We were all so young. That is my biggest regret. Amanda and I were seventeen, Marcy only sixteen. Much too young to lose our lives, especially when the cause was so innocent, so playful.

            It was summertime. About eight o’clock, right when the sun is no longer visible but its bright pink and orange rays linger, giving the sky the beautiful feel of twilight. Amanda, Marcy and I had just been to see a horror movie and decided to take a joyride around town to calm ourselves down.

            As it got later, and the sky grew darker, the three of us became inevitably sillier. We started to goof off and play games like Chinese fire drills and seeing who could make it through the most yellow lights.

            I was the one driving when it happened. We had gone off down one of the many deserted back roads and were playfully swerving all over the place. At one point, a car coming towards us almost hit us, but I managed to get out of the way just in time. We were feeling invincible.

            I kept down that country road, still swerving back and forth. Then Amanda decided it would be funny to scare me. She reached across the center console and jerked the steering wheel towards her. I screamed and pulled it hard to the left, tying to miss the tree on the side of the road. What I didn’t see what the tractor-trailer on my left.

            Headlights were blaring in my face as time stood at almost a stand-still. I heard Marcy scream from the back seat, “Jenny! Watch out!” But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. The last thing that went through my head was, It’s all my fault.

            And then came the impact.