Page 51 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

After finishing the copies in the teachers’ lounge, I meander back, taking my time. When I approach the office again, whispers trickle out into the hall. I halt, taking two steps back. I should turn around and give my teacher some privacy. But something pulls me forward like a magnet. I press my back against the wall beside the door frame and listen.

“You just need to keep quiet.” Mr. Davis’s voice is low and sharper than I’ve ever heard it. Numbness spreads down my spine. “My job is at stake here. You’ll get into whatever college you want and live your charmed life, but you have to stop running your mouth.”

“I didn’t—”

“I’m going to have to redo everything,” Mr. Davis cuts in, “because of you idiots. You knew this would be the new protocol after last season. And now my ass is on the line.”

“Coach, it was only a couple of guys. Can’t you just—”

“Get out,” he says.

Before I can decide what to do, I hear footsteps coming toward me. I speed walk away as fast as my stiff legs will carry me, my heart thumping over the steps fading down the hall in the opposite direction.

My breathing is so ragged, I can barely see straight. I peek over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of goalkeeper Jaime Sanderson’s enormous frame.

Shame heats my cheeks. I’m known around here as the smart kid. The only sophomore to have won the Peterson Award. The girl who can’t be accommodated by her own school, so she has to travel to Foothill for science classes.

But I’m a complete moron when it comes to some things.

Like who to trust.

I take a deep breath, letting the oxygen fill my lungs until clarity floods my mind.

It’s time to take this investigation up a level. Since plan A was an utter failure, it’s time for plan B. Something that’ll get me closer to dear Mr. Davis. Something that’ll get me access to his classroom, the one I haven’t been inside since freshman year.

I return to the athletics office, fresh photocopies in hand. “Here you go,” I say to Mr. Davis, making my voice light as I set them down on the desk. Still clearly frazzled by his conversation with Jaime, he mumbles his thanks.

“Hey, Mr. Davis?”

He looks up, irritation in his pursed lips.

“I was thinking of joining Survival Club.”

Chapter 21

“So, you think Piper caught Mr. Davis doing something shady?” A whisper of terror passes over the back of my neck. He could’ve been outside the tent when Jacey and I were talking. He could’ve painted that message.

“I don’t know,” Alexandra says, brown skin blushing rose in the early-morning light. “But we have to consider the possibility. Someone wanted her out of the club. The last place she went was the school, looking for him.”

“I still think this is ridiculous.” Jacey looks to Noah for help. “Okay, so Piper was investigating the soccer team, but we don’t know that she found anything.”

I turn to Alexandra. “You never listened in while Piper was recording?”

“Believe me, I tried. But she was so careful. All I’ve got is this scrap of paper. There are a couple more initials, like the letterC.” She points to some scribbles at the bottom of the page. “Looks like ‘Where are the ROTs?’ But theOcould be aD. I don’t know.” She shrugs and stuffs the paper back into her pocket.

“Random drug tests,” Tyler says suddenly. “RDTs. Maybe Piper figured out it was a drug thing.”

“It wasn’t drugs,” I blurt, realizing too late how defensive I sound. But they’re wrong. Grant would never do that.

“Let’s think about this,” Alexandra says, trying to calm me but only adding to my irritation. “If it was drugs, then theCcould stand for—”

“Coach, obviously,” I say. “The athletics director wasn’t going to let Mr. Davis keep his coaching job if they had another losing streak. Mr. Davis might’ve panicked. If he’s involved in some sort of cover-up for the boys’ soccer team, maybe Piper found out. And he caught on.”

“It could explain why that cop was so eager to send me on my way.” Tyler picks up a branch and starts plucking the needles from it one by one. “Maybe Mr. Davis has the Grayling PD in his pocket.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” I ask. “We can’t go to the cops—”

“Notthatcop,” Tyler says. “But we could head down the mountain right now and demand to speak to someone else. There are too many of us to ignore.”

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