BREAKING HEARTBREAK: The Second 16-Year-Old Girl Has Now Lost Her Life After That Terrifying Frisco Sledding Crash
Gracie Brito fought for her life for days, tethered to machines in an intensive care unit while machines breathed for her and monitors tracked every fragile heartbeat. Her best friend, Elizabeth “Lizzie” Angle, never had that chance. One moment they were wrapped in each other’s arms, shrieking with laughter as snow flew past their faces; the next moment, metal met flesh at devastating speed and everything ended in silence.
This is not merely another tragic accident story. It is a piercing alarm that has already begun echoing through thousands of North Texas households. Two inseparable 16-year-old girls—full of dreams, talent, laughter, and futures—gone because of one split-second decision that seemed harmless in the magic of a rare Texas snowfall.
The Day Winter Came to Frisco
January 25, 2026 began like any other Sunday in late winter across much of the United States—except in North Texas. A powerful Arctic blast collided with Gulf moisture, blanketing Dallas-Fort Worth in several inches of heavy, wet snow. For many children and teenagers who had never experienced a proper snow day, the world suddenly looked like a movie set. Schools shut down. Parents dug out winter coats stored for years. Kids raced outside with anything that could slide: cafeteria trays, plastic storage bin lids, inflatable pool floats, actual plastic sleds ordered overnight.
In the quiet, upscale neighborhoods of Frisco, excitement turned kinetic. Groups of teenagers gathered in cul-de-sacs and gentle slopes between houses. One such group included sophomores from Frisco Wakeland High School. A 16-year-old boy climbed behind the wheel of his family’s Jeep Wrangler. Tied to the rear bumper with sturdy rope was a large plastic sled. On that sled sat Gracie Brito and Lizzie Angle, arms locked around each other’s waists, faces bright with cold-flushed joy.
They started slowly. Then faster. Laughter carried across the snow-dusted lawns. The Jeep picked up speed on the icy pavement. On a seemingly gentle curve near the intersection of Majestic Gardens Drive and Killian Court, physics took over. The sled swung wide, caught the raised concrete curb, launched airborne for a horrifying instant, then smashed front-first into a mature oak tree.
The impact was catastrophic. First responders arrived within minutes. Lizzie was pronounced dead at the hospital shortly after arrival. Gracie, critically injured with massive head trauma and internal injuries, was rushed into surgery and then placed on life support. For nearly three full days her family refused to leave her side—mother Tracy, father, and older sister Emma whispering memories, playing her favorite songs from the Broadway soundtrack of Wicked, begging her to keep fighting.
On the night of January 27 into the early hours of January 28, Gracie’s heart finally stopped. She was sixteen years old.
Who They Were: Two Lives Radiant With Promise
Elizabeth “Lizzie” Angle was a junior varsity soccer standout at Wakeland and a promising defender with one of the top FC Dallas youth club teams. Teammates described her as fierce on the field yet gentle off it—quick with encouragement, slow to anger, the friend who always remembered birthdays and brought extra snacks for long tournament weekends. She had just celebrated getting her driver’s license and was proudly driving a used SUV her parents helped her buy. Her smile lit up every team photo; her laugh was contagious.
Gracie Brito lived for movement and expression. She was an All-Star competitive cheerleader and dancer with Express Cheer & Dance in Frisco, spending countless hours perfecting routines, building pyramids, flying through the air with fearless trust in her teammates. She possessed the rare combination of fierce discipline and genuine kindness—always the first to compliment a nervous rookie, the last to leave the gym because she was helping someone perfect a skill. Gracie adored musical theater, especially Wicked. She could quote every line and sing every note of “Defying Gravity.” She had recently passed her driving test and immediately checked the organ donor box on her license application without hesitation. “She wanted to help people,” her mother later said. “Even if it was after she was gone.”
The two girls had been best friends since middle school. Sleepovers lasted until sunrise. They traded clothes, finished each other’s sentences, posted endless TikToks together. When one hurt, the other hurt. When one succeeded, they celebrated twice as hard.
The Final, Selfless Act
In the crushing hours after Gracie was declared brain dead, her family faced the most unbearable conversation any parent can imagine. Yet they already knew what Gracie would have wanted.
