It was supposed to be a night of fun, an innocent prank to celebrate homecoming week.

But that night, as a group of sophomores from Sprayberry High School strung toilet paper in the trees outside a freshman cheerleader's home, her father ran out of the house.

Ashleigh Best and five other startled girls piled into Best's blue Chevy Cavalier and sped away. Brett Tonkin, the cheerleader's father, chased them in his pickup truck.

Best, with just two weeks' experience as a licensed driver, zoomed along unfamiliar roads with the headlights from Tonkin's pickup truck bright in her rear view mirror.

Just after midnight, Best's car roared off Scott Road in Marietta at 50 mph — twice the speed limit. It smashed into a pine tree, killing three of her 15-year-old classmates: Jadie Burch, Leslie Caron and Rachael Ford.

That was 10 years ago.

Today, guardrails have replaced the small crosses that once marked the accident scene. Best has stopped asking herself, "What if?" And the state Legislature, prompted by the accident, changed teen driving laws — a lasting legacy to what happened on Oct. 30, 1996.

For those involved, reminders of the wreck were slow to fade away.

Years after the accident, Best bounced from college to college. At one point, she tried to escape her past by heading to Europe with her cat, Otis, to study art.

She also grew closer to the mothers of her three friends who were killed.

"We just love Ashleigh. She's always been in the family," said Jadie's mom, Lavonne Burch. "Ever since the accident we bonded together — even more going through it together."

Leslie's death prompted her mother, Marsha Waters, to change her outlook on life. She became a pastor and recently bought a silver Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

"It's almost like God changed my heart," Waters said, "and gave me a love for people."

"It's incredibly sad to think about," Best said. "But at the same time, so many positive things have come from it."

Restrictions on teen drivers

Ten years ago, as mourners buried her friends, Best remained in the intensive care unit at Kennestone Hospital with a shattered ankle, broken nose and other injuries.

"I told her 'Ashleigh, don't blame yourself. It was an accident,' " said Waters, who visited Best in her hospital room. "Ashleigh took on the responsibility of putting four or five girls in her car, but I don't blame Ashleigh."

Best spent more than a month in a wheelchair, and later she pleaded guilty in juvenile court to three counts of felony vehicular homicide.

A judge ordered Best to spend two years on probation and perform 50 hours of community service; she baby-sat children at the Salvation Army. Authorities suspended her license for three years.

"We didn't want her to be punished," Waters said. "We wanted to hold her accountable for decisions that she made."

Investigators charged Tonkin with three counts of vehicular homicide, a misdemeanor. He told investigators that he and his wife, who was with him inside his truck that night, had stopped chasing Best and then came upon the wreck, according to a police report on the accident.

That report also noted that none of the three girls who died was wearing a seat belt.

"I feel so much guilt," Tonkin said during his 1997 trial, where he wept and buried his head in his hands.

A jury acquitted him of vehicular homicide but convicted him of less serious traffic offenses, including speeding and following too closely.

A judge put him on probation for a year and fined him $500.

Reached last week, Tonkin said he did not want to talk about the accident.

Nor did the two young women who survived the wreck that night.

Less than a year after the accident, state legislators prohibited 16-year-olds from driving between 1 a.m. and 5 a.m. and limited the number of teenagers allowed in a car.

In 2001, after Best testified before the General Assembly about the dangers of teen driving, lawmakers went even further: They prohibited 16- and 17-year-olds from driving between midnight and 6 a.m., and forbade 16-year-olds from driving with passengers other than family members until they've had their license six months.

State Sen. Phil Gingrey (who's now a U.S. representative) co-sponsored the bill calling for the tighter restrictions. He was personally touched by the accident: An obstetrician by profession, he delivered Ashleigh Best.

Have the new laws made a difference?

In the 5 1/2 years before the 1997 law was enacted, 317 16-year-old drivers died in Georgia crashes, according to a study by Emory University. That's a rate of 57 deaths for every 100,000 drivers.

In the 5 1/2 years after the first law was passed, 230 16-year-olds were killed in fatal crashes — a rate of 36 per 100,000 drivers.

"The changes were good, and the laws made a difference," said Best's father, Richard Best. "But still, too many teens die."

On Thursday, for instance, three high school boys were killed when their car collided with a truck in Gwinnett County.

Running away from memories

In the years after the 1996 accident, Ashleigh Best graduated from Sprayberry High and studied biology at Kennesaw State University, with her father driving her to the college because her license was suspended.

Everywhere she went, she said, she encountered reminders of that night or of her friends.

So in 2003, she packed her bags and traveled to Avignon, a city in southern France, for a few months to study art as part of a semester-abroad program. She knew no one there and, perhaps more importantly, no one knew her. Her father brought peanut butter, Italian salad dressing and green tea on a visit, but the loneliness returned after he left.

"The only person I could really talk to was Otis," she says of her cat.

She felt guilty for surviving and often wondered why.

"I was left behind," she said, "I know I need to do something with it."

Finding an answer was difficult, but she has forgiven herself for what happened that night, she said.

Best took summer classes at the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Va. She now attends the University of Georgia and plans to graduate in May with a bachelor's degree in nutrition.

She hopes to work as a veterinarian with her father.

"I'm exactly where I want to be," she said. "I kind of took the scenic route getting there."

Mothers who forgave

The women who lost daughters in the wreck forged a bond with Best.

She sent them Mother's Day cards. Best would visit and spend nights with them; sometimes they celebrated holidays together. Now they mostly talk on the phone.

"They're just a source of inspiration and they've helped me deal with everything," Best said. "I've adopted them. We've mutually adopted each other."

The accident robbed Waters of her only child and for a time sapped her will to live.

"For about the first five years I relived the accident on the anniversary," she said. "I wanted to go to heaven and be with her, but God had a different plan."

Her daughter's death, she said, shaped her decision to return to her northwest Georgia hometown of Calhoun to become a pastor.

"What pastors do is nurture people," she said.

The Ford family became much closer after Rachael's death, said her mother, Diane Ford. Her husband, Stan, quit his corporate job and now works as an administrator for a Catholic church. Though it's been a financial challenge supporting a family of six children, "the spiritual benefits have been far more fulfilling," Diane Ford said.

After Rachael's death, Diane Ford decided to home school her three younger children.

Burch, Jadie's mother, talks to groups about her daughter's death in hopes that the experience will inspire others to bounce back from loss. She started a Bible study group after the accident, spreading a message of forgiveness.

"Forgiveness is not about saying that what the other person did was right," said Lavonne Burch. "Making the choice to forgive [releases] you to live your life free from the past."

Her daughter Shayla, who is now 22, considers Best a big sister.

"I have great memories of her taking me under her wing," Shayla Burch said.

Ashleigh Best hasn't forgotten the three young women who died in her car.

She keeps photographs of them next to her bed and on her desk at her home in Athens.

"It will never go away," she said. "I can't say I'm sorry enough."

— Christopher Quinn of the Ajc contributed to this article.