Desiree Bastian wanted to be buried in a bright pink casket.

"Make sure my parents know that," she said.

The night before the teenager died - in a head-on collision on a desolate stretch of two-lane highway in Southern Utah - she, for some crazy, inexplicable reason, passed that solemn information along to a close friend, Preslee, who happened to be riding beside her that next ill-fated afternoon - last Saturday - in the smashed car's backseat, nearly joining Des through death's door.

Instead, Preslee suffered only a bruised hip and flooded tear ducts.

Des already had too much company across that eternal threshold. She died instantly, the impact of an oncoming motor home taking her while she slept. Her older brother, Travis, who was behind the wheel, died minutes after she did, as he was being airlifted to a Las Vegas hospital. Somehow, their car had swerved into the wrong lane.

Rolling up on the accident were Des' and Travis' parents, Rick and KayeLynn, who were caravanning behind their kids on the return trip to Centerville from a family vacation at Lake Powell. Pushing through the onrushing reality of a parent's worst nightmare, Rick jumped out and ran to the car, trying to help a helpless situation. He, then, bravely turned his attention to bolstering himself and aiding his wife.

Sometimes life - and death - is too, too cruel.

Des and Travis Bastian had no business dying. Not right now. Not at this juncture. There was too much yet to come, too much for which to live.

She was 15. He was 28.

See MONSON, B3

Desiree Bastian wanted to be buried in a bright pink casket.

"Make sure my parents know that," she said.

The night before the teenager died - in a head-on collision on a desolate stretch of two-lane highway in Southern Utah - she, for some crazy, inexplicable reason, passed that solemn information along to a close friend, Preslee, who happened to be riding beside her that next ill-fated afternoon - last Saturday - in the smashed car's backseat, nearly joining Des through death's door.

Instead, Preslee suffered only a bruised hip and flooded tear ducts.

Des already had too much company across that eternal threshold. She died instantly, the impact of an oncoming motor home taking her while she slept. Her older brother, Travis, who was behind the wheel, died minutes after she did, as he was being airlifted to a Las Vegas hospital. Somehow, their car had swerved into the wrong lane.

Rolling up on the accident were Des' and Travis' parents, Rick and KayeLynn, who were caravanning behind their kids on the return trip to Centerville from a family vacation at Lake Powell. Pushing through the onrushing reality of a parent's worst nightmare, Rick jumped out and ran to the car, trying to help a helpless situation. He, then, bravely turned his attention to bolstering himself and aiding his wife.

Sometimes life - and death - is too, too cruel.

Des and Travis Bastian had no business dying. Not right now. Not at this juncture. There was too much yet to come, too much for which to live.

She was 15. He was 28.

She was talented. He was her inspiration.

She was nice to almost everyone. He was, too.

She was beautiful. He was handsome.

Travis was a gifted athlete, a member of Viewmont High School's state championship golf team back in 1996. He also played No. 2 singles for the Vikings' boys' tennis team. But he only wished he was Desiree's equal on the court.

After a recent brother-sister grudge match, when Travis was lucky enough to have defeated his little sister, as they were coming off the court, he said, a massive grin creasing his face, to a couple of friends, "Hey, guys, ask Des who won."

"Shut up, Travis," Des said, busting a smile back.

Desiree took up tennis five years ago, after ascending to Level Eight as a 9-year-old gymnast, but finding her righteous competitive buzz only with a racket in her hand. She went throttle up.

Playing in local, regional, and national tournaments between year-round technical lessons and sweaty workout sessions, commuting from the family's home in Davis County to the Salt Lake Tennis Club, Des quickly became one of the top age-group players in the Intermountain Section of the United States Tennis Association.

"She thrived on competition," says tennis pro Clark Barton, the former women's coach at Brigham Young who coached Desiree over the past three years. "She would have become one of the finest players I've ever had because of her competitiveness. She was a goal-oriented person. She said she wanted to qualify for the national clay court and hard court championships this year, and she did. She said she wanted to make the girls 16 Intermountain zonal team, and she did."

That zonal team, made up of the best 16-year-old players from Utah, Nevada, Colorado, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming, is competing today through Sunday in Salt Lake City against teams from other USTA sections around the country. Some of those girls and boys will wear T-shirts honoring their missing teammate. Many of the Utah players have stenciled pink D's on their racket strings as a tribute to their fallen friend.

Even in a pursuit as dog-eat-dog as high-level youth tennis, Desiree managed to draw friends from all directions, in part, because of her affable, outgoing demeanor and, in part, because she was hard to ignore.

"Des was animated, on the court and off it," Barton says. "Her personality came through. It was always on the surface. She was an actor, an entertainer. People loved her. She was a kid who possessed strong character traits, competitiveness, and sportsmanship."

At one recent national tournament, she not only was given the sportsmanship award for best personal comportment on the court, she also, during a player party, was volunteered by the Utah contingent to go up on stage to be hypnotized by a professional hypnotist. Under those influences, she did everything but squeak like a monkey and cluck like a chicken.

Everybody in the building busted a gut.

God only knows now how far tennis would have taken Desiree Bastian. Or how far she would have taken it. She spent hours each day grooving her strokes and forging her game forward, steeling her resolve, always looking ahead to thumping her next opponent, without allowing any of that to spoil her good nature.

During the family's trip to Lake Powell, on one of those buzzard-hot summer days when boaters look up into vibrant blue skies and see fluffy white clouds from the bottom of steep canyon walls, Des asked Travis: "Wouldn't it be fun to bounce off those clouds?"

"Yeah," Travis said.

Bounce, they will.

Four days ago, before family members split up into their caravan, before they left for their drive home, Des said she would ride with Travis. When Preslee mentioned that Travis' car didn't have a DVD player in it and that they wouldn't be able to watch movies during the long haul back, she responded: "I don't want Travis to go by himself."

On account of that, they went together.

After her funeral on Saturday, Des will be buried - alongside Travis - in a bright pink casket.

gmonson@sltrib.com