Page 9 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

I ignore her, turning to Noah. “Did Jacey fight with Piper about joining Survival Club or not?”

Noah blinks and adjusts his glasses. “I-I mean, I don’t—”

“Come on, Noah!” I slap a palm down on the sticky table, and Noah lunges for his milkshake to keep it from toppling.

From the counter, the old lady shushes me.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Noah says, throwing me a look as he wraps two protective hands around his plastic cup.

“Just tell me the truth. Did Jacey have an issue with my sister joining your idiotic club?”

“She was surprised that Piper would want to join,” he admits. “We all were. But she never threatened Piper. She wouldn’t do that.”

My gaze swings back to Jacey. I grit my teeth, managing to keep my mouth shut for the first time in my life.

I don’t believe her. Someone threatened Piper. Someone gave her specific instructions to go to the Point, where they would be alone.

And my sister never returned from that trip. Instead, she wound up unconscious on the side of the mountain.

If Piper didn’t fall on purpose, then it’s not my fault.

And if Jacey had something to do with it, I’m going to find proof.

Chapter 5

My parents nearly murdered the hospital staff when they discovered that Piper’s phone was missing from the plastic bag with the rest of her belongings.

They didn’t know that the hospital staff had nothing to do with it.

I took Piper’s phone. I couldn’t let my parents see the last text I’d sent her. I couldn’t let them realize that I may have been responsible for what had happened.

But right now, I want to see what else is on her phone. Maybe Jacey—or whoever did this—didn’t stop at threats in my sister’s bag. Maybe the proof that someone was harassing her is on that phone.

As soon as my parents leave for the hospital after dinner, I head to my closet and dig the phone out from where I buried it at the bottom of a box of old soccer gear.

A sick feeling rises in my stomach as I pull it free. The screen is cracked and still coated in a fine layer of dirt. I connect it to a charger, shutting my eyes and hoping it still works.

When I open my eyes, the phone is lit. I exhale in relief, but then a realization hits me: Piper’s phone is password protected, and we haven’t shared passwords in years.

Knowing my sister, her password is something too obscure for the CIA to crack. This is where one of my parents’ normally annoying family rules suddenly becomesnotannoying. We have to share our passwords with them.

I head to my parents’ room and snoop around in Mom’s top dresser drawer until my fingers brush a note card containing every password for every device my family has owned in the last ten years.

Back in my room, I unlock Piper’s phone using the series of letters and numbers that I’m guessing make up some chemical formula. My fingers shake as I navigate the texts, finding nothing new after mine, which I delete. I move on to the calls, scrolling past the six missed ones from Mom when dinnertime came around and Piper was nowhere to be seen. It was thanks to Mom’s calls that Piper was discovered. Some hikers heard the phone ringing while they were taking in the sunset. They realized someone had fallen and called 911.

Before those calls, though, things get weird.

On the day Piper fell, she received three calls from someone named Alex. Two answered, one missed.

Alex?I rack my brain, but can’t think of a single person named Alex in my grade or Piper’s. But then a thought nails me in the gut, and I nearly drop Piper’s already-damaged phone.

I do know anAlexandra. And she’s in Survival Club.

Does Alexandra go by Alex? If she does—and if she’s the person in Piper’s contacts—then she might’ve been the last person to talk to my sister before her fall. Alex, whoever she is, was certainly the last person to speak to Piper over the phone. Had she known what my sister was planning? Had Piper given any indication?

My finger hovers over her name. Before I can talk myself out of it, I hold my breath and press call. Then I wait.

It rings twice before someone picks up. No answer. Only breathing.

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