We agreed to more than being friends forever. In the drawer of my bedside table sits our to-do list. On a snowy January day we wrote it onto my nicest stationary with glitter pens we had found in your school bag. At the top right-hand corner there is a brown stain from hot chocolate. For a while I was still able to faintly smell the sweetness. On our list we included a mix of realistic and wishful goals. At seven we were dreamers. I can still remember you giggling as you wrote “swim with mermaids” using the pink pen. By the time we both had turned sixteen, a majority of our list had been crossed off. A few things, such as getting matching tattoos and winning money on a scratch-off lottery ticket, were not possible to accomplish until later in life. Your mother had booked a beach house for us to be able to check off “beach weekend” now that we were old enough to be trusted. I braided your hair before we got into your car so that when we got there, we would not have to worry about your curly locks getting dangerously tangled by the water. As we neared the coast, the sun began to set, turning the sky a beautiful orange-pink shade. I called your name and told you to pose as I took a picture of you in the driver’s seat with the beautiful backdrop. You took your hands of the wheel for two seconds to throw up a peace sign. All it took was two seconds. The car hit the barrier before flipping onto its side. I screamed your name and you did not reply. When the cops arrived they said that I was lucky. In the top drawer of my bedside table sits a photograph of you with the sun setting behind you. They found my phone near the scene of the crash and returned it a week later. If I could, I would change everything. I would have enjoyed the ride with you rather than trying to photograph you. I would not have asked you to do something that would risk not only our lives, but the lives of other drivers. Distracted driving is selfish and a danger to everyone on the road.