Tracy Brito later shared that the moment Gracie received her driver’s license two months earlier, she had proudly shown her parents the donor designation on the back. “She said, ‘Mom, if anything ever happens to me, I want to help as many people as possible.’” Those words, spoken so casually at the time, became a lifeline for a grieving family.
Gracie’s organs were deemed viable for donation. Kidneys, liver, heart, lungs—each potentially life-saving for someone else. Tissue donation would help dozens more. In the middle of unimaginable sorrow, the Brito family chose to honor their daughter’s wish. They spent additional hours in the hospital answering medical questions, signing paperwork, saying final goodbyes while knowing her heart would soon beat inside another chest, that her corneas would allow someone to see their child’s face again.
One young woman’s decision—made at sixteen—will now give the gift of breath, sight, mobility, and life to multiple strangers. In death, Gracie Brito became exactly what she always was in life: generous beyond measure.
A Community in Mourning—and a Stark Warning
Frisco Independent School District canceled classes the following day. Grief counselors flooded Wakeland High School. Students created memorials at the school entrance and near the accident site: piles of white and purple flowers (Wakeland’s colors), soccer balls, cheer bows tied in pink ribbons, handwritten notes that began “To my forever best friend…” and ended in tear-smudged ink.
The soccer team gathered in a circle on the practice field, placed a single rose on the goal line where Lizzie used to defend, and observed a moment of silence. Express Cheer held an impromptu vigil in the gym where Gracie spent so many evenings. Teammates wore temporary tattoos of tiny angel wings on their wrists.
Across North Texas hospitals reported a shocking spike in sledding-related injuries during those same snow days—dozens of broken bones, concussions, spinal injuries, and several life-threatening cases. Children as young as four and teenagers as old as eighteen filled emergency departments. Medical staff quietly called it “the snowstorm aftershock.”
Why Towed Sledding Kills—and Why Parents Must Act Now
Sledding itself carries risk. Every winter, U.S. emergency rooms see roughly 20,000 pediatric sledding injuries—mostly fractures, head trauma, and abdominal injuries. But experts emphasize one variation that turns moderate risk into near-certain catastrophe: towing a sled behind any motorized vehicle.
When a sled is pulled by a car, Jeep, truck, ATV, or snowmobile—even at relatively low speeds—the forces involved become exponentially more dangerous. A child or teenager on that sled has no brakes, minimal steering control, and almost no way to jump clear once momentum builds. On ice or packed snow, surfaces offer almost no friction to slow or stop. A sudden turn, a hidden obstacle, a patch of bare pavement—all become lethal.
Medical studies consistently show that towed-sled injuries produce far higher injury severity scores, longer ICU stays, greater need for surgical intervention, and tragically higher fatality rates compared with traditional hill sledding. Helmets help with head injuries but cannot protect against the massive blunt-force trauma of high-speed impact with fixed objects.
Parents across the country have shared variations of the same stunned realization in the days since: “We thought it was just like tubing at the ski resort.” It is not. A ski resort tow rope is engineered for controlled speed, gradual starts and stops, wide-open runs free of trees and curbs. A neighborhood street behind someone’s Jeep is the opposite.
Their Legacy Must Outlive the Snow
The snow in Frisco has already melted. The Jeep has been towed away. The tree bears new scars that will fade with time. But two families will carry this grief for the rest of their lives.
And yet something endures.
Gracie’s donated organs are giving strangers tomorrow. Lizzie’s memory is already inspiring a scholarship fund so other young athletes can chase their passions without financial barriers. Their friendship—fierce, joyful, unbreakable even in the final instant—reminds every teenager reading this story to text their best friend right now, to say “I love you” without waiting for a special occasion.
To every parent: This winter may be over, but next year another storm will come. When it does, remember Gracie and Lizzie. Remember how quickly laughter can turn to sirens. Talk to your children. Set non-negotiable rules. Supervise. Choose safe hills far from roads and trees. Say no to towing—every single time.
Because no snow day is worth this.
Two bright, beautiful, generous souls are gone. Their final lesson must not be.
