I know I shouldn’t blame Carrie. It really wasn’t her fault. If anyone was to blame, it was Heather herself. But I guess when someone dies, you’re too busy grieving them to be mad at them for getting themselves killed. Because that’s ultimately what happened. Mom and Dad might have thought Carrie was a bad influence on her, but Heather was too strong to be influenced by anyone. Carrie couldn’t have pressured her to go to that party, drink a bunch of liquor, and then attempt to drive home if she’d tried. But, since I needed someone to blame, I picked Carrie.
These past few days have been the worst of my life. I can’t focus on school, and I can’t bring myself to eat anything at lunch. I just sit with my head in my hands, as my vision goes in and out of focus from tears blurring it. No one talks to me, but I don’t care. I imagine they aren’t sure what to say to the girl whose sister just died. I don’t want them to talk to me, either. But today, someone sits down next to me. I hope it’s anyone but Carrie, but instantly I recognize her oversized army jacket and the scent of cold weather that always clings to it. I stiffen. Whatever she came to say, I don’t want to hear it. But for a while, she doesn’t speak, just sits silently. It’s only when I look into her amber eyes that I realize they’re red and glistening with tears. She closes them and inhales.
“Hey, Jennifer.” Her voice is soft and timid, completely lacking the tough, effortlessly cool tone it usually had when she’d pick up Heather in her silver stationwagon. Like she did the night before the accident. 
“I guess you probably hate me,” she continues.
I shrug.
“Well… either way, I am so sorry about your sister. I tried to stop her…”
I want to punch Carrie in the face and get out of there. The last thing I need is to listen to her beg me to absolve her.
“...but I didn’t try hard enough.” Her voice breaks and she crumples into distraught sobs. At first, I’m in shock. This is Carrie Hill, widely renowned as the toughest girl in school. I’d never seen her cry, and I’d never thought I would. Yet here she is, reduced to a crying mess before me.
“She was too young,” she sobs. “She had her whole life in front of her. She was going to graduate and go to college - she was so smart, and she wanted to become a… a film director, and now… a-and now…” she bursts into tears again. I sit there, unsure what to do.
“I told her, I said ‘Let me drive. I didn’t drink as much.’ But she just… did it anyway. She was so strong willed,” Carrie continues
“Yeah, she really was,” I say softly as tears begin sliding down my cheeks. Somewhere in this mess I’d forgotten that whether Mom, Dad, or even I liked it or not, Carrie was Heather’s best friend. She’d lost her, too, and she’d lost the same Heather I had. Finally, she sits up wipes away her tears on the sleeve of her jacket. Then she turns to me and laughs- a sad, quiet laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Her eyes are wistful and bittersweet beneath the layer of tears.
     "I remember one time," she says, "me and Heather wanted to go to this haunted house. My brother told us about it, so I figured it was a dumb idea, but she was dead-set on going. So we drove all the way out to the address he said to go to, and went inside. We walked around a little, and nothing happened, until this old guy jumps out of nowhere and starts yelling at us. 'What the hell are you two doing, get out of my house! Get out of my house!' So we bolt out of there. I mean, we were terrified. Turns out that it really was just that guy's house."
We both laugh.
     "It wasn't our fault! I mean, it looked like a haunted house," she says.
     "And he left his door unlocked," I add.
     "Yeah! I guess some old people just do."
     Silence falls as our laughter dies down. Then Carrie speaks again, more seriously.
     "You know, you remind me of Heather."
     That surprises me. "I do? I’m used to people always saying how different we were."
     "Well, you're kind of quieter, and you do a little better in school, but..." She trails off. "I don't know. You have the same laugh, but there's more than that. I can't put it into words."
     I take a moment to study Carrie's face as she looks away from me, down at the table. She's a strange girl. She's 5'6", broad-shouldered and has a silver ring piercing the side of her nose, and generally looks like someone you don't want to mess with. But her eyes tell a different story. They give away who she really is- a thoughtful, sensitive young girl who just has trouble putting things into words.
     "That's actually... really nice to hear. Thank you," I finally respond.
     "I can't speak for you," Carrie begins, "but I'm really glad I talked to you this period."
     I smile.
     "I think part of the reason you remind me of her is that you're both good to talk to. I can't really connect with a lot of other people, you know? It can be rough," she continues.
     The eyes were right, I think to myself.
     "Yeah, I understand," I say. "Maybe we could hang out sometime."
     "Yeah," she says. "I'd like that."
     I think Heather would too.