Page 5 of First Echo

My car is one of the only things in my life I can actually callmine.I turned on the engine and felt a sense of relief wash over me as I pulled out of the school parking lot, the tires crunching over stray gravel. The roads were quiet in that late-afternoon lull, with only a few cars passing by. I fiddled with the radio, jumping from station to station until I landed on some pop song I halfway liked. The sky was gray, threatening rain or maybe even snow, and the gloom outside matched my mood. I drove aimlessly around town, passing the same old diners, boutiques, and that run-down cinema that had been closed since forever. Everything looked dull and lifeless, but part of me found solace in the emptiness. At least nobody was bothering me here in my car.

Eventually, though, I couldn’t keep going in circles forever. Ihadto go home. So I pulled up into our driveway, feeling the tension coil inside me like a spring. The house loomed large and imposing, pristine white walls and enormous columns that practically screamedold money.My parents loved to flaunt our family name whenever they could.

I saw the front door opening, and in the doorway stood Julianwith a big smile on his face. I instantly knew he’d already spilled the beans about my grade and was probably gloating. My dear twin brother lived for moments like these. He had that stupid, smug look on his face, the one where he narrowed his eyes just enough to look like a cat about to pounce on a helpless mouse. I shoved him aside as I walked in, not in the mood for his remarks. He only laughed, which made my blood boil even more.

Before I could greet my parents, my mother started yelling. Her voice filled the spacious foyer, echoing off the high ceilings and marble floors, making it impossible to ignore. But I tried. I let her scolding wash over me like a static wave while I stared into space, picturing all the different ways I mightkill Julianfor ratting me out. I caught a glimpse of my father standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking disappointed. He often left the berating to Mom, content to add a solemn nod or a heavy sigh now and then.

“Are you even listening, Madeline?!” my mom screamed, exasperated.

I hated how they set these impossibly high standards for me. It was never enough to just be a normal teenager—I had to be perfect. I had to attend every social function, look immaculate, maintain high grades, and essentially present myself as a model daughter. ButI’m not perfect.Nobody is.

“Yes, Mom, it will be fine, I already got a tutor,” I finally managed, trying to keep my voice even.

“A tutor? Do you know how that looks for us, Madeline?” she shot back sharply, stepping forward in her heels that clicked against the pristine floor.

I stared at her, feeling the pressure behind my eyes. She looked impeccable, as always, hair styled, wearing a tailored dress, every inch the image of a perfect trophy wife. But her eyes were cold, disapproving.

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” she said right before walking over to Julian. She draped an arm around his shoulders with a proud smile. “Well done, sweetie, a B. Maybe you could teach your sister a thing or two.”

It wasofficial.I hated my family. Actually, that was putting it mildly. At that moment, I hated mylife.The only good thing I had left was Sam.

Life used to be fun and carefree,or at least that’s how it felt when I was younger. As far back as I can remember, I had it all—great friends, pretty clothes, people who admired me, parents who spoiled me with anything I wanted. But as I got older, all those privileges came with impossible expectations. I wasn’t allowed to do anything that didn’t fit into their perfect mold. No “wasteful” hobbies, no sports that might get in the way of academics, no free time that could lead to a social scandal. They wanted me to get straight A’s,look pretty,be the head cheerleader dating the quarterback, like some sort of miserable trophy wife in training.Just like my mom.

I used to love art.I still do.From the time I was a little girl, I adored painting, sketching, and anything that let my imagination run free. It came naturally to me, like breathing. But my parents brushed it off as a frivolous pastime. They limited when and where I could practice, eventually confining it to my bedroom. They never said it outright, but the message was clear: being a perfect daughter meant focusing on things theyapprovedof, and art wasn’t one of them.

I stormed off to my room, ignoring Julian’s smug grin. My door slammed behind me, reverberating through the silent hallway. I tossed my bag onto the plush carpet, kicked off my shoes, and hopped into my private bathroom for a quick, scalding shower that did little to wash away the day’s frustrations. Steam fogged up the mirror, obscuring my reflection, which was a relief. I didn’t want to look at my own face, filled with bitterness and exhaustion.

