Page 29 of First Echo

The resort was still quiet when I arrived, just a few serious skiers and snowboarders heading out for first tracks. I'd already gotten in several runs, each one better than the last. The snow was perfect—that ideal combination of grip and glide that makes for effortless carving down the mountain.

I was heading up for one more run before the crowds arrived when suddenly I wasn't alone anymore.

I don't know who was more surprised—me or Madeline. She slid into the seat beside me, looking just as startled as I felt. For a moment, we both sat in shock, neither quite ready to acknowledge what had just happened. My helmet rested on the seat beside me, leaving nothing between us but the uncomfortable silence.

"You left without waking me. Again," Madeline finally said, breaking the silence.

Of course that would be the first thing she said. Not "good morning" or "nice day for snowboarding." Just straight to accusations. Typical Madeline.

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to be your personal alarm clock," I replied, adjusting my beanie against the cold.

"That's not the point," she snapped. "It's just... rude. To keep disappearing like that."

"Rude?" I raised an eyebrow. "What's rude is expecting your roommate to wait around for you to wake up. Some of us actually like to make the most of the day."

Her cheeks flushed pink. "I never asked you to wait around. But a simple 'hey, I'm heading out' wouldn't kill you."

"You were asleep," I pointed out. "What was I supposed to do, shake you awake at five in the morning just to tell you I'm leaving?"

"You could leave a note or something." She tugged at her jacket zipper, pulling it higher.

"A note," I repeated flatly. "Right. 'Dear Madeline, gone snowboarding. Try not to fall on your face again. Best wishes, Brooke.'"

She fought back a smile at that, the corner of her mouth twitching despite her obvious attempt to maintain her annoyance. "You're impossible," she muttered, shifting away as much as the narrow lift seat would allow.

"I'm impossible?" The laugh that escaped me held no humor. "That's rich coming from you. You've spent the past few weeks making it abundantly clear you don't want anything to do with me. Now suddenly you care where I am and what I'm doing?"

"I don't care," she insisted, though something in her voice suggested otherwise. "I just think it's common courtesy to—"

"To what? Treat you like you're the center of the universe? News flash, Madeline: you're not."

Something in my stomach twisted at her words. Her demand for courtesy seemed hypocritical after weeks of barely acknowledging my existence. Yet a tiny voice in my head—onethat sounded suspiciously like my mom—whispered that maybe I could have been more considerate.

We fell into silence again, both staring ahead at the mountain stretched out below us. The only sounds were the mechanical whirring of the lift and the distant shouts of skiers. My heart was hammering, though I wasn't sure if it was from anger or something else.

The lift swayed slightly in the wind, causing our shoulders to brush against each other. I shifted away quickly, pretending to adjust my position.

Seconds stretched into minutes. The silence grew heavier, more awkward. I found myself sneaking glances at her profile—the slight upturn of her nose, the way her blonde hair escaped from beneath her helmet, the curve of her jaw. I'd never really looked at her before, not like this.

Eventually, our eyes met. For once, there were no sharp words, no defenses—just blue eyes meeting brown. I could see flecks of darker blue in her irises, tiny details I'd never noticed before. I wondered if she could see the dark green ring around my pupils, something my mom used to say made my eyes unique.

Thirty seconds of silent staring was about twenty-nine seconds too long for comfort.

"If I didn't know better," I finally said, "I'd think you actually missed me this morning."

A startled laugh escaped her. "In your dreams, Winters."

"Oh absolutely," I said with exaggerated seriousness. "I lie awake at night dreaming of quality time with Madeline Hayes. It's truly the highlight of my imaginary social calendar."

She laughed again—not the practiced laugh she used around her friends, but something genuine that transformed her face. She looked different when she really laughed, younger and moregenuine. For a second, I caught a glimpse of who she might be without all the social pressure and expectations.

"You're such a smart-ass," she said, but there was no bite to her words now.

"Better than being a dumb-ass," I replied automatically.

That set us both off, our laughter hanging in the cold air between us. It was strange, this momentary truce. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like this with anyone.

When our laughter subsided, something had changed. The tension was still there, but different now. The lift continued its slow ascent. We probably had about five more minutes before we reached the top.

---