Page 1 of First Echo

Part One

Encounters

CHAPTER ONE

BROOKE

Of all the days to show up, I picked the one that changed everything.

If I had known my whole life would change just because I decided to go to school instead of staying home while I was tired, I still would’ve gone. That was just who I was—diligent, ambitious, and earnest. Those were a few of the Brooke Winters trademarks. So no, I wasn’t going to skip school just because I was tired. After all, I couldn’t skip school. I had to keep my perfect attendance.

It was cold today.Not just the temperature—everything about today felt cold. It was like every sound of life was subdued, every ounce of warmth and energy just gone. Winter had truly started, clinging to every street corner and fence post, reminding me that the brightest days of fall were over. The sky was a dull gray that stretched endlessly, giving the impression that the world extended into a vast expanse of nothingness. The clouds hung low, as if they carried secrets, they weren’t yet ready to spill. I remember looking out my window and seeing a few stray birds fly by, their silhouettes barely visible through the haze of the morning. It felt oddly comforting, though, seeing those birds defying the chill in the air. Part of me wondered if they had enough sense to fly somewhere warmer or if they, like me, simply refused to give in.

I heard my dad downstairs making breakfast.Not only did I hear it, but I smelled it too.He had forgotten to open a window,again. Even though my whole room now smelled like food, the scent of pancakes wasn’t a bad thing to wake up to. The aroma was thick and buttery, seeping into my blankets and pillows. It reminded me of slower, simpler mornings when I was younger, when I’d sit on the kitchen floor and watch my mom cook. She would flip pancakes with such ease, always smiling despite the early hour. Sometimes I’d help stir the batter until my arm got tired, and she would laugh at how determined I was to do it by myself.

Ever since my mom died of cancer four years ago, my dad had never really been the same.Neither had I.He put up this front like everything was fine, like nothing had happened. He did that for me. He thought that was what I wanted, but truth be told, I didn’t know what I wanted. There was an unspoken understanding that neither of us really had the right words to make it better. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’d sneak downstairs for water and find him at the kitchen table, staring at an old photograph of my mom. He’d pretend he was just tired, rubbing at his eyes, hiding the fact that he had been crying. I never confronted him, because I wasn’t sure if my words would be a comfort or just make things worse.

Talking or even thinking about her hurt so much that it felt like a sharp, stinging pain in my chest, almost as if someone was trying to rip out my heart. But remembering the good memories we all shared together made me truly happy, until I realized she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of her in the corner of my vision—maybe just a trick of the light or my mind’s wishful thinking. I’d turn around in excitement, only to face the harsh reminder that she was no longer there. That intangible ache in my chest, it was something I’d gotten used to, like a bruise that never quite healed.

“Breakfast is ready!” my dad yelled.

“I know, I can smell it!” I said, laughing. The smell of pancakes was so strong the entire house smelled like it. “Smells good though. I’ll be down in a sec!”

I quickly put on a pair of dark grey sweatpants along with a navy blue Carhartt hoodie, which I had already worn but had thrown on myclothes chair andran downstairs. The cold air nipped at my ankles, but my hoodie provided just enough warmth to keep me from shivering. There were boxes in the hallway that never seemed to get put away—old knickknacks and random decorations that my mom once loved, things my dad couldn’t bear to move. Every day I saw them, every day I was reminded of the life we had and the one we were struggling to build now.

“Good morning, Dad,” I said, stunned as I stared at the kitchencovered in pancake supplies.“Did something explode, or what?”

When I said there was flour and eggs everywhere in the kitchen, I meant everywhere. There wasn’t a single piece of black marble from the countertop visible. Eggshell fragments balanced precariously on the edges of mixing bowls, and a light dusting of flour gave the whole countertop a ghostly appearance. The scene might have been disastrous, but there was also a certain cozy chaos to it that felt strangely welcoming. It was our house, after all—mess and all.

“Ha ha, really funny,” he said. “I am making pancakes.”

“Yes, I can see that. Are you trying to feed the kitchen too?”

“Just sit down and eat your pancakes.”

