Page 41 of First Echo

"Says the girl who threw a fit because I called her middle name 'kind of' pretty."

"That was a legitimate grievance."

I laughed despite myself, the sound breaking some of the tension that had gathered in my chest. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're avoiding the question," she said. "Are you coming over here or not? Because I'm getting cold just thinking about how cold you must be."

I hesitated, weighing the dangers of proximity against the cold that had settled into my bones.

Getting into bed with Madeline felt like crossing a line, like stepping over some invisible boundary we'd established between us.

But the thought of her warmth, of closing the distance that had stretched between us for so long, was irresistibly tempting.

"Fine," I said finally, trying to sound put-upon rather than nervous. "But only because hypothermia isn't on my agenda for tonight."

"Such a drama queen," she teased.

With a dramatic sigh I hoped would mask my sudden nervousness, I grabbed my pillow.

"You're the worst," I said, standing up.

"And yet here you are," she replied, scooting over to make room. There was something almost smug in her voice, as if she'd won a game I hadn't realized we were playing.

I crossed the short distance between our beds, hyperaware of each step, of how surreal this moment felt.

This was Madeline Grace Hayes—queen bee, social royalty, the girl who'd barely acknowledged my existence before I became her tutor—making room for me in her bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I slipped under her covers, careful to maintain some distance between us.

But the bed wasn't large, and immediately I was enveloped in her warmth, her scent—something expensive and floral that made my head swim slightly.

The air between us felt charged, electric, as if the slightest movement might spark something dangerous.

"Better?" she asked, her voice closer now, intimate in the darkness.

"Yeah," I managed, hyperaware of her presence beside me. "Thanks."

We lay there in silence for a moment, adjusting to this new reality of shared space. I could hear her breathing, could feel the subtle shift of the mattress with each of her movements. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, this closeness we'd never allowed ourselves before.

"Can I ask you something else?" she said, breaking the silence.

"You're full of questions tonight."

"Just answer, Winters."

I turned my head slightly toward her voice. "Fine. What?"

"Why did you hit Julian? I mean, I know what he said, but... you don't seem like the type to just punch someone."

The question sobered me instantly. I stared up at the ceiling, considering how much to reveal, how much of myself to expose.

"My mom," I said finally, my voice lower than before. “She was everything to me. When she died... people either disappeared or they treated me like I was made of glass. Like grief was contagious. Julian using that against me—it just hit a nerve."

I felt rather than saw Madeline nod. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "About your mom. And about Julian being an ass."

"It's not your fault."

"Still." Her hand found mine under the covers, her fingers wrapping around mine in a gentle squeeze that sent a jolt through my entire body. "He shouldn't have said that."

I swallowed hard, acutely aware of her touch, of the way her thumb brushed across my knuckles before she pulled away. The gesture was so brief, so simple, but it left me feeling unmoored, adrift in unfamiliar waters.

"What about you?" I asked, desperate to shift the focus away from the sudden tightness in my chest. "Any more deep, dark secrets you want to share while we're having this middle-school sleepover moment?"

She laughed, the sound vibrating through the small space between us. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Embarrassing childhood stories? Hidden talents? Your biggest fear?"

"You sound like a bad personality quiz."

"Just answer, Hayes," I mimicked her earlier tone.

She was quiet for a moment, considering. "I used to want to be an artist," she admitted finally. "Like, professionally. I was obsessed with it when I was younger."

“What changed?"

"My parents being my parents." The bitterness in her voice was subtle but unmistakable. "Art isn't a 'real career.' It's a 'hobby,' something to do in your spare time while you pursue something 'worthwhile.'"

"That's bullshit," I said without thinking. "You're really good."

Even in the darkness, I could sense her surprise. "You think so?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"Right. You're not exactly known for empty compliments."

"Not my style," I agreed.

"What is your style, then?" she asked, her voice taking on a teasing edge.

"Brutal honesty and scathing wit. Thought that was obvious by now."

She laughed again, the sound warming me more effectively than any heater could. "You're awfully full of yourself for someone who wears the same three hoodies on rotation."

"You're awfully judgmental for someone who thought North Dakota was made up until last semester," I fired back without thinking.

Madeline burst into laughter—real, open, unfiltered laughter that seemed to light her up from the inside out. It wasn't the controlled, practiced laugh she used at school. This was something raw and genuine, unguarded in a way I'd rarely seen her.

I couldn't help but watch her—the way her head tilted back, the way her body shook with mirth, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

The lamp cast a warm glow across her skin, turning her hair golden against the pillow we now shared.

She didn't hold back for once, didn't seem to care how she looked or sounded.

This wasn't the carefully controlled Madeline who navigated school hallways like she owned them.

This was someone real, someone unguarded, someone who laughed until she snorted softly and then covered her mouth, eyes wide with embarrassment.

"Did you just snort?" I asked, delighted by this unexpected crack in her perfect facade.

"No," she denied immediately, her cheeks flushing pink. "Absolutely not."

