We were fourteen years old when we made the pact, the three of us. I remember it unexplainably distinctly.

Juliet was sitting on the loveseat, her curls dyed red due to rebellion against her mother, but it wasn’t overbearingly unnatural. In fact, it suited her pale face, which crinkled when she laughed, allowing her glamorous green eyes to dance gracefully. She rolled her fingers back and forth. She was a violinist. I think she was practicing Hallelujah, because I remember her humming it earlier. God, I adored her.
Laurel stood near the chess table and flipped through Treasure Island with her long, slender fingers. She was an artist, writer, and antique enthusiast. The book was part of a set my mom had bought, but they were read only by Laurel. She had thick, straight, sandy blonde hair that she had never curled. I was close to Laurel, but I didn’t think of her like I did Jules.
Munching on a granola bar, I sat on the floor near the fish tank. The red summer sun was streaming through the nearest window as it sank deeply into the sky, beckoning night. The water in the tank refracted the sun, pooling red light all over the room. No one was talking for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence.  Finally, out of the blue, I said, “I don’t like how everyone’s changing.”
Pause. It was a conversation we had had many times. Laurel heaved deeply, aware of the burden high school had been bringing on me. “I know, Exton. It’s better for you, though. You’re a guy.”
“Jules’s right,” said Laurel. “Girls have all these standards we have to meet. And if we don’t, we’re talked about. It’s strenuous -- and sexist.” Laurel was also a devout feminist.
I brushed my long brown hair off of my forehead. “It just sucks that we can’t all just keep our eyes on the overall goal.”
“Which would be?” prompted Laurel.
“Oh I don’t know. College, studying, adulthood,” I sighed, chuckled, then said (halfheartedly), “God.”
“Gosh, I can’t stand you,” Juliet giddily proclaimed. She was raised in an strange, confusing soup of a Buddhist, agnostic, slightly Jewish household. I was raised in a Christian one. That was the only thing that obstructed us. We joked about it, though.
“But seriously, people are changing. They’re shifting their friend pools. It scares me. I don’t want to not be friends with you guys someday.”
Juliet furrowed her brow, then came up with something and opened her mouth to speak. “Yeah… we should make a pact. Like we can be friends with other people, too, but we can’t ever not be friends with us. We need to stick together.”
Laurel piped up, “Also, we shouldn’t get girlfriends or boyfriends. Everyone is ditching their true friends for them.”
We all laughed. “That’s a little out of the blue. I think that’s a little controlling,” I said.
Juliet disagreed. “Seriously, we all trust in each other and care about each other. So I think it’s not a bad idea. No boyfriends or girlfriends.”
Laurel put her right hand in the air, half-jokingly, half-seriously, and said, “I, Laurel Dewmore, hereby promise to stay alongside Juliet Wright and Exton Southmont as long I shall live, and under no circumstances will I partake in boyfriendery until conflicting emotions arise, which shall be submitted to said group.”
Juliet went next.
Then I, Exton Southmont, agreed to one of the most troublesome pacts I would ever encounter in my entire life. Because it was on this exact night that I fell helplessly in love with Juliet Wright.

The first thought that ran through my mind when I answered the call was that the flowers I got her would be wilted by the time I could give them to her.
I was just starting out my run when the phone buzzed in my hand and Fur Elise started playing on my phone. My fingers instinctively twitched at the sound of it, as if the ivories were right in front of me, and I answered the call. It was from Laurel.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
There was an awkward silence. It wasn’t Laurel, either. It was a man.
“Umm…” continued the person on the other line, “could you hold on a second?” At this point, I had deduced it was Laurel’s father. I heard in the background swinging doors and incessant beeping. “Hi, Exton? It’s Laurel’s dad,” he was choking up. “I -- It’s Laurel. She was in an accident.”
I paused for a minute, then hurriedly blurted, “What happened?”
There was silence, and I became more firm. “What happened?”
“She was climbing Bear’s Rocks like always and she had everything on, but for some reason, the rope snapped. She was twenty feet up.”
“How bad is it?”
More silence.”
“Mr. Dewmore, how bad--”
“Exton,” his voice broke, “she passed two hours ago.”

I ended the call immediately, then quickly dialed Juliet’s number.
“Hello!” She was perky. She didn’t know yet.
“Juliet, I have to--”
“Oops, Laurel’s calling me. Give me a sec. I’ll call you back in a few.”
“No! No, don’t pick it up.”
Beep, beep, beep. I was disconnected.
Juliet lived four blocks away. I started in a sprint down the street, running as fast as I possibly could. My heart was racing. How could this happen? How could anything like this ever happen?
Three blocks. She always climbed Bear’s Cliff. As a sophomore, she had started teaching climbing as a senior project. She trained for three months to get her certification.
Two blocks. How will Juliet ever live without her? God, they’re best friends.
One block. What will I say to her? She will be a mess… How could this happen?
I burst through the screen door just as Laurel’s dad gave her the news. She looked like she had seen a ghost, stood in shock for ten seconds, dropped the phone, then crumpled to the floor.
“Oh Jules.”
“No! No! How could this happen?! How!?” She was bawling, her once pale face now as red as the summer sun.