Page 17 of First Echo
"Fine?" she repeated, as if I'd just suggested she had three heads. "I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backward. And my makeup—" She caught sight of her face in the mirror and actually gasped. "I can't be seen like this!"
Something inside me snapped. All the goodwill I'd been feeling toward her, all the benefit of the doubt I'd been extending, evaporated in an instant. "You look fine, Madeline, so stop being so goddamn insufferable for just one minute and appreciate the fact that I woke you up at all!"
She spun around, her blue eyes flashing with anger. "I didn't ask to be woken up at the last possible second! And excuse me for caring how I look in public. Some of us have reputations to maintain."
"Oh yes, your precious reputation," I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Heaven forbid anyone sees the real Madeline Hayes without her perfect hair and makeup. They might actually realize you're a human being instead of some plastic doll."
Her mouth fell open, a mixture of shock and rage crossing her features. "You don't know the first thing about me or my life, so don't pretend you do. It's easy for you to judge when you don't care what anyone thinks of you."
"You think it's easy?" I asked, my voice rising. "You think it's easy being invisible, being the girl no one wants to room with? At least people look at you, even if it's only because of your designer clothes and your rich parents."
We stood there, glaring at each other, the air between us crackling with tension. In that moment, I remembered exactly why I'd disliked her from the beginning. She was shallow, self-absorbed, obsessed with appearances. And she reminded me of everything I wasn't, everything I'd never be.
"This," she said finally, gesturing between us, "is why this roommate situation is going to be a disaster. We can't even get through one conversation without fighting."
And though I hated to admit it, she was right. Whatever brief connection we might have shared earlier—that moment of gratitude, that flicker of something like understanding—was gone. We were back to being who we'd always been: the popular girl and the outsider, oil and water, fundamentally incompatible.
"Let's just go to dinner," I said, the fight suddenly draining out of me.
"You can blame your appearance on me if anyone asks. Tell them I hogged the bathroom or something."
A look of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a guarded expression.
"Fine," she said, grabbing a hairbrush from her bag and quickly running it through her hair.
"But just so we're clear, this doesn't change anything. We're still not friends."
"Trust me," I said, the words coming out more bitter than I'd intended, "that's the one thing we agree on.”
As we headed down to dinner, not speaking, not even looking at each other, I couldn't help feeling a strange sense of loss. For a brief moment, I'd glimpsed something different in Madeline, something that had made me curious, even hopeful. But now that glimpse was gone, and I was left with the same old realization: people like Madeline Hayes and people like me don't mix. We never have, and we never will.
And yet, as we entered the dining hall and I watched her plaster on a smile and glide over to her waiting friends, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd seen something real beneath that perfect facade. Something that made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to Madeline Hayes than met the eye.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MADELINE
Istill couldn't believe that Brooke hadn't woken me up until the last possible minute. I mean, who does that? I probably looked like I'd been dragged through a hedge backward—my hair tangled from sleep, my face bare of makeup, still wearing my ski clothes from earlier. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed my fears: my carefully cultivated image was completely ruined.
We walked to dinner in silence, the tension between us almost tangible. I kept a few steps ahead of her, trying to minimize the chance of anyone seeing us together. It wasn't that I was embarrassed to be seen with her—or at least, that's what I told myself. It was more that I didn't want to deal with Victoria's pointed stares or Julian's insufferable commentary.
The dining hall was already crowded when we arrived, the noise level rising with each group that filed in. Long wooden tables stretched across the room, covered with checkered tablecloths that gave the place a rustic, homey feel. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything. The smell of hearty mountain food filled the air—something rich and savory that I couldn't quite identify.
Mr. Sinclair stood at the front, checking names off his list as students entered. He gave me a nod as I walked past, his expression suggesting mild surprise that I'd actually made it on time. I pretended not to notice.
Victoria waved me over to a table where she sat with Audrey, Sophie, Julian, and Sam. I slid into the empty seat beside Sam, grateful for his steady, comforting presence. He leaned over, giving my shoulder a light squeeze.
"Nice of you to join us looking like that," Julian teased, gesturing to my disheveled appearance.
I shot him a glare. "Shut up, Julian."
Victoria examined me with critical eyes. "You could have at least brushed your hair, Mads. What happened to you?"
"I fell asleep after we got back," I said with a shrug, trying to sound casual. "Lost track of time."
Sam grinned. "Did you have a good nap at least? You were pretty worn out after those last runs."
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Brooke make her way to an empty table in the far corner of the room. She sat down alone, pulling out her phone as if to shield herself from the reality of her solitude.
