Page 10 of First Echo

Days passed in a tense silence, at least on my end. I kept expecting some text from Mr. Sinclair telling me that my tutor was refusing to continue or some lecture from Brooke in the hallway about how ungrateful I was. But there was nothing. Justa whole lot of emptiness whenever I thought about it for too long.

Finally, I did something unthinkable: I went to chemistry class. I was hardly ever on time, but today I walked in right before the bell rang. Sam had saved me a seat as usual, but my eyes drifted to the chair next to Brooke, which was empty. On impulse, I slid into the seat beside her.

I could feel the tension radiating off her the moment I sat down. She stared at the board, refusing to even acknowledge my presence. Fine. Two could play that game. The entire class passed like that, with both of us pretending the other didn’t exist.

The weird part was that nobody else seemed to notice. Everyone was busy whispering about the upcoming senior ski trip, rummaging through their textbooks, or rolling their eyes at Mr. Sinclair’s monotone lecture. I focused on my notes, which mostly amounted to scribbles in the margins, while Brooke took furious, detailed notes as though her life depended on it.

Right before the bell, Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat for an announcement. “Don’t forget about the senior ski trip. We leave in five days at seven in the morning.” Then he looked right at me. “Don’t be late.”

I bit my lip to keep from snarking back, but I couldn’t help it. “I won’t be,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

That’s when I heard it—a soft, mocking laugh. I turned my head toward the sound.Brooke.She was looking away from me by the time I caught sight of her, but there was no mistaking who had laughed.

SHE was mocking ME? Unbelievable.

The bell rang, and everyone started packing up. I tossed my notebook into my bag, glancing at Brooke with narrowed eyes. “Are you going?” I asked, making no effort to hide the judgment in my tone.

She paused, then just let out a quietpff,as if to say:Why are you even talking to me?Her expression said it all—annoyed, dismissive, and something else I couldn’t quite read. Without a word, she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out.

A small part of me wanted to laugh it off, but instead I felt a pang of something I refused to label. Usually, people were the ones who felt nervous around me, not the other way around. I was the one who decided whether to ignore them or grace them with my attention. That was how it had always been.

But Brooke didn’t care about any of that. She barely bothered to mask her irritation, and then she just… walked away. No dramatic insults, no last-minute jabs. Just a cold, final exit that left me standing there like I was the one who didn’t matter.

I found myself scoffing out loud as I watched her leave. “Wow. So polite. Remind me to send you a thank-you note for that delightful response.” My words dripped with sarcasm, echoing uselessly in the nearly empty classroom.

She didn’t turn around. She just kept on walking.

Rude bitch.

Except, for some reason, the anger in my chest didn’t burn as hot as I wanted it to. It felt muddled, twisted with that same unsettled feeling I’d had when she stormed out of my house. I stuffed my binder into my backpack, cursing under my breath. She’d see soon enough that nobody treated Madeline Hayes like an afterthought.

I just had no idea how to make that point clear without looking like I actually cared what she thought of me. So instead, I gritted my teeth, lifted my chin, and told myself I didn’t give a damn. Because if there was one thing Ididn’twant to do, it was admit that maybe… it bothered me more than it should.

Part Two

Crossing Roads

CHAPTER NINE

BROOKE

Are you going?

Those three small words kept echoing in my head like a broken record. Madeline's voice, that perfectly practiced blend of boredom and entitlement, had lingered in my mind far longer than I wanted to admit. I lay in bed that night, staring at my ceiling, wondering why I couldn't just dismiss her question like I'd dismissed everything else about her.

Pff, who does she think she is?First, she insults me, then pretends to actually be interested in my life, acting like she cares, only to insult me again. It was this never-ending cycle of mind games with her—one moment showing a glimpse of something genuine, the next reminding me exactly why I couldn't stand her.

"Why don't you have friends?"

That question still burned. How could she ask me that? She didn't even know who I was before Mr. Sinclair forced us together. She just assumed I was some lonely loser with no social life. It was true, but she had no way of knowing that. The question itself revealed so much about her—how she viewed the world, how she categorized people, how she measured worth.

And like she has real friends? Please. All she has are her brainless Barbie dolls, always ready at her disposal. Victoria, Audrey, Sophie—they followed her around like she was their personal sun, orbiting her, desperate for her approval. You call that friendship? At least I didn't have fake people in my lifepretending to care about me just to climb some invisible social ladder.

Every morning I woke up, I had to mentally prepare myself for the possibility of seeing her in class. The way she carried herself through the hallways, like the entire school was her personal runway. The way other students parted for her like she was royalty. And now, after everything that happened during our tutoring session, after all the tension and arguments, she had the nerve to sit next to me and ask if I'm going on the senior ski trip, like we're friends or something.

Every time I thought she couldn't get any worse, she somehow did.

I pulled myself out of bed and walked to my closet, where my snowboard was propped against the wall. I ran my fingers over the glossy surface, remembering the feeling of gliding down a mountain, the rush of cold air against my face, the absolute freedom. The senior ski trip had been on my mind since freshman year, a bright spot I could look forward to. A chance to escape the monotony of school life, to reconnect with something I loved.

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