Page 4 of First Echo

She turned around at the sound of the door, her eyes raking over me as if she were evaluating whether I was worth her time. Her gaze made me feel both self-conscious and strangely indignant.

“Are you Brooke?” she asked, her polished voice laced with mild curiosity. She cocked her head slightly, allowing a few strands of her flawless blonde hair to fall across her shoulder.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

I had never spoken to her before.Not directly, anyway. I’d heard plenty of stories about her, and I had seen her from a distance in class. She was indeed quite pretty up close, an observation that twisted into annoyance because I knew how much power that beauty gave her in social circles. She carried herself with an easy grace, as if the world existed solely to revolve around her.

For a few long seconds, we just stood there, staring. The silence between us grew awkward, so I tried to break it with thedumbest question possible.

“So, uhm… you need a chemistry tutor?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Why else would I be at the tutor center?” she scoffed, her tone dismissive.

I laughed, although I had no idea why. There was nothing genuinely funny about the situation. Maybe it was my nerves kicking in. She was so arrogant that I was at a loss for how to respond in a way that felt natural. It was like trying to figure out the right key to unlock a door that refused to budge.

“Right. So when do you have time?” I managed to say, trying to at least sound businesslike, though my voice trembled slightly.

“Thursday at five. My house,” she said promptly, already turning on her heel as if our conversation was done.

And just like that, I was reminded of whyI hated her so much.She had not even asked if Thursday at five worked for me; she just assumed I would rearrange my life to accommodate her. In reality, I had an after-school study group with some friends, but the bigger point was that she did not care. Her eyes had barely flicked in my direction once she had given me the time, like I was just another person in her life who would do as she wanted.

She also didn’t bother telling me her address, because of course she knew thateveryoneknew where Madeline Hayeslived. Her family’s estate was practically a local landmark. And I could see she loved that about her life. She thrived on it, like a gardener carefully cultivating the envy and admiration of others.

As I drove home, a thousand thoughts churned in my mind.I couldn’t stop thinking about how infuriating she was.My fingers tightened on the steering wheel whenever I replayed our brief conversation, especially the part where she basically commanded me to come to her house. The headlights of passing cars flashed through my window, creating a dizzying array of light and shadow across my dashboard. But it was that swirl of conflicting emotions—anger, annoyance, and a tiny flicker of something else—that truly unsettled me.

She made me feel nervous, though I was not sure why. Maybe it was the way she looked at me, or maybe it was her confidence. Or maybe it was something buried deeper, an unspoken tension or curiosity. I could not put a finger on it, but I did know one thing.

I was never going to let Madeline Hayes control me like another one of the brainless Barbie dolls she called friends.

With that promise burning in my thoughts, I pulled into my driveway. The sky was streaked with pink and orange from the setting sun, which was almost pretty enough to soothe my irritation. Almost. As I gathered my books and headed into my house, I could not help wondering if I was getting into something more complicated than just helping someone pass chemistry.

I trudged up the front steps, the familiar creak beneath my feet reminding me of home and routine. In a small way, I was relieved to be back in my own space, a place where I was justBrooke,and not trapped in Madeline’s world of glamour. Yet I also had to admit, deep down, that I was curious about how Thursday at five would unfold, whether I liked it or not.

CHAPTER FOUR

MADELINE

Ican’t believe I need tutoring. Just thinking about it made my stomach twist into a painful knot. I was never the kind of person who needed extra help in school. In fact, for most of my life, academics were barely something I worried about. I showed up, did the minimum, and still got decent grades. Until now. Untilchemistry.This was so embarrassing. I didn’t even know where the tutoring center was and had to awkwardly ask one of the hall monitors for directions. They looked at me with a slight smirk, like it was amusing to seemelost on school property. The nerve.

I’d barely ever been around after classes, let alone set foot in the tutoring center. I usually had better things to do, like sneaking out with friends, driving around town, or attending parties I probably should have skipped. But there I was, turning the doorknob to a place that felt utterly foreign.

The moment I stepped inside, a horrible smell assaulted my nose—this humid odor that reminded me ofwet dog.It was like the ventilation didn’t work properly or something. There were a few ancient couches lining the walls, sagging in the middle, and some battered-looking desks scattered around the small, window-lined room. Sticky notes were pinned on the notice board, advertising math help, literature tutoring, extra-credit sessions for biology. It all felt so far removed from my life that Icringed just from being there.This is my worst nightmare come true.

I glanced at my phone. It showed that class had ended a good fifteen minutes ago, or at least it had for me. The teacher ended our lesson early, and I took advantage, slipping out quickly. Now I stood, fidgeting in front of a cracked whiteboard that displayed tomorrow’s tutoring schedule. There was no mention of my name, which only served to remind me how alien this whole place was to me.

Where even is this tutor?The more time passed, the more desperate I felt to escape before anyone I knew could walk by and witness me in this place. There was a slight draft from the windows, which rattled a bit in the frames. The day was miserably cold, and I had to wrap my arms around myself for warmth. At least the tutoring center was quiet—no prying eyes or mocking whispers yet.

As I waited, I looked through the window and noticed a figure approaching the door. The glass was a bit foggy from the inside, making it hard to see any defining features. But as the door opened, letting in a rush of chilly air, I saw a short girl, about 5’3, walk in. Her long brown hair was cut into one of those layered, wavy styles that looked effortless, like she barely thought about it but still managed to make it work. It framed her face and fell over her shoulders in a way that wasn’t overly done, just… there. Her cheeks were pink from the cold outside, and she reached up to smooth a few stray strands behind her ear.

The frames accentuated her dark eyes, giving her a bookish, studious look. She wore black boots and dark blue jeans that clung nicely to her legs. Topping off the outfit was a shapeless and somewhat boring hoodie—like she didn’t particularly care about the latest trends or how she looked. It was a stark contrast to the carefully curated outfits I was used to seeing (and wearing) every day.

I recognized her from my chemistry class, even though I barely paid attention to anyone in that room. But I had no idea she was a tutor. Then again,I didn’t even know her namebefore Mr. Sinclair told me to meet aBrooke Wintershere. So it wasn’t exactly a shock that I didn’t know her story. She looked at me with a hint of hesitation, probably as taken aback as I was.

I just wanted to leave as soon as possible,so I did the first thing that popped into my head: I set the time and place on my terms and made my exit. I told her to meet me at my house on Thursday at 5 pm. It’s not like someone likeherwould have plans on a Thursday night, right? She looked a bit flustered at how curt I was, but I figured that was her problem, not mine.

As soon as I left, I got this sinking feeling in my chest, reminding me thatas much as I wanted to go home,I was also dreading what awaited me there. I just knew Julian had already tattled to our parents that I got an F in chemistry, and then I’d have to admit I needed a tutor, which was humiliating on its own. So I made a decision: I went for a drive to clear my head before dealing with that chaos.

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