After my nighttime routine—a halfhearted one, because I was too drained to care—I threw myself onto my bed. The sheets felt cold against my skin, but I pulled the blanket over me and stared up at the ceiling.I started wondering what life is like for people like Brooke.Maybe people who have no name to uphold, no endless demands hovering over their heads. It must be nice to be a nobody sometimes, free of absurdly high expectations and free of a reputation that could unravel at any moment.

It sounds like a dream.A nice, free, carefree dream.

Eventually, sleep crept in, though my mind was still clouded with anger. Art, Sam, the humiliating tutor sessions, the reality that I got an F… everything swirled in my thoughts. Tomorrow would be another day, another chance for my parents to remind me how I’m failing to live up to their impossible standards. The only small comfort was that I’d made it through this one without completely losing my sanity. But deep inside, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that things were only going to get worse.

CHAPTER FIVE

BROOKE

This was the only day I seriously considered skipping school.Thursday.The day I dreaded, the day I had to tutor Madeline Hayes.My alarm blared at its usual time, but instead of rolling out of bed and preparing for the day with my usual sense of responsibility, I just laid there, eyes shut, willing time to stand still. My mind had spent half the night spinning out possibilities for how badly this could all go. In some of those anxious scenarios, I endured Madeline’s relentless ridicule until I finally burst into tears and fled; in others, I shouted at her, my frustration morphing into a moment of angry humiliation.

I’d only slept for about four hours,and my body groaned in protest when I finally forced myself to climb out of bed. I dragged my feet to the bathroom, turning on the shower in hopes the warm water would rinse away my nerves. Steam filled the air, fogging the mirror. I tried to calm myself with a few deep breaths, but my stomach still tensed at the thought of facing Madeline this afternoon—atherhouse, of all places.

When I got downstairs, I could barely eat breakfast. My appetite was as absent as my courage. My dad shot me a concerned look, but I waved him off with a tight smile. I couldn’t explain that I was freaking out becausetodayI had to tutor the most intimidating, entitled person in school.Sometimes I wonder if other people overthink things as much as I do.Maybe my dad had his own worries, but he was probably too busy tonotice mine, and in that moment, I was grateful for the lack of interrogation.

Has Madeline thought about today?If she did, it was probably only for a split second, maybe just enough to remember I was supposed to show up. She likely didn’t lose any sleep over it, certainly not the way I did.Who am I kidding?She might have even forgotten I exist, let alone that we’re meeting. That realization brought a twinge of annoyance I couldn’t quite shake.

The school day felt like it dragged on for an eternity, each hour crawling forward while the dread in my chest coiled tighter. I sat in chemistry class—ironically the very subject causing all this trouble—trying to focus, but my brain was stuck on the same endless loop:Madeline, tutoring, her mansion, my potential humiliation.Even my favorite subject couldn’t distract me from the tension gnawing at my thoughts.

Eventually, the final bell rang, and the moment I’d been dreading arrived.I had to make my way to Madeline’s house.I walked briskly out of the school, ignoring a couple of acquaintances who tried to wave me over to chat. I just gave them a nod and hurried to my car. Once I was settled in the driver’s seat, I tried putting on some music to calm me down—a soft, acoustic track that usually soothed my nerves. But my heartbeat still hammered with anticipation.

During the drive, I found my mind drifting into a bizarre mix of fear and… excitement? It was so strange, so illogical, that I almost wanted to shake myself.What could possibly be exciting about tutoring Madeline?Maybe the unknown always sparked a little adrenaline. Or maybe I was just plain nervous, and it was twisting itself into something else. The entire way, I kept tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally peering into the rearview mirror to see if I appeared as anxious as I felt. The roads were mostly empty, a bit of a blessing, so atleast I didn’t have to battle through traffic. After about fifteen minutes of driving past large, well-manicured lawns, I reached the imposing iron gate that guarded Madeline’s property.

That gate itself was probably bigger than my entire garage.I paused, taking a deep breath, then rolled down my window to press the bell. A static crackle buzzed through the intercom before an unmistakably haughty voice filtered through.

“Who is this?” Madeline asked, and even through the small speaker, I could detect her bored, dismissive tone.

I blinked in disbelief.She told me to come, and now she’s acting like she doesn’t know me?That’s precisely the sort of thing that drove me nuts about her. “It’s me, Brooke,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“Who?”

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