Shadows rim Michelle Luhn's green eyes. At the lectern, she speaks slowly, the anguish in her voice palpable. Her nerves are raw; she wants to flee from the young faces staring at her.

        But she stays. She has a message for these teen-agers, one she desperately hopes they heed. She knows too well what might happen if they don't.

Michelle Luhn speaks at Anderson High School about her "hill-hopping" accident. (Dick Swaim photo) | ZOOM |

        Michelle, an Oak Hills High School senior, looks into the crowd at McNicholas High School in Mount Washington and tells the story of the worst day of her life: a hill-hopping thrill ride on the last day of school. Losing control of the car. The sounds of 10 kids screaming, the crunching metal.

        And moments later, the despair she felt sitting in the street, holding a dying girl in her arms.

        “I turned her around. She looked at me with the most helpless look you could ever give. She said, "Help.' There was nothing I could do.”

        Kelli Ridenour and Anna DeStefano, both 13, died that day. Everyone else in the car was hurt. Michelle suffered minor injuries.

        The teens listen, enraptured during the frail-looking girl's 20-minute talk.

        In the past two months, Michelle, 17, has told her story at McNicholas and three Anderson Township schools. The speaking engagements satisfy part of her juvenile court sentence, but more than that, they are an attempt at atonement.

        Michelle does not cry in front of her audience. She pauses, breathes deeply, sniffles at the toughest moments. She seems to rely on sheer grit and courage to tell the rest of her story: the nightmares, flashbacks, crying jags. The cruelty of some classmates.

        When she returned to Oak Hills High School in January 2001, some students mumbled “killer” and “murderer” behind her back.

        “Every day, I live with the fact that two girls died. I don't sleep at night. I don't concentrate during school because I have flashbacks,” she said.

        “My goal is to ... have one of you get into a car and put your seat belt on without thinking (and) for you to lay off the accelerator and put your foot on the brake when you're speeding. I don't want you to go through what I go through every day.”
       

"We hit the hill'

        Michelle's story starts with dates. May 27, 2000, her 16th birthday. June 6, 2000, passing her driver's license test.

        June 9, 2000: Heading to a pool party, Michelle was driving her parents' Jeep Grand Cherokee on Hillside Avenue, a winding Delhi Township road popular among hill-hoppers. There were 10 kids packed in the SUV, many of them Delhi Middle School students.

        “I sped up. We hit the hill. We went airborne. We went back on the ground. I lost control of the car. They say I hit a utility pole but I don't remember. The next thing I knew we were rolling,” she said.

        The SUV stopped against an embankment. Michelle struggled out. She saw bodies strewn along the road.

        “I saw (Kelli) laying in the back of the car still,” Michelle said. “I turned her around to see if she was OK. By her head, there was a puddle of blood. I looked at my friend and told him she was dead.”

        Michelle found Anna lying in the street.

        “I'm not a doctor. I couldn't help her,” she said.

        Michelle told police she was traveling 40 to 45 mph. Police estimate that she was going as fast as 60.

        She pleaded guilty to charges of aggravated vehicular homicide and vehicular assault. She was sentenced to a six-month stay in Passages, a Cincinnati-based treatment program for troubled girls.
       

Bitterness lingers

        While Michelle is finding some peace in telling her story, the families of Kelli and Anna struggle to find forgiveness. Seeing Michelle is a stark reminder of what they lost.

        Anna. The athlete with pretty blue eyes and a smile that warmed people's hearts. Kelli. Known as “the hugger,” she was the most affectionate one in her family.

        “Nothing can compare to the suffering of our families,” said Mary Pat McQuaide, Anna's mother, who is suing Michelle and her parents for a minimum of $25,000. “I hope she is remorseful every day of her life.”

        Doug Ridenour saw Michelle on TV recently and felt numb.

        “This is something that we're going to be reminded of the rest of our lives,” he said. “I don't hate this girl. She's got a long life ahead of her. If it's not demeaning to Anna and Kelli and it gives her peace, she can continue doing this. If just one person listens to (her) and prevents an accident, it was worth every minute of it.”

