Page 50 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

“This person resorted to other means,” Tyler finishes.

“But what does this have to do with Mr. Davis?” Jacey asks.

Alexandra tugs a creased and crumpled scrap of paper from her back pocket. “When Savannah came to me in the gym, talking about Piper being threatened, the wheels in my head started spinning. I ran back to my locker to grab that note I’d dug out of the trash so I could try and figure out what Piper was working on. And I’m almost positive I’ve pieced together one thing.” She thrusts the scrap at me, and the others gather around me to peek at it.

Letters strung together like an equation are circled in pencil among all the scribbles:BS = danger.

Noah slings Jacey a wry glance. “BS is definitely concerning.”

Alexandra frowns. “Before this weekend, I thought these initials belonged to a person. And no one in the club fit. Sam’s last name is Eldridge, so even reversed, it wasn’t a match. But yesterday, I realized something about the advisor and one of the members. About their lives outside the club. Remember those rumors going around last winter? That one of our athletics teams had suddenly gone from last place in their division to champs, and it wasn’t because they’d recruited a new star player or doubled up on training sessions?”

“Boys’ soccer,” I mutter, kicking a pine cone. Though the school treated Mr. Davis like a god after that achievement, the league gave him a hard time. The accusations ranged from bribing refs to paying other coaches to throw games, but nothing was ever proven.

“Exactly.” Alexandra grins like a proud parent. “Last year, Piper asked the journalism advisor if she could write a story about it, but he said that kind of piece had no place in a student-run paper.” She lets this thought simmer for a beat. “So what if Piper decided to go rogue and do it anyway? What better place to find answers about a possible scandal involving boys’ soccer than Survival Club? You’ve got the senior team captain and the coach in one place.”

The words tumble through my brain, getting stuck before I can fully process them, like a squirrel trying to make it through a cluster of tree branches. Piper loves Mr. Davis. She would never pursue a story that would hurt him.

But the last place she was headed was his office.

Piper

Two Weeks Before She Fell

“It’s out of the question,” Mr. James hisses, baring yellowed teeth. “I told you last year. It’s not an appropriate topic for a school paper. A man’s livelihood and reputation are on the line.”

“That’s why I want to do this,” I argue. The stinging scent of chemicals wafts into the room from the classroom being cleaned next door, and I blink to keep from tearing up. I’ve been asking since last soccer season to cover this story, and Mr. James keeps shutting me down. “Mr. Davis is obviously innocent. But people are spreading these lies, and eventually, it could end him. Let me prove his innocence to everyone and blast all these rumors to hell.”

Mr. James inhales slowly, his thin frame rising and falling in his cushioned rolling chair. “It is ano, Piper. The firmest possibleno. I appreciate your loyalty to Mr. Davis, but the best thing you can do for him is to let this go.” He is saying one thing, but I know he means another by the way the word “loyalty” drags on his tongue. “And if you ask me again, I will remove you from journalism altogether.”

“You can’t do that,” I protest, pressing my fingertips into the desk like if I hold on tight enough, he’ll give in.

“Watch me.” His neck pulses, the skin sunburn red. “This isn’t a debate tournament, Piper. You can’t win this one. Now, if you would please see yourself out, I have grading to do, and I’d rather not be here all night.” He flicks two fingers toward the door and then lowers his head, gaze fastened on the pile of papers in front of him.

I resist the urge to knock over one of the miniature potted plants adorning his desk. The things I used to find invigorating about this room now feel suffocating. “Fine,” I spit, grabbing my notebook and spinning around. “But if he goes down for this, you’re just as guilty as everyone spreading the rumors.”

Flying out into the hall, I weave through the clumps of straggling students, passing Mr. Davis’s chemistry classroom, the door now shut. It’s also locked; I know this from the numerous times I’ve tried to get in there and dig around while he’s been in the athletics office.

I’m not buying thislooking out for Mr. Davis’s welfarecrap. Mr. James is jealous. Everyone loves Mr. Davis, and everyone is perfectly indifferent to Mr. James.

By the time I reach Mr. Davis’s office, my jaw hurts from grinding my molars. The door is open, Mr. Davis at the desk, and I head straight to the table along the left side of the room. I smack my notebook down, the chair screeching as I drag it along the linoleum before plopping down into it.

In front of me, the computer screen is black, but I don’t try to revive it. Instead, I stare at the wood veneer of the desk until my eyes fall shut in an attempt to block out thoughts of Mr. James.

“Everything okay?”

I startle, turning to see Mr. Davis peering over at me from the desk, brows slanted.

“Oh, yeah. Hi, Mr. Davis.” I try to think up a reason for storming in here without greeting him, but an image fills my head: Mr. James’s fingers waving me toward the door, nails as discolored as his teeth. “Just a rough class. But I’m here now. What do you need me to do?” A ripple of impatience runs through my chest. I should be trying to prove Mr. Davis’s innocence, not spending an hour grading his papers. “Teacher’s aide” will look great on college applications, but the main reason I agreed to it was to get closer to him so I could find some way to vindicate him. I owe him that. Being the only freshmen in his AP chemistry class full of seniors wasn’t exactly easy. The older kids started calling me Dr. Piper and asking if I was lost. Mr. Davis turned everything around, though. Instead of making a huge show of my age, he treated me just like everyone else. And pretty soon, I felt like everyone else.

But I haven’t found a thing to exonerate him, and whenever I try to question the guys on the team, they just joke about how they’ve been eating their Wheaties or howwhen you’re on fire, you’re on fire.

I had hoped any speculation regarding boys’ soccer would fade away after time, like the scent of dryer sheets on your clothes. But this morning I overheard the athletics director asking Principal Winters if they could look for a new coach before soccer season starts. The administration had practically pinned a scarletcforcheateron Mr. Davis’s shirt without giving him a chance to prove he wasn’t involved in any illegal activities. They’re willing to sacrifice him to save their own skins. Like cowards.

The only person who cares about the truth is me. And plan A is failing me. There’s nothing in this athletics office that will clear Mr. Davis’s name. I had pictured working in his classroom at least some of the time, but so far, he’s brought all of my TA assignments down here.

“If you could make copies of these pages, that’d be great,” he says, pointing to a small stack at the edge of the desk.

“No problem.” I stand and pick up the papers, forcing a smile.

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