Page 62 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

Sadness wells up in my throat. I became Mr. Davis’s TA and joined this club to exonerate him—to prove that he was doing everything by the book so the school board would leave him alone. I looked up to him.

And now? He’s gone the way of Savannah and every other person I should’ve been able to trust. He’s probably the one who wrote that threat in my pack.

“Can I give you a ride home?”

I tense. Grant could be involved in this. I never saw his form in that stack. I didn’t have time to look for it. “I drove.” I stand, but my legs are shaky. “I’ll just check in with Mr. Davis in the morning.”

“Piper, I don’t think I should leave you like this.”

“Like what?” I say, already walking away from him. But a new thought rushes into my mind, colliding with the others like a nuclear reaction.

Maybe Grant will help with the piece. Maybe if I can get information from an inside source, my story will hold more weight. Because what else do I really have now? I didn’t find any solid evidence in Mr. Davis’s office before Grant showed up.

I can’t rely on my supposed role models anymore. All they do is prey on the innocent. They take your trust and hold it over a fire, then hammer until it’s distorted and warped. Until it’s unrecognizable. Leaving you changed for the worse.

If I can prove that Mr. Davis was involved in the soccer drug scandal, his class won’t matter anymore. His grades won’t matter.

If I can prove his involvement, maybe Savannah and I can get out of this unscathed. Maybe the school will overlook our crimes.

“Actually,” I say, turning back, “there is something you can help with. But let’s talk outside.”

Chapter 25

Grant hovers over me, his face centimeters from mine. My back presses into the nylon so hard I start to skid with it.

There’s a sound—a sharp intake of breath—and I recover my footing in time to see Jacey cover her face, sneakers sliding in the dirt as she spins around.

Grant jerks away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Wait!” I call, sliding out from between Grant and the tent while he’s distracted. “We weren’t—it isn’t—”

But what was it? I don’t even know.

Jacey looks from him to me, her face red. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Grant stands there with slumped shoulders.

“Savannah?” she asks.

I’m too weak to think or move. “I don’t know,” I say, even though a moment ago, I was certain my boyfriend was about to go Van Helsing on me with a tent stake. A stake that’s now hidden behind his back. “Grant, put it down,” I plead, stepping toward Jacey, who gapes at him in confusion.

“Savannah, you’re scaring me,” Jacey says. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I snap.

Grant straightens now, moving closer and pushing himself right between us. “Have you lost your mind?” His tan skin is flushed pink. With anger? “I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he hisses at me. “I was trying to get you to keep your voice down.” But the stake is still at his side, his fingers curled around it.

“Okay,” Jacey says, flashing me a warning look. “Message received.” She tugs on my arm, but Grant blocks our path.

“Wait.” He lets the stake fall in the dirt, a display of passivity. But he’s tense. I glance down at his hands, empty now, but still balled so tightly the blue veins pop. My gaze moves to his shirt, to where he missed a button this morning.

I can’t stop staring at that undone button. It’s like a fly on a TV screen. Everything in me wants to button it, because that’s what girlfriends do. But I don’t dare reach out.

“You can’t just blab about this stuff in front of the whole camp,” Grant whispers. “You have to keep quiet until we can get down the hill to safety.”

The words should sound protective. He’s trying to keep us safe.

Still. The way my boyfriend sayskeep quietmakes every hair on the back of my neck stand up.

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