Page 9 of First Echo

“Fine,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “Whatever you want.”

I started explaining molecular bonds and electron configurations, pointing to diagrams and occasionally glancing over to see if she was at least pretending to follow along. For a few minutes, it was okay—she nodded here and there, asked a short question. But then I noticed her expression drifting, like she was physically in the room but her mind was a million miles away. Her gaze would slip to the corner of her desk where her pencils were scattered, or to the paintings on the wall, or sometimes to me.

I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but it was definitely not about protons or electrons. As her gaze lingered on my profile, I felt myself flush again, though I tried to hide it by tapping on the book with my pen.

I just wished she’d focus.Yet, there was a part of me that couldn’t help being a little curious about what was going on inher head. Was she thinking about her next drawing, or maybe something else in her life that was weighing her down? And why had she shown me thatgenuineside of herself when she talked about her art, then snapped right back to the confident, almost cocky persona that everyone knew her for?

I pushed the question aside. I was here to help her study, to save her from failing chemistry.I had no business trying to figure out the mystery of Madeline Hayes.No matter how captivating those paintings on the wall were, or how unexpectedly she seemed to open up.

So I cleared my throat and repeated the last part of my explanation, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I could anchor her attention back to the periodic table instead of wherever her thoughts were drifting off to. All the while, I couldn’t ignore the stubborn beat of my heart, or the strange, electric feeling settling in the room. I told myself it was just nerves, and that I just wanted to be done with this session, so I could leave and pretend things were back to normal.

But I knew there was no going back to normal. Not when Madeline Hayes was turning out to be so much more than I’d ever imagined.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MADELINE

While Brooke was trying to explain acids and bases to me, I couldn’t stop focusing on one strange realization:I actually kind of liked talking to her.Not that Ilikedher, obviously, because I didn’t. And it was painfully obvious that she didn’t like me either. But maybe that was exactly why it felt so different. She wasn’t here because she wanted something from me, or because she felt obligated to pretend she liked me. She was here because shehadto be. Something about that made it more honest than any other conversation I’d had in a while.

Everyone else in my lifeeither wanted some form of approval, or they wanted access to what I could offer. Half the time, they were just using me to feel better about themselves or to climb some imaginary social ladder. But Brooke didn’t care about any of that. There were no forced smiles, no empty compliments, no giggling at my every word. She didn’t hesitate to tell me exactly what she thought of me, good or bad, and it was oddly refreshing. It was as if, for once, nobody was dancing around my ego.

I glanced at her and saw the determination in her eyes as she delved deeper into the chapter. Her voice rose and fell in an almost rhythmic way while she explained acids, bases, pH values, and all that other stuff I had never really bothered to learn. Her hair kept slipping down her shoulder, and every once in a while she’d tuck it back behind her ear, looking so focused that I doubted she was even aware she was doing it.

I caught myself staring at her.It was then that I noticed the tiny bump on her nose, a feature so small you’d never see it unless you were up close. I felt a strange pull in my chest, like curiosity tugging me forward. I told myself it was just me being bored, but a nagging voice in the back of my head insisted it was something more.

She must have felt my eyes on her because she looked up, confusion flickering across her face. Then she let out a short, almost nervous laugh.

“What?” she asked. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth or something?”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking about how to respond, then blurted out, “Why don’t you have friends?”

Her face shifted immediately. Whatever calm had been there disappeared in an instant, and her expression turned guarded.

“Excuse me? Listen, Madeline, I’m here to help you. You constantly asking me questions about my personal life is not helping me help you.”

I’d only meant it as a passing curiosity. She talked about her daily life the other day, but she never mentioned meeting anyone or hanging out. I was merely wondering about it, but she acted like I’d stepped on her soul.Shewas the one overreacting. Had she forgotten who she was talking to?I am Madeline Hayes.

“Why are you so stuck up all the time?” I snapped, my temper flaring.

She scoffed and stood up from the bed so quickly that it almost startled me. “Me? Stuck up?” Her voice trembled with anger. “Have you ever looked in a mirror? Oh, wait. Who am I kidding? That’s all you do. Maybe that’s why you’re failing chemistry.”

I could feel my pulse beating in my neck. Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. She had no idea what I dealt withday in and day out in this house, this family, this life. Who did she think she was, talking to me that way?

I shot up from the bed, too, closing the space between us in a couple of quick steps. We were inches apart now, so close that I could feel the warmth of her breath near my collarbone. My heart pounded, and I hated how my body betrayed me by reacting that way.

I stared straight into her eyes. “Get the hell out of my house. Now.” My voice dropped low, cold, final.

“Gladly,” she said, her own anger radiating off her. There was no sign of fear or intimidation in her gaze. If anything, she looked ready to push back if I dared say anything else.

She stormed out of my room, mumbling something under her breath. I couldn’t make out the words, but the frustration in her tone was unmistakable. I stood there, fists clenched, as I heard her footsteps fade down the hallway.

After she left, I felt… something. Something uncomfortable and heavy, like a weight lodged in my chest. Annoyance, definitely, and frustration, of course, but there was also this nagging sensation that I had messed up. That I was the one who’d pushed it too far.But why should I feel guilty?She was the one who overreacted. She was the one who’d gotten all sensitive about a harmless question.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thought. It was ridiculous. I didn’t care about Brooke Winters or her feelings, not even a little.

(Right…?)

We didn’t speak after that.

---