Hey guys! This is a cute story about Cassidy and Tristan! I personally love that pairing, hope you guys like the story!

- Estelle

Cassidy's P.O.V

The rain poured and I shivered as another bolt of lightning sounded. Oh God, I hate thunderstorms. Wait... I know what you're thinking... and yes, I, Cassidy Sloane, hate thunderstorms. I'm not necessarily afraid of them... I just hate them. And here's the significance of this one. It's 10:30 PM, and my book club friends and I are all at Megan's house. So are all of our families and the Berkeleys. And that means everyone gets their own room, because Megan's house is huge.

Why are we all grouped at Strawberry Hill? Well, the Berkeleys came to America last week for Gigi and Monsieur de Roches's wedding. So we all met up at Megan's after the wedding. It's been raining nonstop since and we couldn't get out. The Berkeley's flight got cancelled, and so did school.

Thunder rumbled and I winced. I look at a calender hung in every room. January 17th... My breath catches and my mind zooms back to that fateful night nearly 6 years ago, on this exact same day, at nearly the exact same time.

"Mom..." I whined, "Please can we go out for ice cream? It's Friday..." Courtney looked at Mom hopefully, too. She shook her head.

" Why not?" I asked. My father walked into the room, "Why not what?"

"I want to go out for ice cream." I said triumphantly. My Dad laughed, "It's pouring out there, kiddo!"

"So?" I questioned. As if to signal my parents' point, thunder rumbled outside.

I didn't give up, "Please, please, please, please, please, please, please please?"

My father bit his lip and looked at my Mom, "Couldn't hurt, Clem. Plus. we'll all be careful."

My mother sighed, "I suppose it's OK. Just this once..."

10 minutes later we were all in the car. "I love you, Daddy" I said brightly.

He smiled, "Love you, too, Cass."

The ground was still icy from winter. The rain poured harder than ever as my father drove into the night. A lightning bolt struck a tree. My father swerved to avoid it. We drove for some more time when a truck loomed into view.

"Why is he driving so... sloppily?" Courtney asked nervously.

And that was it, he crashed into our car with full force. The car overturned and our screams filled the air as glass broke and we were crushed.

My sister and I were basically OK. Courtney pulled out her cell phone, making an emergency call.

Police and ambulance arrived, whisking us away in different vehicles. Here, my memory becomes hazy. The only thing I remember next is the doctor coming into the room where my mother, sister and I were waiting and speaking:

"He's dead."

Now I realize that I'm crying. Angrily, I swipe at the tears. My long, dark red hair swings forward. I sigh at it. Genetic change. My mom's hair used to be white-blond, she said, and it became dark blond. Courtney was born with dark blond hair and went through no genetic change. Mom expected nothing would happen to me, but I woke up one day with straight, sleek, silky, shiny, dark red (almost auburn, but not quite) hair, that wouldn't get tangled even if I tried.

I shook my head, as the rain splattered against the windows. It's my fault. The thought drifts in suddenly. If I hadn't begged for ice cream, he wouldn't have died. I know I'm being unfair to myself, but I can't help it. I look down at myself. My shirt is black and more tight-fitting than I usually wear in pajamas. My pants are capris- pajama pants, in a maroon color that actually makes me look good. Confusion seers through my mind. I don't care how I look. I just pulled out the first things from my little suitcase-thing. We only packed a bag for the sleepover that should have been two days, not 7 days. I sigh. These must be my mother's clothes that I pulled from my wardrobe while packing. The clothes got mixed up.

I let out a breath. I need water. I walk down the stairs for a glass, when I hear another movement. "Who's there?" I call out. I switch on a very dim light, so dim that it's barely there. I'm standing face-to-face with Tristan Berkely,