I grabbed a plate, put some pancakes on it, and sat down at the table. They were warm and soft, with a sweet aroma that made it impossible not to smile. I could almost taste the memory of my mom’s pancakes, but I tried not to linger on that thought for too long. I smothered them in syrup, letting the sticky sweetness soak in before taking the first bite. After aboutfive minutes, I finished eating. My dad was almost done cleaning the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at him trying to wipe the flour from every surface. He was so dedicated to the task, muttering to himself whenever he noticed more flour on his sleeves.

I laughed at him and ran upstairs to get ready for school, feeling that same mixture of affection and sadness that seemed to follow me whenever I thought about the things we used to do as a complete family. In my room, I brushed my teeth, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was slightly disheveled, and my face showed the signs of a poor night’s sleep, but I told myself I could manage a presentable look for school. Perfect attendance, sure, but that didn’t mean I was always the most put-together person.

I grabbed my bag and got in the car.The drive to school felt longer than usual, the sky still that muted gray, the roads still slick from last night’s frost. My dad fiddled with the radio, searching for a decent station. All we got were songs I’d heard countless times, so I stopped paying attention. I thought back to the smell of pancakes and the messy kitchen and found myself wishing I had taken one more minute to just sit there with my dad. Those little moments were precious, moments I realized I shouldn’t take for granted.

School was the usual blur of people. Hallways were crowded with cliques of laughing students, each group forming its own little bubble of drama and gossip. Some waved to me, and I waved back mechanically. I could already feel my headache coming back, probably from the remnants of my cold, but I pressed on. I found my seat in the classroom, right by the window where the sun would sometimes shine through. It was dim outside, though, the clouds unwilling to allow more than a faint light.

There she was,late as usual. The teacher didn’t even bat an eye. Why would he? It was just Madeline Hayes. What was he going to do? Call her out on it and risk getting humiliated in front of the class? Or tell the principal and risk getting fired because of some ridiculous stunt Madeline’s parents would probably pull? Yeah, no, I didn’t think so.

Madeline Hayes was the very essence of the kind of people who ruined the world. She didn’t care about anyone but herself. She did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted to. I was not exactly a big fan of hers. But the rest of the school—hell, the rest of the town—was. People worshipped her without fully realizing they were doing it. Half the girls wanted to be her best friend, the other half wanted to be her. And almost every guy probably wanted to date her or at least have the social status that came with being in her orbit.

She just walked in, with her toned but skinny legs, like she was untouchable. Her blonde, picture-perfect 90s blowout framed her face perfectly, and her golden, very expensive jewelry complemented her slightly tanned skin. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she knew that she was, as a matter of fact, untouchable.

I found myself trying to disappear into my seat, not that she would notice me anyway. My eyes flicked toward the windows, taking in the swaying branches of the bare trees outside. The teacher started his lecture, his voice a low hum in the background. Everything felt suspended in that moment—my cold, the lingering sadness, Madeline’s entrance—as if life was balancing on the edge of something I couldn’t quite put a name to. Little did I know, the day would prove just how fragile that balance really was.

In those last few moments of calm, I remember focusing on a loose thread on my backpack, gently twisting it around my finger. Sometimes those quiet details, the small, inconsequentialthings, are what keep us grounded. I had no clue what was about to unfold, or how drastically my life would change from something as simple asgoing to school while I was sick.But if I had known, I truly would have done the same thing. Maybe that’s just who I am, the kind of person who doesn’t let excuses get in the way—no matter what storms might come next.

CHAPTER TWO

MADELINE

Iwas so tired when I woke up this morning. The sheer coldness of the early hours seemed to creep into my bones, making every part of me want to stay buried under the blankets for as long as humanly possible. My alarm had been blaring for several minutes, an irritating buzz that felt like it was echoing right inside my skull. So, obviously, I snoozed it, thinking I’d allow myself just another two minutes of precious sleep. Not exactly one of my finest moments. Because, as it turned out, my body decided it needed more than a couple of minutes. When I finally opened my eyes again, nearly a full hour had passed, and my phone’s screen showed the time in unforgiving digits. I realized with a jolt that I was already going to be late for school, even if I dashed out the door right then.

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