Page 14 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

“Alex had the nerve to go up against Piper for assistant editor, even though they almost always give it to a junior. And she lost, again, ob—”

“Obviously,” I chime in, giving her anaren’t we in syncgrin.

She smiles back. “Alex was super pouty about it for the next…” Her eyes widen, and the smile disappears. “Well, until your sister’s accident, I guess. While Piper’s in the hospital, Mr. James asked Alex to take over as assistant editor.”

So, with Piper out of the picture, Alex suddenly has what she wants. Interesting. Maybe assistant editor wasn’t the only thing she wanted. Maybe she also wanted revenge for Piper taking her award-winning story last year.

“Well,” I say with a shrug, “I guess Alexandra wouldn’t exactly be a fit for my ceremony.”

Country Club checks her surroundings one more time. “Look, I love Alex—I do. She’s one of my best friends. But she wasn’t one of Piper’s. Like I said, Piper is a sweetie—at least, she seems like she is. I’m sure she has plenty of other friends in her grade you could talk to. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“Oh, it’s totally fine. You’re right. I should be talking to other juniors.”

I get up from the bench, checking my jeans for smashed bits of food, and bid adieu to Country Club, whose real name I’ve legitimately forgotten.

Country Club, who has helped far more than she’ll ever know.

***

Piper always had journalism on Tuesday afternoons, so I head to Mr. James’s room after school to talk to Alexandra. I want to gauge her reaction when I ask if she spoke to Piper that day. And I want to know why someone who wasn’t even friends with my sister would call her three times right before she fell.

I walk into the room like I own the place—this has worked countless times in the past—only to find that no one even notices me.

There’s a group huddled around a computer in one corner, arguing about something. Up at Mr. James’s desk, I spot Alexandra. She’s pointing to her notebook and gesturing animatedly.

Girl’s got big plans, apparently. Now that my sister’s out of the way.

I’m about to interrupt their conversation when I notice the backpacks and sweaters dumped along the wall beside the door. And the messenger bag with the initialsAMembroidered on the outside pocket.

My skin prickles with nervous excitement. Alexandra’s phone could be in there. The one that’s going to prove she called Piper the day she fell. My eyes whip to her again. She’s still focused on Mr. James, and I don’t see a phone in her hand or back pocket.

I hover in the doorway on my toes, like the whistle is about to start the game.

Then I dive for the bag. In one quick, fluid motion, I lunge, grab, and I’m out the door, hopefully before anyone noticed me. My heart hammers in time with my steps as I hustle down the hall, messenger bag clutched in front of me.Where do I go, where do I go?

I turn the corner, and the library door comes into focus ahead. The light is on—after-school hours. Checking behind me, I duck inside.

A few students are scattered about, heads in books. The librarian looks up from her computer and eyes me, like I’m out of place in my own school library. Which I am. At a long table to the right, a couple giggles softly with their faces squished together. I sling the bag over my shoulder and weave through the tables. Pressing on through the aisles of books, I find a hidden corner and slump down to the floor.

I unbuckle the flap and start digging, but it’s a mess inside. Impatient, I dump the entire bag over and out spills all sorts of junk. Books, pens, a sweater, little folded-up notes. No phone. But the bag still feels heavy. I bunch it up in my hands until I find something substantial tucked into that embroidered pocket. I unzip it and stick my hand inside.

An electric jolt zips up my spine.This is it.Her phone.

I switch it to silent and grab my own phone, my finger hovering over Alex’s name. But I pause. This person might get really angry if I call again. If they had something to do with Piper’s fall, what might they do to me?

I take a breath, let it out. One phone in each hand. Fingers sweaty against both. But I have to do this. I have to find out what happened to my sister.

This person said not to call again. Fine—I won’t call. I set Alexandra’s phone down on the disgusting carpet and type out a text.

Why don’t you want to talk to me?

My chest tightens as I hit send.

Then I wait for Alexandra’s screen to light up with a new text.

One second. Heartbeat. Two seconds. Heartbeat. Three.

Nothing.

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