Page 50 of First Echo

As I crossed it, I heard cheers from the small crowd that had gathered to watch. I carved to a stop in a spray of snow, heart pounding with exertion and something that felt dangerously close to joy.

Luca was among the first to reach me, his face split with a grin. "Told you! Absolutely smoked everyone." He held up a hand for a high five, which I returned before I could overthink it.

Other riders finished behind me, some wiping out spectacularly, others making respectable showings. Julian crossed with a decent time, immediately surrounded by friendscongratulating him as if he'd won. I rolled my eyes, unsurprised by his ability to make everything about himself.

And then I saw her.

Madeline stood at the edge of the crowd, her designer jacket unmistakable against the white snow. She was clapping, a smile lighting up her face as she cheered. For me. She was cheering for me.

Our eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the crowd, the noise, even Luca standing beside me. There was just Madeline, looking at me with something like pride, something like admiration, something like—

I turned away.

The anger I'd been nurturing all day flared hot and bright. How dare she? How dare she disappear all morning, run back to Sam and her perfect friends, and then show up now, acting like she cared? Acting like she had any right to celebrate my victory?

"You okay?" Luca asked, noticing the sudden shift in my demeanor.

"Fine," I replied, the word clipped. "Just ready to go."

I unclipped my board with more force than necessary, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here, anywhere Madeline Hayes wasn't looking at me with those blue eyes that somehow saw too much and not enough all at once.

People always leave. They always choose someone else. Opening yourself up only creates more opportunities for abandonment. The lessons I'd learned the hard way echoed in my mind, hardening my resolve.

Whatever had flickered between Madeline and me—whatever strange, unnamed connection had formed in the quiet moments of honesty we'd shared—it wasn't real. It couldn't be. Girls like Madeline Hayes didn't choose girls like me. They never had, and they never would.

Better to end it now, before she had the chance to walk away first. Better to be the one who leaves than the one left behind. Again.

The decision settled over me like armor, protective and cold. I wouldn't give her the power to hurt me. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

I tucked my board under my arm and walked away from the finish line.

This time, I would be the one to disappear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MADELINE

Light streamed through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the empty bed beside mine. Brooke was gone—again. I stared at the perfectly made covers, the abandoned space where she should have been, and felt a hollow ache spread through my chest. It was becoming a pattern—waking to find her already gone, as if she couldn't bear to spend even those first waking moments in my presence.

Not that I could blame her. Not after last night.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the memory that refused to fade: Brooke standing there in the soft light, curves and angles of her body on display, that knowing smile playing on her lips when she caught me staring. The electricity in that moment had been undeniable, crackling between us like static before a storm.

And I had run. Like I always did when something threatened the careful construction of who I thought I was supposed to be.

"You're a coward, Madeline Hayes," I whispered to the empty room.

I dragged myself out of bed, movements heavy with the weight of confusion. The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger—same blonde hair, same blue eyes, but behind them lurked questions I had no answers for. Who was this girl who couldn't stop thinking about her roommate? Who felt more like herself in the company of someone she was supposed to hate than with the friends she'd cultivated her entire life?

Who am I when I'm not being who everyone expects me to be?

The question haunted me as I dressed, as I brushed my teeth, as I applied just enough makeup to maintain the illusion of Madeline Hayes, Queen Bee. The perfect girlfriend. The perfect daughter. The perfect everything to everyone except myself.

My phone buzzed with incoming texts—Victoria coordinating our morning meet-up, Sam checking in, Julian complaining about his bruised jaw. The usual voices that dictated the rhythm of my days. Today, they felt like noise drowning out something essential I was struggling to hear.

I needed space. Distance from Brooke, distance from these feelings I couldn't name. Maybe if I surrounded myself with the familiar—Sam's steady presence, Victoria's confident certainty, the well-worn paths of my established life—I could find my way back to solid ground.

I texted back quickly:Be there in 15. Lifts at 9?

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