text: The hospital smells like chemicals. I feel a dull ache in my head, the hours I've spent waiting in this room finally getting to me. I look down at my shoes, the mud now caked and dry on the bottom from running here in the rain. I heard the news about four hours ago. I was sitting in my room, cross-legged on my bed watching TV, when the phone rang. "Hello?" I asked. "Hi. Is this Stacy Abrams?" I slid off my bed, the phone still in my hand, as a crack of lightning struck the sky outside. I turned to face the window as the dark night flashed white for a second. "Yes, this is her," I said, my eyes still focused on the storm outside. "Is something wrong?" "You're friends with Allie Jenkins, right?" I furrowed my brows, pressing the phone closer to my ear. "Yeah, I am. Why?" There was a muffled sound, and then Allie's mom talked. "Stacy honey, can you hear me?" My heart started beating faster. "Yeah, yeah I can, what's going on?" Her voice sounded scratchy. "Allie was hit by a car. It was dark and the car slid a bit because of the rain. You should get here." I felt my stomach hit the floor. A sick feeling spread through my body like ice. It was hard to form words. "Is she ok?" I asked, the question shaky in my mouth. Her mom took a deep breath, audible enough that I could hear it through the phone. "She's going into emergency surgery. There's a, a lot," she stuttered. "A lot of internal bleeding. We're all here. It's the hospital only a mile or two from you. It would mean a lot if you could be here." I was already out the door. Allie was the first person to really make me laugh. I met her when I was six, at school, and the rest was history. I wish there was a way to capture Allie and show it to you. Everything about her is infectious. Her laugh, smile, good and bad moods. Whatever she feels, I instantly feel. She has platinum hair. It's always soft, making her the perfect subject of my hair braiding. I like combing my fingers through her hair and feeling it on my bare shoulders when she hugs me and it cascades over my arms. Her laugh too. It's sudden, like a stack of plates hitting the floor. It sort of gurgles out of her. It's so loud, so un-elegant, so un-Allie that it always makes me smile. I used to lay awake at night a lot, wondering if I loved her. The way I look at her is the way someone could gaze at the stars, searching for every familiar constellation, connecting the dots till they see the picture. I studied her. When we read together, I'd look up from my book to glance at her, the way her hair fell forward in a curtain as she leaned down to see the words more clearly. She always chewed her lip when she read. I could be having heart palpations on the floor and she wouldn't look up. Allie was frustratingly perfect. Pretty, and fun, and too smart. I loved that she was mine. I loved looking at her. We have a creek, that we always go to. At least twice a week, for as long as I can remember. You have to push through the woods next to the road until you find a clearing. There's a lot of grass and daisies, as well as the rushing of the water trickling through stones and sticks. When we were younger, we'd sit and make daisy crowns, or splay out on a blanket and listen to the water. We'd make little boats with twigs and leaves and bend down, slowly placing our creations in the water and watching them glide momentarily down the stream before sinking. The creek was our secret. That spot was something we never showed anyone. I hear a scream from the hospital lobby. Nurses look up, their eyes in the direction of my left. I turn to see a doctor with Allie's parents. Allie's mom cries, falling to the ground in a crumple. Her husband is holding her, blocking her body from my view. I get up immediately. "What is it?" I ask, running to them. Allie's mom looks up at me, her face red and wet. "She didn't make it, Stacy." I feel my blood draining from my head. It becomes hard to breathe. Tears well in my eyes, and escape with no warning. I turn to the doctor, hot tears blurring my vision. "She was fifteen!" I cry. My bottom lip shakes. "Fifteen!" He nods solemnly, a sad mist in his eyes. "You couldn't do more?!" I scream. "She was a baby! She'd never even kissed anyone!" He takes my hand slowly. The warm pressure makes me fall to the floor. "She was so young," I choke. Allie's mom moves beside me. I feel her arms around me. They're so fragile I fear they'll break. My shoulders heave and I sink into her. I never realized before how small she was. The next morning, I walk to the creek. The air is warm and hugs me. I've never been alone on this walk before. Every step is loud, every chirp noticeable. The quiet encloses me. I reach the clearing and sit for a second. The flowers around me sway with the breeze. I pick a daisy, rubbing the stem in between my fingers. Allie looked like an impf when she had daisies in her hair. The sunlight streams through the tree leaves, bathing me in a familiar warmth. I breathe slowly, trying to alleviate the heaviness in my chest. I walk past the clearing, pushing through the plants and weeds till I get to the edge of the creek. The water is cold and clear. I take the daisy I picked and lower it, dipping the petals into the water. I take it back out. The petals are now dark and limp from being wet, breaking when I rub them, the pieces falling back in the water with every motion. They go down one by one, creating a trail of yellow. The creek flows the same way Allie's hair did in blonde locks. I picture the same yellow trail, intricately woven in one of her braids, and know this is the first and last time I'll go to the creek without her.