutter-step in my chest, and for a moment, I couldn't find words to respond.

Madeline Grace Hayes was inviting me into her bed.

The same Madeline who'd been avoiding eye contact with me just hours earlier, who'd run from whatever had been building between us for days.

"I—what?" I managed, suddenly not trusting my hearing.

"The heater's on this side," she explained, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "And you're clearly freezing. So either grab another blanket or stop being stubborn."

"I'm not being stubborn," I argued weakly.

"You're the definition of stubborn," she countered. "It's actually impressive how stubborn you are."