Micha

There she is, the girl I used to know. It's visible in her green eyes that she's getting turned on. She was always weird like that, the speed, the danger always got her own engine burning. Then I have to slow down and all the fire dissolves. She puts on her seatbelt and mutters something about the Ella I know being gone forever, but I'm calling her out. I have big plans to bring my best friend back, whether she likes it or not.

She's wearing a short skirt and tank top that's tight enough to show off her curves. It's driving me crazy that I can't touch her.

"What happened to the turnout" she asks as we drive by the spot we use to park at during small town cruising. "It looks like you can't even take the road up to the cove anymore."

"You can if you walk or have four-wheel drive and ramp the hill." The turnout is blocked off by a large fence so that no cars can reach the dirt road that leads to a secluded area near the lake. "They blocked it off after they busted a bunch of people for drug and alcohol possession."

"Anyone I know" she inquires, feigning indifference.

I thrum my fingers on top of the steering wheel. "Yeah, you're sitting next to one of them. But mine was only for alcohol."

Her friend gasps in the backseat and I catch Ella secretly rolling her eyes.

"What'd you get" she asks nonchalantly.

"Probation and anger management classes." I return her indifference.

Her head turns toward me. "Anger management classes"

"I also punched Grantford Davis in the face," I explain. "Pretty hard. Broke his nose and everything."

Her friend gasps again and I wonder how Ella could be friends with her. She seems like a naive princess.

Ella studies me acutely with her beautiful eyes that always give away what she's really thinking. "Why did you punch him"

"I think you know why." I carry her gaze forcefully.

"I asked him to drive me to the bridge, Micha," she says it like it strangles her. "It wasn't his fault. He was just doing it as a favor."

"He should have never left you there alone." I flip the blinker on, making a turn down a dirt road that leads into a field of tall, dry grass. "Not in that condition. You could barely think straight. In fact, do you even remember anything about that night"

She fiddles with a band of bracelets on her wrists. "I'm not sure."

"Are you not sure" I accuse. "Or do you not want to admit it"

She starts to open her mouth, but then clamps her lips shut, and turns toward the window, dismissing me and the conversation.

Ella

The night I went to the bridge, I had been in a weird funk the entire day. My mom died a few weeks earlier and I couldn't seem to get rid of this vile feeling in my chest and I wanted it to go away. Badly. So I took drastic measures and decided to walk in my mother's footsteps for a night.

My mom wasn't awful. She had her good moments, but had a lot of bad ones too. When she was up, she was great - a lot of fun. At least that's what I thought when I was young. However, when I got older, there was a painful realization that it wasn't normal to go on huge shopping sprees, take off in the middle of the night for a road trip, pretend she could fly...

But the night on the bridge wasn't