Page 67 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

Our plan is a rush job. Mr. Davis is nearly ready to move, just taking care of divvying up the bear-resistant food bags. Sam’s and Abby’s packs are nestled by a tree a few feet from me. Noah is fake tying his boot, waiting for the signal. Alexandra wanders the camp, pretending to look for trash and any other remnants of our time here. In reality, she’s checking out Sam’s jeans, making sure he has his phone on him. She glances at me, nods slightly, and something like electricity buzzes through me.

Jacey returns from her “bathroom trip,” and the buzz becomes a current. I sit up straighter.

Game time.

“You guys!” Jacey yells. “Come quick! There’s a cat, and I swear it’s aLynx canadensis!”

“That’s impossible,” Sam mutters, but he’s already on his feet, following Jacey toward the trees.

The rest of the group—Mr. Davis included—drop whatever they’re doing to scurry after them, while Alexandra stops at the edge of camp. She’ll remain there as a lookout, warning me as soon as everyone realizes the lynx, astonishingly, must’ve run off to be with his lynx friends.

“I know they’re not indigenous, but it’s there,” Jacey says, running up to Sam. “Here, give me your phone so I can get a photo.”

Sam’s head rears back. “Can’t you just—”

“Hurry! Mine’s dead, and this guy’s going to get away.” She waves her hand in his face. “This could be our only opportunity to document a cat like this around here!”

Sam blinks, clearly overwhelmed by Jacey’s high-pitched demands. Somewhere in the woods, Noah whoops like we planned, heightening the frenzied atmosphere. Jacey tosses Sam a panicked look. “Are you really going to stand here and let him scare off the lynx?”

He shrugs, handing her the phone, and Jacey shakes it at him until he unlocks it. Then he grumbles in his rugged voice about bobcats and misidentification as Jacey turns. She crashes into Alexandra, who exchanges her phone for Sam’s just before Jacey disappears into the pines, the others chasing after.

I make my way over to Alexandra, who hands Sam’s phone off to me. After one quick nod of encouragement, she pushes the curls out of her eyes and heads into the woods.

Once she disappears, I sprint behind a large tree on the other side of camp and slide down into the dirt, already going through Sam’s text messages. Abby’s name is at the top, and I scroll through the other names, finding nothing from Mr. Davis or any of the soccer players. The taste of bile stings the back of my throat; a drug dealer isn’t going to use his primary phone to make deals or chat about getting rid of someone.

But I’ve come this far. So for the hell of it, I open the messages from Abby and scroll back to Wednesday, September sixteenth.

And there it is.

[4:05] Abby: Piper’s asking questions

[4:06] Sam: I’ll take care of it

Cold trickles in like frost filling my veins. My phone is off. There might not be enough time to power it on and snap a photo before Sam realizes there is no lynx and finds me snooping. I take a screen shot and open up a new message to send it to myself. I start to type my phone number when footsteps thud against the earth behind me. The scent of dirt wafts through the air. I open my mouth to say Alexandra’s name, and I can taste it.

Then there’s a crack. Sharp pain. Light. Dark. Shattering glass.

And I’m falling over.

Piper

The Day She Fell

Abby’s still sitting in the truck, and I walk past, feigning surprise when our eyes meet through the rolled-down window.

“Abby?”

She straightens, pulls her black Vans down from the dash, and shuts her paperback copy ofThe Great Gatsby. “Oh, hey, Piper. What’s up?”

“I know I’m a little late, but I was headed up the trail to the Survival Club meeting.”

She stares back at me blankly. “It’s Wednesday, Piper.”

“Right, but the note you gave me from Mr. Davis?” She’s either not following or pretending not to follow. “It said to meet up the trail for an extra session.”

Her lips purse as she takes in a slow breath. “Oh, that.” She leans against the elbow rest of the door. “Listen, Piper, you should probably know…”

“Know what?” I ask, relieved that someone finally seems to have heard about today’s meeting.

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