Page 43 of First Echo

I lay back, staring up at the ceiling, watching shadows from the trees outside dance across the textured surface. Every moment from the evening played in my mind like fragments of a dream I couldn't quite believe was real. The way Madeline had leaned forward when she laughed, the slight brush of her fingers against mine when she reached for her drink, how her voicehad softened when she talked about her childhood memory with Lucía.

"It's not a big deal," I whispered to the empty room. "She's just... different when she's away from her friends."

But it felt like a big deal. It felt like witnessing something rare and precious—Madeline Hayes without her armor, without the practiced smile and calculated words. Just Madeline, with her love of art and her surprising vulnerability and her genuine laugh that seemed to light up something long-dormant inside me.

I rolled onto my side, frustration creeping in around the edges of these confusing thoughts.

"Why does she always have to leave like that?" I muttered, plucking at a loose thread on the comforter. "Why did she look disappointed when she walked out? Did I do something wrong?"

The questions multiplied, each one spawning three more until my head felt too full to contain them all. I reached for my book—my faithful escape route—but found myself staring at the same paragraph over and over, the words blurring into meaningless shapes as my mind refused to focus on anything but the lingering scent of Madeline's perfume in the air.

With a sigh, I set the book aside and stared at the ceiling again. My thoughts drifted to Sam—perfect, golden Sam with his easy smile and unwavering loyalty. Of course she went to him. He was her boyfriend, after all. They had the perfect relationship to match their perfect social status, sharing private moments and intimate conversations I could never be part of.

"That's what normal people do," I told myself. "Go to their boyfriends when they feel weird or confused."

A hollow feeling spread through my chest, an ache so familiar it was almost a comfort in its predictability. "So why does it feel like she just walked out on me?"

I'd been here before—this moment of almost-connection that slipped away before it could fully form. It was the story of my life after Mom died. Friends who couldn't handle my grief, who drifted away with promises to call that never materialized. The girl from my English class who'd invited me to her birthday party, then spent the whole night talking to everyone but me. My dad, physically present but emotionally absent, lost in his own pain.

Everyone always left before I could find the words to make them stay.

The memory of my fourteenth birthday rose unbidden—the first one after Mom died. I'd spent the whole day waiting for someone, anyone, to remember. By evening, when even my dad had forgotten, I'd blown out a single candle on a cupcake I'd bought myself, making a wish I knew wouldn't come true:Please don't let me be alone forever.

I pushed the memory away, sitting up with sudden determination. This was ridiculous. Madeline Hayes was not someone whose absence should hurt me. We weren't even friends, not really. One nice evening didn't erase years of dislike.

The room felt suddenly stifling, too small to contain the storm of emotions churning inside me. I needed to do something, anything, to quiet my racing thoughts.

Sleep. I needed sleep. Tomorrow would reset everything, return us to our normal dynamic—me the quiet outcast, her the untouchable queen. Tonight was just a momentary detour, a strange blip in our otherwise predictable hostility.

I stood up, the floorboards creaking softly beneath my feet. The silence of the room pressed against my ears—no humming air conditioner, no distant traffic, just the soft whisper of my own breathing and the muffled sounds of the resort settling into its nighttime rhythm. I moved to my suitcase, pulled out my sleep shirt, and placed it on the bed.

I reached for the hem of my hoodie, tugging it over my head, the soft fabric brushing against my skin as it came off. I stood there in just my bra and sweatpants, goosebumps rising on my arms in the cool night air.

The sound of my hoodie hitting the floor seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room. I could hear my own heartbeat, steady but somehow prominent, as if the world had narrowed to just this—my body in this space, existing in this moment of strange, suspended anticipation.

I stretched, feeling the pleasant pull in my muscles, a reminder of the long day on the slopes. My back was to the door as I reached for the clean t-shirt I'd laid out earlier. The cool air caressed my skin, raising more goosebumps along my spine and across my shoulders.

There was a flutter in my stomach, a strange sense of expectancy that made no sense. I was alone. Nothing was about to happen. And yet, my body seemed to be waiting for something my mind couldn't name.

The sound of the door opening caught me completely off guard.

"Forgot my—"

I turned instinctively toward the voice, my heart leaping into my throat as I found myself face to face with Madeline. Her sentence cut off abruptly, the last word—"phone"—hanging unspoken in the air between us for several long seconds before she finally pushed it past her lips.

Her eyes widened, her gaze dropping from my face to my exposed upper body with an expression I couldn't quite read. It wasn't her usual judgmental stare, the one that made me feel like I was being measured and found wanting. This was something else entirely—something that made heat rise to my cheeks despite the cool air on my skin.

Time seemed to slow, stretching each second into an eternity. I could see the slight parting of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened.

I was suddenly, acutely aware of my body in a way I hadn't been moments before—the defined muscles of my abdomen that I'd earned through countless hours at the gym, the toned lines of my shoulders and arms that most people never saw beneath my usual layers of clothing.

"Are you staring at me?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them, landing somewhere between accusation and amusement.

Madeline blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a trance. "No, I'm not."

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth, a strange confidence washing over me. "Yeah, you were." I couldn't resist adding, "Listen, I'm not judging you. I'd stare at me too."

The flush that crept up her neck to her cheeks was fascinating—Madeline Hayes, flustered was a sight I never thought I'd see. She moved then, stepping into the room toward the nightstand where her phone lay. To reach it, she had to walk past me, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of her perfume, something floral and expensive that seemed to wrap around my senses.

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