The quiet suburb of Frisco, Texas—known for its manicured lawns, top-rated schools, and family-friendly vibe—rarely makes national headlines. But on January 25, 2026, during a rare and fierce winter storm that blanketed North Texas in snow and ice, a moment of teenage joy turned into unimaginable tragedy. Two 16-year-old best friends, Grace “Gracie” Brito and Elizabeth “Lizzie” Angle, both sophomores at Frisco Wakeland High School, hitched a ride on a sled tethered to the back of a Jeep Wrangler driven by another 16-year-old boy. What began as an exhilarating slide through snowy streets ended in horror when the sled slammed into a curb during a sharp turn and careened into a tree. Elizabeth died at the scene from her injuries. Grace, critically wounded, fought for her life on hospital support for days before succumbing on January 28, 2026. A community that had celebrated their laughter and spirit now grieves two bright futures extinguished in an instant.
The accident occurred shortly before 2:30 p.m. in the neighborhood near Majestic Gardens Drive and Killian Court. Witnesses described the Jeep pulling the girls at what appeared to be high speed—fast enough for the thrill, but too fast for control on slick, unplowed residential roads. The sled, likely a simple plastic or inflatable model hastily repurposed for the storm’s novelty, offered no protection. When the driver attempted a turn, physics took over: the sled whipped sideways, struck the curb hard, and propelled the girls forward into the trunk of a mature tree. First responders from Frisco Police and Fire Departments arrived quickly, but the injuries were catastrophic. Both teens were rushed to local hospitals with life-threatening trauma. Elizabeth, pronounced dead shortly after arrival, never regained consciousness. Grace was placed on life support, her family clinging to every fragile sign of hope.
In the days that followed, the story unfolded in heartbreaking layers. Grace’s mother, Tracy Brito, spoke to local media about her daughter’s final wish: to become an organ donor. Even in death, Gracie’s generosity would save others—a poignant legacy amid profound loss. Elizabeth’s parents, Megan and Brian Angle, shared memories of their “kind-spirited” daughter, a standout soccer player whose energy lit up fields and friendships alike. One detail that pierced hearts across social media: the girls were reportedly holding onto each other tightly as the sled hurtled forward. “They were holding on to each other,” Elizabeth’s mother wrote in a public tribute. “Together forever.” That image—of two inseparable friends gripping one another in what became their final moments—has become a haunting symbol of their bond and the sudden cruelty of fate.
Both girls were more than statistics in a police report. Gracie Brito was a cheerleader at Wakeland High, known for her infectious smile, compassion, and willingness to help anyone in need. Friends described her as a “kind and generous soul” who lit up rooms and supported her teammates unconditionally. Elizabeth “Lizzie” Angle excelled on the soccer pitch, a rising star whose determination and warmth made her a favorite among coaches and peers. The two had been best friends for years—sharing classes, sleepovers, secrets, and dreams of the future. In Frisco, a fast-growing city north of Dallas, they represented the best of suburban youth: involved, athletic, ambitious. Their deaths have left classmates walking empty hallways, teachers struggling to lead lessons through tears, and parents everywhere reevaluating what “safe fun” means during freak weather events.
The Frisco Police Department has kept details measured while the investigation continues with support from the Denton County District Attorney’s Office. Preliminary findings confirm the driver was a 16-year-old male operating the Jeep Wrangler. No arrests have been announced publicly, and authorities have not released whether charges—such as reckless driving, vehicular manslaughter, or underage operation in hazardous conditions—are forthcoming. Texas law allows 16-year-olds to drive with restrictions, but pulling a sled (especially at speed on public roads) raises immediate safety red flags. Experts note that vehicle-towed sledding, while common in northern states with deep snow traditions, is inherently risky in areas like Texas where drivers lack experience with icy conditions and where roads are not designed for such play. The storm that weekend brought rare accumulations—enough for sledding, but also black ice, poor visibility, and unprepared infrastructure.
The broader context amplifies the tragedy. North Texas hospitals, including Cook Children’s Medical Center, reported a surge in sledding-related injuries during the storm—52 hospitalizations in one weekend alone. Many involved collisions, falls, or vehicles. Frisco’s incident stands out for its severity and the youth of those involved. It echoes past warnings from safety organizations: towing people behind vehicles on sleds or tubes is dangerous, often leading to loss of control, entanglement, or high-impact crashes. The National Safety Council and similar groups advise against it entirely, especially on streets with curbs, trees, or traffic. Yet in regions unaccustomed to snow, the excitement of a white blanket overrides caution—until it doesn’t.
The Frisco community has responded with raw, collective sorrow. Vigils lit up neighborhood parks, makeshift memorials of flowers, soccer balls, and cheer bows appeared near the crash site, and social media overflowed with tributes. Hashtags like #ForeverGracieAndLizzie spread rapidly, accompanied by photos of the girls laughing together—at games, on trips, in school hallways. Elizabeth’s family announced plans for the Elizabeth Angle Foundation to honor her legacy, supporting youth causes in sports, kindness, and safety awareness—turning grief into purpose. Classmates organized fundraisers, wore ribbons in school colors, and shared stories that painted vivid pictures of two lives full of promise.
For the driver, the third teenager involved, the aftermath is its own kind of torment. At 16, he faces not only potential legal consequences but lifelong guilt. Friends and family have asked for privacy as the investigation proceeds, reminding the public that he, too, is a kid navigating consequences far beyond what any adolescent anticipates. Police have urged against speculation or harassment, focusing instead on facts and healing.
This tragedy forces uncomfortable questions: How do we balance teenage independence with oversight? When a once-in-a-decade snowstorm hits, how do parents, communities, and authorities communicate that “fun” can turn fatal in seconds? In Texas, where winter weather is anomaly rather than norm, the lesson arrives brutally. Sledding behind a vehicle isn’t harmless play—it’s a high-stakes activity requiring experience, restraint, and safety measures that were absent here.
As Frisco buries two of its brightest daughters, the pain lingers in every snowflake memory. Gracie and Lizzie were inseparable in life; their story now binds a community in shared mourning. Their families endure the unthinkable: planning funerals instead of graduations, sorting through bedrooms frozen in time, answering younger siblings’ questions with no satisfying reply. Yet amid the heartbreak, glimmers emerge—organ donations saving lives, foundations rising from ashes, reminders that even in loss, love and legacy endure.
The tree at Majestic Gardens and Killian Court stands silent witness. Snow has melted, streets cleared, but the scar remains. For those who knew Gracie and Lizzie, every quiet moment carries their echo: laughter cut short, dreams interrupted, a friendship eternalized in tragedy. Frisco—and parents across snowless states—will never forget.
