I bite my lip, trying to force new tears back into my eye sockets. “Apparently, she and Alexandra already paired up, so…”

Grant stops dead in his tracks. “Oh, no, babe.”

I kick a branch so hard pain shoots from my toes up to my shoulders. A metallic taste seeps over my tongue; my teeth have broken through the soft inside flesh of my lower lip. “Look, whatever. I don’t have to speak to her. We’ll just be sleeping.”

Grant picks up the pace again, probably relieved that the only thing I’m kicking is a stick.

As the sun hugs the top of the mountains, we round a familiar boulder. A smattering of brightly colored tents pops into view. I take a deep breath.

We enter the camp to find most of the group sprawled out in the dirt, inspecting the little packets of instant camp food. A fire blazes in the old steel ring. Sam and Abby are crouched on either side, tossing sticks onto it.

Taking a seat on a log at the edge of camp, I pretend to dig a splinter out of my palm. But I’m watching Abby, because she knows more than she’s saying about Piper.

And it could lead to the truth about that day.

Chapter 11

Daylight dims as Grant dangles a packet of savory stroganoff between two fingers. He squints up at it. “Freeze-dried heaven.”

I make a face and dig through the packets while he pours bottled water into his Jetboil. Snatching the one that says CREAMY PASTA, I study the way Grant makes food appear from virtually nothing.

When I finish stirring my mush, I take a seat with the others around the campfire. The sun has vanished behind the mountains, its hazy glow trickling through the trees to make shadows of everyone’s faces.

I steal a glance at Grant, eating beside me in the dirt, perfectly in his element. Guilt rubs at an already-raw spot. When we got together, I tried so hard to get him to quit this club. In my head, he couldn’t love me and go to meetings with his ex. I see it now, though—the way this stuff makes him come alive. His features darken as the light fades, but I can just make out a grin as he catches me staring.

I take a bite of pasta, which tastes bland and has gone cold, and set the container down. Everyone but me seems prepared with an extra coat. I shiver and cross my arms over my chest.

Finished eating, Grant scoots over to wrap an arm around me. “Cold?” he asks, pulling me in closer.

“Not anymore.” I snuggle into the crook of his arm, watching the firelight dance on the tents and the figures huddled around it.

“So, is this the part where we tell ghost stories?” Noah’s voice crashes through the mixture of gentle whispers and crackling from the campfire. “Mr. Davis, you brought the marshmallows and chocolate, right?”

“Sorry, Mr. Crawford. They didn’t fit in my pack.”

Noah exhales an exaggerated sigh. “That’s okay. We can still tell stories and roastsomethingover the fire. Sam, what did you catch out there?”

From the other side of the fire, Sam’s brow furrows.

“You know,” Noah continues, “when you were out there hunting while the rest of us were building tents. You’re not pulling your weight around here. When we vote someone out of the camp tonight, I might have to toss your name into the basket.”

Sam grunts, his expression bored.

Jacey swats Noah, but he’s obviously determined to make himself tonight’s entertainment. “Ooh!” he shouts. “Ghost story tag! I’ll start.”

I should let my head slump back in a show of disinterest, but someone claps, and an excited buzz builds around the fire.

“Think I might go to bed,” Grant whispers in my ear.

“Don’t be such an old man.”

“Forgive me if I don’t want to participate in Crawford’s drama club story hour.”

“This is going to be so much worse than that,” I say like an archvillain. “Promise.” I tug on his arm, but he stands anyway.

“You have fun.” It’s obviously too dark for him to get the full effect of my pouty face. He leans over to kiss me, then walks off in the direction of his tent.

“’Night,” I say, feeling hurt but also feeling ridiculous that I’m hurt. A few feet away, Tyler is watching me like I’m his favorite Netflix show.