When you're only fifteen and a friend dies, you begin to question so many things and find so few answers. I didn't know her favorite color, or her shoe size or when her first kiss was. Why didn't I bother to find out? Those things didn't seem very important.

Do I have the right to cry?

I only knew her for a year, but we sat next to each other on the bus. Many knew her longer and were closer to her than I was, so why does it hurt so much? I start to makes excuses: she died so suddenly; when a kid dies, everyone hurts; everyone else's crying makes me cry. I guess it's okay.

What if it were me?

Would so many people come to grieve? Would everyone cry as much? Would they remember me? I don't know.

Why does it still seem so

unreal?

I still think that she was just hurt, that she's just in the hospital, and I'm going to walk down the hall next week and pass her like I always do, with that same smile on her face.

Why did He choose her? Why not someone else? A criminal or someone evil? Why her? I guess I'll never know. c