Page 22 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

“I guess when Piper joined Survival Club,” Noah continues, “Jacey sort of freaked out. She thought Piper was going to steal it away too. Survival Club has always been Jacey’sthing, you know? She practically grew up in the wilderness with her dad. And Piper showed up with no experience and no clue how to do anything, and suddenly, it was like she was running the show. And she didn’tmeanto—we all know Piper never means to do these things. Even Jacey knew that. So she apologized to Piper, like, the next day, and then I swear things were fine.”

I look up from my dandelion to give him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Noah.”

He nods, and I watch him trudge ahead to catch Jacey. That itch to find the truth is worse now, begging to be scratched.

It sounds like things between Piper and her bestie were anything but fine.

Chapter 10

I wait for Grant to catch up, and we start up the mountain base, stitched with evergreens. Up at the rocky peak, the sun is blinding.

“You okay?” Grant asks, either because my eyes are watering after looking straight into the sun or because I’m never this slow.

The trail is narrow, and our group takes it in pairs. Mr. Davis is the exception, his khaki wide-brimmed hat leading the way.

“Yep.” My sneakers start to slip as the terrain changes from asphalt into gravely dirt. After a rain, this path becomes sloshy mud, but now the dirt is dry and loose. The pair ahead of us kicks it up into the air.

An hour later, we reach the fork in the trail. The steeper, rockier path veers to the right: Vanderwild Trail. Slightly more treacherous, but exploding with views. Grant took me up here for a picnic on my birthday. And I was here years ago, when I followed the three amigos on one of their little adventures. I’d been home, bored after a fight with Jessica, and those three were all laughs as they put on their sneakers and headed outside. Even Piper seemed content as they sang their way up the mountain, sharing licorice and inside jokes. And I stayed hidden, playing spy, judging their clothes and song choices while part of me wished I’d been invited.

Now, I try to push past the fork, but my eyes catch on the place where the trail winds up the mountain, dropping off into a deep, lush gully on one side. A gust of wind whips through the trees, fanning my ponytail and chilling me through.

I know we’re not traveling that way; you can’t even get to the river by that trail. Still, my heart thuds against my rib cage. The path goes hazy. It ripples and moves like a snake in the sand. I can’t catch my breath.

“Hey, hey.” Grant’s arms are around me. “You’re pale. Sit down.” I try to resist, but my pack is already off, and I’m down in the dirt. “Drink,” he says, handing me my water bottle.

“I just want to keep moving,” I mumble, unable to take my eyes off Vanderwild. The path that leads to the Point.

Grant follows my gaze, then places his hand on my jaw, gently turning my face to look at him. “We’re not going that way.”

“I know—I’m fine.”

He sighs. “This was a bad idea. I should’ve tried harder to get you to stay home. I’m going to run ahead and tell Mr. Davis that I’m walking you back down.”

“I said I’m fine,” I snap, forcing myself onto my feet. My head spins as I cap the bottle. I sway, but Grant steadies me. Up the trail, Mr. Davis takes the path on the left.

My vision starts to clear, and my lungs let air back in. The path stops moving. I find my footing again. A moment later, Vanderwild Trail disappears as we push on toward an area where the smattering of trees becomes dense forest.

Golden Trail, the path threading through the woods on this side, is named after the river. It’s even narrower than Vanderwild, but there’s no cliff bordering it, which makes it popular among locals.

I pause to jostle the backpack higher on my spine. But it keeps sagging, like it’s trying to drag me back down the mountain. Like it doesn’t want me here. Grant turns to check on me, a look of concern on his face. I take a deep breath of crisp mountain air and flick my chin for him to keep going.

We reach an unremarkable area, and Mr. Davis tells us to scout a good place to make camp. I glance around, seeing nothing but rocks and trees, the same view I’ve had the last two hours. I pull out my phone to check the time, then remember that I shut it off an hour back when we lost reception.

Moments later, Lumberjack Sam spots an ideal patch of land just off the trail. An old fire ring and a rusted tin can nestled in the ash are among the remnants of previous campers.

Mr. Davis instructs us to pitch our tents, and Grant asks me to start on his while he helps clear the area. I have no idea how to put a tent together, but how hard can it be? I bend over, tugging on his tent poles, but he jammed them inside the backpack so tight they won’t budge. Plopping down into the dirt, I use my feet for leverage and pull. But only one stake comes loose, and the rest leave angry marks on my hands.

Cursing under my breath, I slam the whole pack into the dirt.What were you doing in this club, Piper?She would’ve hated it up here.

But she would’ve succeeded. She would’ve assembled her tent in no time and then built mine before I even asked for help. And I would’ve felt like an idiot for about sixty seconds—the way I always do when my little sister comes to my rescue—until she made some remark about the incompetence of the tent manufacturer and how she would’ve made the part I was stuck on snap together more easily. Then she would’ve disassembled her tent just to confirm said theory.

It’s not exactly easy when your little sister passes you by in every subject in school. Still, having that massive brain around gave me a sense of comfort. I never realized how much until now. Piper has a way of swooping in and saving the day before I manage to get too worked up. She senses when she’s needed. I guess some subconscious part of me has been waiting for her to take this tent from me.

At least I have Grant. “Hey, Grant,” I call, scanning the area, “I tried, but you shoved this thing in—”

Grant seems to have wandered off. I abandon his pack and start poking around the grounds. A few yards from the fire ring, Mr. Davis sets a pot and a Jetboil on a large, flat rock, creating a makeshift kitchen.

I round a gray pop-up tent that’s already assembled, halting when I see Jacey and Noah in the woods beyond it, both visibly upset. I back up, crouching down behind the tent and peeking through the mesh window.

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