        The pain caused by the wreck has lingered for Michelle's family as well. Besides the lawsuits, her parents are getting a divorce. They were having problems before the crash and decided to part after it happened.

        “I am very sorry for what I did,” she said after the McNicholas speech. “I wish I could take it back. But I can't. Every day, I punish myself more and more because of what I did. I feel so guilty.”

        Her mother, Darleen, cries every time she sees Michelle speak. She remembers getting her daughter's frantic call.

        “I revisualize the accident,” she said. “As a mom, it's been really hard. You live to protect your children and I want to protect Michelle. (But) I see it as therapy for her. The more she talks about it, the more open she is with it. She feels that she's helping people.”
       

Healing begins

        Michelle's painful journey toward healing began three months ago, with a phone call from Sgt. Mike Hartzler of the Hamilton County Sheriff's Office. He asked her to speak at schools as part of the sheriff's office's “It's Your Choice” driving program.

        At first she was petrified to share her personal story with strangers. But she needed to follow through on a vow to do community service by talking to fellow teens.

        She met Sgt. Hartzler at Uno's in Clifton, and agreed to do it. In February, she made her first public presentation at Nagel Middle School in Anderson Township. In March, she appeared at McNicholas, and Anderson and Turpin high schools.

        Sgt. Hartzler is always at her side, along with her parents and boyfriend.

        “It's very nerve-racking,” she said. “(But) I want to do this so bad, it overcomes the nervousness. Just talking about it and getting it out helps me to let go some of the guilt and the hurt that I feel.”

        Sgt. Hartzler has become a friend.

        “A big part of Michelle's message is just the way she looks,” Sgt. Hartzler said. “She's an average young lady. She doesn't have a hard look. Her intent when she started that day wasn't to murder someone.”
       

Making a difference

        Authorities who see the statistics vouch for the need for speeches like Michelle's. From 1996 through 2000, teen drivers were behind the wheel of 1,589 fatal crashes in Ohio, causing about 15 percent of the total for that five-year period, according to the Ohio Department of Public Safety.

        Some students who hear Michelle are shaken by her searing account, and inspired by her pluckiness. They say her message has far more impact than a bunch of numbers.

        “I've been hill-hopping before,” said Ingrid Chung, a 16-year-old Turpin junior. “When you're actually in that situation, it's difficult to think straight. You're just all about the rush.

        “When you hear someone talk about what happened to them, you're just like, "Wow! It would've been so easy for it all to spin out of control.' ”

        Matthew Vessells, a 15-year-old Turpin freshman, commended her courage.

        “I wouldn't be able to do it, go back to school after killing two people,” he said. “With people making fun of you, I just couldn't take it. You're sad enough for what you did and other people are adding to it.”

        Mrs. Luhn sees her daughter making a difference. She hopes the speaking engagements mean the return of a youthful sparkle to Michelle's eyes. There have been incremental improvements.

        “It's just a little bit at a time,” she said. “My heart breaks for my daughter. She still has nightmares. She still has trouble sleeping. (But) my heart and mind are also with the two other mothers who lost their daughters. As a mother, I can only imagine what they're going through.”

Coming "full circle'

        Although her probation will end soon, Michelle cannot drive until she is 21. In the meantime, she plans to accept more offers to talk to teens.

        Her probation officer, Andrea Sweeney, says the speaking engagements are helping Michelle come full circle.

        “She's truly remorseful. At the beginning, she was so overwrought with emotion, she couldn't speak without crying,” she said. “With the tragedy, she learned a moral lesson. From that lesson, she gained a great moral strength.”

        The same day Michelle spoke at McNicholas, a Hamilton County judge ruled that a 16-year-old Anderson Township girl charged in a Jan. 18 high-speed crash should be tried as a juvenile. The girl faces an aggravated vehicular manslaughter charge because her best friend, St. Ursula Academy classmate Julia Schmidt, 16, was killed.

        The girls were hill-hopping, police say.

        Juvenile Court Judge Sylvia Sieve Hendon presided at both cases. “If (other teens) are going to get the message at all, they're going to get it from a peer,” the judge said. “That's why her message is valuable. It's more effective than the prom crash pictures to hear the anguish in her voice.”
       

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