Page 23 of First Echo

Sam looked skeptical but didn't argue further. That was one of the things I appreciated about him—he never tried to control me, even when he thought I was making a mistake. Julian, on the other hand, had no such reservations.

"This is going to be hilarious," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ten bucks says you face-plant within the first five minutes."

"Twenty says I don't," I shot back, even as a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispered that he was probably right.

Thirty minutes later, we were on the lift heading up the mountain. I sat beside Sam, my newly rented snowboard dangling from one foot, feeling much heavier than I'd expected. The guy at the rental shop had given me a crash course in the basics—how to strap in, how to position my feet, how to shift my weight to turn. It had seemed simple enough in theory.

But as the lift carried us higher and higher, my confidence began to waver. The mountain looked bigger from this angle, steeper, more intimidating. What had seemed like a brilliant idea at the base now felt like a spectacular mistake in the making.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Sam said quietly, as if sensing my growing apprehension. "We could stick to skiing today, maybe try snowboarding another time when you've had a lesson."

His concern irritated me, though I knew it was rooted in care. "I want to try," I insisted, my voice sharper than intended. "Stop worrying so much."

He fell silent, and I immediately felt guilty for snapping at him. It wasn't his fault I'd gotten myself into this situation. But I couldn't back down now, not with Julian's smug face watching, not with the memory of Brooke's effortless skill still fresh in my mind.

When we reached the top, I felt a jolt of panic. The run looked even steeper from up here, a daunting expanse of white stretching out below us. Around me, everyone was unloading from the lift with practiced ease, skiers pushing off with theirpoles, snowboarders gliding away on one foot before stopping to strap in their second binding.

I managed to slide off the lift without falling, which felt like a small victory. Sam stayed close, waiting patiently as I awkwardly lowered myself to the snow to secure my other foot to the board. Victoria, Audrey, and Julian were already a few yards away, waiting with varying degrees of impatience.

"Ready?" Sam asked once I'd finished strapping in.

"As I'll ever be," I replied, trying to sound confident as I pushed myself up to standing.

The board felt unwieldy beneath me, a foreign object I couldn't quite control. I wobbled precariously, arms outstretched for balance, feeling ridiculous and exposed. A small child zoomed past on skis, making it look effortlessly easy, which only added to my frustration.

"Just take it slow," Sam advised, hovering nearby. "Remember what the guy said—weight on your front foot to go straight, shift to your heels to slow down."

I nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed off.

For about five seconds, it wasn't terrible. I was moving, staying upright, the board sliding across the snow in a more or less straight line. But then the slope steepened slightly, my speed increased, and panic set in. I tried to remember what I was supposed to do—shift my weight to my heels? Or was it my toes? My body seemed to freeze, unable to translate thought into action.

Before I knew what was happening, the front edge of my board caught in the snow, stopping abruptly while the rest of me kept going. I pitched forward, arms flailing uselessly, and slammed face-first into the snow with enough force to knock the wind out of me.

The fall was spectacular and humiliating. I slid a few feet on my chest, snow finding its way into my collar, my gloves,somehow even under my goggles. When I finally came to a stop, I was dangerously close to the edge of the run, where the groomed snow gave way to deeper powder dotted with trees.

"Madeline!" Sam's voice rang out, filled with concern. I heard the scrape of his skis as he quickly made his way to me.

But it was Julian's reaction that really stung—a loud, unmistakable burst of laughter that carried across the slope. "That didn't even take five minutes!" he called out, not bothering to hide his amusement. "I believe that's twenty bucks you owe me, sis!"

I pushed myself up slowly, brushing snow from my clothes, my cheeks burning with embarrassment beneath my cold-reddened skin. Sam reached me, his face a mask of worry.

"Are you okay? That was a hard fall."

"I'm fine," I said through gritted teeth, though my wrists ached from trying to break my fall and my pride was severely bruised. The fact that other skiers were slowing down to check out the commotion only made it worse. I imagined them all laughing at me, the girl who thought she could just pick up a snowboard and master it immediately.

"Maybe we should stick to skiing today," Sam suggested gently, helping me brush snow from my back.

His kindness, normally so comforting, felt patronizing in that moment. I didn't want his pity or his help. I wanted to be left alone to deal with my humiliation in private.

"Just go on without me," I said, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. "I'll catch up later."

"I'm not leaving you here," he protested. "Not after that fall."

"Sam, I'm serious," I insisted, my tone hardening. "Just go. I need a minute, okay?"

He hesitated, clearly torn between respecting my wishes and his desire to help. Julian made the decision easier by sliding over, still smirking.

"Come on, man," he said to Sam. "She's fine, just her ego's bruised. Let's hit that double black before it gets too crowded."

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