Page 15 of First Echo

"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "for someone who doesn't have friends, you seem perfectly content with your own company."

Her hands stilled momentarily, and I wondered if I'd gone too far, bringing up that old wound. But then she resumed her task, her voice steady when she replied.

"Maybe that's because I know the difference between being alone and being lonely," she said, not looking at me. "Do you?"

The question caught me off guard, hitting closer to home than I wanted to admit. I thought of all the parties I'd attended, surrounded by people who claimed to be my friends but didn't really know me. I thought of the way Julian sometimes looked through me rather than at me, as if I wasn't worth his attention. I thought of how, even with Sam—sweet, solid Sam—I sometimes felt like I was playing a role rather than being myself.

Was I lonely?The thought had never occurred to me before, but now, standing in this small room with someone who seemed to understand solitude better than I understood my own popularity, I wasn't so sure.

"I'm heading down to lunch," I said, ignoring her question entirely. "I'll see you on the slopes later."

As I headed into the bathroom to change, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I looked the same as always—hair perfectly in place, features arranged in their usual confident expression. But something felt different, off-kilter, like I was seeing myself through a slightly warped lens.

I shook my head, dismissing the feeling. It was just the altitude, messing with my head. Nothing more. This was going to be a perfect trip, filled with fun and freedom and everything I loved about skiing. Brooke Winters and her probing questions weren't going to change that.

But as I zipped up my ski jacket and prepared to join my friends, I couldn't help wondering if maybe, just maybe, rooming with Brooke was going to turn out to be more interesting than I'd anticipated.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BROOKE

The door clicked shut behind Madeline, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The sudden silence in the room felt heavy, almost tangible. I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers absently tracing the pattern on the navy blue quilt, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

She actually showed me kindness. It was such a strange thought that my brain kept circling back to it, examining it from different angles like some rare specimen. Madeline Hayes—queen of the social hierarchy, professional mean girl, my reluctant chemistry student—had voluntarily chosen to room with me. She'd saved me from that fatally awkward situation of being the odd one out, the girl no one wanted to pair with.

I was grateful, there was no denying that. The thought of standing alone in that lobby while everyone else paired off made my stomach clench with remembered humiliation. But gratitude wasn't the only emotion swirling inside me. There was suspicion too, a nagging sense that there was something Madeline wasn't telling me.

She has to get something out of this, right?

People like Madeline Hayes don't just do nice things without expecting something in return. That's not how their world works. Maybe she wanted me to do her homework, or maybe she was planning some elaborate prank. Or maybe—and this thought felt the most unsettling—she actually felt sorry for me.

I glanced at my already unpacked clothes in the small dresser beside my bed. I'd arranged everything neatly while Madeline was getting ready for lunch—the methodical process of folding and sorting had helped calm my racing thoughts then. I reached for the dog-eared paperback I'd placed on the nightstand. It was one of those epic fantasy novels my mom used to love, the kind with maps at the beginning and a glossary at the end. Reading it made me feel closer to her somehow.

"See you on the slopes."Madeline's parting words echoed in my mind as I stretched out on the bed, book in hand. Who said I was already going to the slopes today? My plan was to just unpack and get all my stuff in place and just relax a bit, since I was tired from the bus ride, and just go hit the slopes first thing tomorrow morning. But now that idea felt... inadequate somehow. Like I was missing out.

I tried to focus on the book, but found myself reading the same paragraph three times without absorbing a single word. The text blurred before my eyes as my mind kept drifting back to Madeline's casual assumption.

See you on the slopes.

Did she just assume I would go? Or did she say it because she actually wanted to see me there?

Who am I kidding?

Madeline could not care less about that, right? She was probably out there with Sam and her other friends, completely forgetting I existed. But then again, she did save me from being left out, so she did feel something... right?

I closed the book with a frustrated sigh and stared up at the wooden beams crossing the ceiling. This was ridiculous. I was overthinking things, as usual. Madeline Hayes was not worth this much mental energy. She had done one marginally decent thing, and here I was analyzing it like it was some complex mathematical equation.

But as much as I tried to dismiss the thought, I couldn't shake the memory of her face when she'd noticed me standing alone in that lobby. There had been something there, a flicker of what looked almost like genuine concern. It didn't fit with everything I thought I knew about her, and that discrepancy gnawed at me.

Before I fully realized what I was doing, I had put down my book and was reaching for my snowboard gear.Fine, I thought, I'll go to the slopes.Not because Madeline suggested it, but because I love snowboarding and the mountain is right there, practically begging to be conquered.

As I zipped up my jacket and grabbed my board, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the closet door. My cheeks were flushed with a mix of excitement and something else I couldn't quite name. It's just the cold, I told myself, adjusting my beanie over my ears.Or maybe it's the altitude.

The resort was relatively quiet as I made my way through the lobby and out to the lifts. Most people were probably having lunch, either at the resort restaurant or at one of the smaller cafes dotted around the base of the mountain. The lift line was practically nonexistent, and within minutes I was seated, gliding upward through crisp, clean air.

As the chair lift carried me higher and higher, the ground falling away beneath my feet, a familiar sense of peace washed over me. Up here, suspended between earth and sky, it was easier to think clearly. The mountain stretched out before me, its pristine white slopes glittering in the sunlight. This was what I had been looking forward to—this moment of perfect anticipation, the world spread out below me like a promise.

I wish Mom could see this view.The thought came unbidden, a bittersweet ache in my chest. She would have loved it here, would have been the first one on the lifts in the morning and the last one down at night. I could almost hear her laugh, see her eyes light up with the pure joy of the mountain.

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