Isn’t it funny how we all have that one memory we will never forget? I don’t know what happened to me on my first day of school, I can’t recollect where I was when my baby cousins were born, but I will never forget the worst day of my life. The day that my passionate, gorgeous, extraordinary friend, Lily, was shot and killed.

It was the summer before eighth grade, and I was spending the week in Lewes Beach with my friend, Louise. She had spent her summer visiting her mother’s family and sailing in Cape Cod, whereas I had just gotten back from a three-week sleepaway camp in West Virginia. Louise’s grandparents had a big, blue house on the water, a block away from my family’s house. We were staying with her mom, her brother, Tom, and her adorable two-year-old brother, Fritz. Our other friend, Janie, had come up for the day, and we had spent it at a water park down in Rehoboth. Janie’s mom had picked her up from the parking lot so we all parted ways.

We pulled into the driveway, and Louise and I ran to her mom’s room. Our iPhones had been charging; so it was a typical action for teenage girls who had been parted from their phones for a whole SIX HOURS. Scrolling through Instagram, I came across a girl from camp. The picture showed her, her sister, and Lily with their arms around each other. The caption read: “Rest in peace. I know you’re in a better place.”

My mind was racing with thoughts. This wasn’t real; it’s not Lily; it has to be some sick joke. If something had happened, I would have known, right?! I used denial to numb the reality and continued. But a few pictures later, my nightmare was confirmed. My other friend from camp, Allie, re-posted the photo Lily had set as her profile picture the day before. It was a beautiful shot: Lily had her own photography business. The sun behind her, Lily’s long, beautiful hair sat on her shoulders in a thick braid. Allie’s caption read: “We love you and will miss you so much. RIP Lily. Camp won’t be the same next year.”

The moment felt like a stone being dropped into a pond. Time stopped. The stone splashed.

Like all the little ripples, the memories came out.

I first met Lily at camp. The outer, smaller ripples was the day I asked my friend her name, the day we hung out in her tent telling our life stories, watching her dance in the final dance show, and one night when she hugged me on my way down from our last campfire together. Lily was secretly my favorite sixteen, and I wanted to be around her a lot. The biggest ripple, the large, bonded halo around the rock, was my last day at camp. I was the first bus to leave, and my friends were all crowding around me, crying and waiting to hug me and say goodbye. During a hug, I heard a voice come from behind me. “Who’s leaving?” it asked. I turned to see Lily. She reached her arms around me, and I leaned into her to give her a hug. Then, she whispered into my ear three words I keep hearing in my head.

“I Love You.”

I was a little taken aback. This was a girl I had only known for three measly weeks. And she loved me? But I realized soon enough, I loved her, too. I smiled at her and told her I would see her next summer.

How could I have known?

Lily was truly special. The type of person you loved the second you met them. She knew my name before I knew hers. There’s a song we sing at camp called “Cheerio.” One of the lines is: “We love you, that’s why we say ‘cheerio,’ not goodbye.” That’s what I want to think when I think of Lily. I don’t believe I got my proper goodbye, and I miss her. But I want to see cheerio as a “See you soon”; I know that I will already have a friend when I go to heaven. I love you, Lily, and I can’t wait to see you again.