Page 13 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

“Hey, Deb, right?”

Country Club frowns, but then she takes me in as she lowers her phone to her lap. It’s like her vision has suddenly cleared, and she straightens up in her seat. Tucks some hair behind her ear. Across the table, the other sophomores stare. “Diana,” she corrects, smiling shyly.

Damn it. I knew it was one of the two.

“Right,” I say, tapping myself on the forehead like the idiot I am. “I’m Piper Sullivan’s sister, Sav—”

“Savannah.” She laughs, and the other sophomores join her. “Yeah, we know.”

“Right,” I repeat. “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple things about my sister.” I glance around the table. “In private.”

The other two sophomores stiffen. Before I can suggest that Diana and I move into the hall, the others stand. “We were just leaving anyway,” one of them says, a girl with a smattering of freckles and long auburn hair.

“Yeah, see you later, Di,” the other one says. “We’re all praying for Piper,” she adds solemnly before shuffling off with her tray.

“Thanks,” I mumble, sudden oxygen deprivation clouding my thoughts. Why am I here? Oh, right. I turn to Country Club, trying to find something to compliment her on before we proceed. I learned that from a book, or TV, maybe. People are more willing to do stuff for you after you pay them a compliment.

But it’s tough in this case, to be perfectly honest. Finally, I settle on, “That’s a really great cardigan.” It’s not. The green is all wrong for Country Club’s complexion. But her whole face lights up, and I know it’s a lie for the greater good. “Where’d you get it?”

She touches the cashmere, her fingers dropping to a little pearl button. “It was a gift from Daddy.”

I do my best to hold in my laughter. I should be a freaking detective. “Well, your father has excellent taste.” I grin, giving it a good pause. “So, you and Piper are friends, right?”

Instantly, her smile falters. She fidgets. I’ve caught her off guard, which means she isn’t friends with my sister. “Oh, well, we were friendly. Everyone loves Piper. She’s just so nice. Andwow, is she smart.”

“She certainly is,” I say, because no one has ever rubbedthatin my face before. “I’m just trying to find someone who was close to her. It’s about this special ceremony I’m planning.”

“Well, Jacey Pritchard and Noah—”

“I’ve already filled them in on the details,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as annoyed as I feel. “I’m just looking for a couple more contributors. People who are really close to Piper.”

“I’m only a sophomore. You might want to talk to more juniors.”

“So, not Alexandra Martinez, then?”

Country Club’s brow furrows.

“I remember Piper talking about someone named Alex a month or so back. I just assumed it was Alexandra, since they were in journalism and Survival Club together. She does go by Alex sometimes, doesn’t she?” I’m going out on a limb with this one.

“Well, yeah, to her friends. But I wouldn’t consider Piper and Alex friends, really. I mean, especially not after what happened earlier this year.”

All the heat rushes from my body as ice water trickles in. “What happened earlier this year?”

Chapter 7

Country Club purses her lips, like she wishes she hadn’t said anything. Like she’s trying to keep herself from spilling another drop of gossip.

“What happened earlier this year?” I repeat, aiming for vaguely interested as I pick at my nails.

And just like that, she has to win my attention back. “Well,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, “I guess it actually started last year. Of course, this is just what I’ve heard. But Piper and Alexandra were both up for the Peterson.” When I stare blankly, she adds, “It’s an award only journalism kids care about. Named after some alumnus.” She rolls her eyes, trying to show me she’s above all that. “So, Alex came up with this story she was sure would win her the award, about department budget cuts and who was getting screwed, and she pitched it to Mr. James in one of their meetings—this is how she tells the story, anyway. Apparently, Mr. James raved about the idea and then proceeded to hand it right over to Piper. Like the story was too big to give to a freshman, even if the ideacamefrom one. Alex asked Piper if she could at least help, but Piper said she worked better alone, and then”—she makes a furling motion—“went on to win the Peterson.

“Not that I believe Piper would do that,” Country Club adds, shaking her head.

I listen, unsure what to think, because I don’t remember that story coming out, much less Piper winning some award for it. Seems like the type of thing my parents would’ve loved to parade around.

“Who knows why Alex thought she had a shot at the Peterson or why she got so worked up about it. Because, I mean, Piper is Piper. And she was a sophomore, while Alex was only a freshman. Anyway, Alex had her heart set on the stupid thing and then she lost,obviously.”

“What happened with them this year?” I ask, unable to swallow as I hang on to every one of her words.

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