"You totally did," I insisted, grinning. “Madeline Grace Hayes snorts when she laughs. Wait till the cheer squad hears about this."

She groaned, covering her face with her hands, laughing despite herself. "If you tell anyone, I'll deny it. And then I'll have to kill you."

The air between us felt charged, electric, as if the slightest movement might spark something dangerous.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, could feel the weight of something shifting between us.

I'd never been so aware of another person's proximity, of the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, of the small space between her lips.

It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one step forward would send me falling into something unknown, something that could either break me or set me free.

I'd spent years building walls, keeping everyone at a safe distance.

But with Madeline looking at me like that, those walls seemed paper-thin, ready to crumble at the slightest touch.

This was insane. She had a boyfriend. She was the Madeline Grace Hayes, for god's sake— the girl who ran hot and cold, the girl who claimed she didn't want anything from me. Kissing her would be a catastrophic mistake.

But I couldn't remember why that mattered anymore, not with her looking at me like she'd never really seen me before, like I was something surprising and precious and terrifying all at once.

The realization hit me with shocking clarity: I wanted to kiss her.

I'd wanted to kiss her since that night she walked in on me changing, maybe even before that.

I wanted to know if her lips were as soft as they looked, if she tasted like the expensive lip gloss she always wore, if she would make that same small gasp I'd heard when I'd leaned too close while fastening her necklace.

Her laughter had subsided almost completely now, but the smile remained, softening her features. She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine fully across the pillow, illuminated by the lamp's golden glow and somehow more striking than I'd ever seen them.

"What?" she asked, noticing my stare, her voice barely above a whisper.

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. The words wouldn't come, trapped somewhere between my racing thoughts and my hammering heart.

Instead, I leaned in and kissed her.

It was a terrible idea. I knew it even as I was doing it. But I couldn't stop myself, couldn't fight the gravitational pull that had been drawing me toward her from the moment she'd walked in on me that night, maybe even before.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative. Just the gentle press of my lips against hers, a question more than a demand. But then she made a small sound—somewhere between a gasp and a sigh—and suddenly everything shifted.

The kiss deepened, her mouth opening to mine like she'd been waiting for this too, like she'd been thinking about it as long as I had. Warmth bloomed between us, spreading through my body like wildfire. My hand found her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleep shirt, pulling her closer.

Madeline kissed me back with an intensity that matched my own, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body arching slightly toward mine.

For one perfect, endless moment, the world narrowed to just this—the soft press of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the feeling that I'd finally found something I hadn't known I was looking for.

Then, abruptly, she pulled back. Her breathing was ragged, her eyes wide with something like panic as she stared at me in the darkness.

"I—I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking on the words.

Before I could respond, before I could process what was happening, she was scrambling out of the bed, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. She grabbed something—her phone, maybe—from the nightstand and headed for the door.

"Madeline—wait," I called, following her, heart hammering against my ribs. "Please, wait—"

But the door shut behind her with a quiet click, leaving me standing alone in the middle of our room, the ghost of her lips still burning against mine.

I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty space where she'd just been.

Then, slowly, the reality of what I'd done began to sink in.

I'd kissed Madeline Grace Hayes. I'd kissed a girl who had a boyfriend, who'd made it clear she wasn't sure what she wanted, who'd just run away like I'd burned her.

"What have I done," I whispered, running my hands through my hair, a deep breath shuddering through me like it might tear my chest open.

The silence that followed was deafening, pressing in from all sides, heavy with the weight of my mistake.

I'd ruined whatever tentative friendship we'd been building, crossed a line I couldn't uncross.

And for what? A moment of weakness, of giving in to something I shouldn't have wanted in the first place?

I sank onto the edge of my bed, mind racing through potential damage control. Should I leave? Find somewhere else to sleep tonight? Would she tell someone what happened? Would—

The door burst open.

Madeline stood in the doorway, breathless, something wild and unreadable blazing in her eyes. Her hair was disheveled, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she'd been running, or maybe fighting some internal battle I couldn't see.

I took a step forward, guilt spilling out of me in a rush of words. "Madeline, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—"

She cut me off mid-sentence, already crossing the room with purposeful strides. "Just shut up and kiss me."

Before I could process her words, she'd reached me, her hands coming up to grasp my face, fingers threading into my hair as she pulled me toward her.

And kissed me.

This wasn't the hesitant, questioning kiss from before.

This was decisive, desperate, a claiming.

Her mouth moved against mine with purpose, with hunger, drawing a surprised gasp from my throat that she swallowed eagerly.

My hands found her waist automatically, pulling her closer until there was no space left between us, until I could feel the hammering of her heart against my own.

The world tilted on its axis, everything I thought I knew about the breathtaking Madeline Grace Hayes, about myself, about us, reconfiguring into something new and terrifying and exhilarating.

Nothing existed beyond this room, this moment, the feeling of her in my arms, the taste of her on my tongue, the soft sounds she made as I kissed her back with everything I had.

Madeline Hayes was kissing me. And I was kissing her back. And nothing would ever be the same again.