Page 16 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

I drop the bag right beside the door frame, relief thawing my rigid muscles. Then I slide back into the hall, my gaze taking one last turn about the room.

And smacking right into Alexandra’s glare.

I freeze, and her eyes stay glued to me.

I force myself to turn and flee, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum. She didn’t see me with the bag. She was taking a selfie.

So why did she look at me like that? I keep going, stopping briefly at my locker to grab the books I’m supposed to bring to Grant’s house, and then make a beeline for the parking lot.

When I’m out in the hazy afternoon sun, my phone dings in my pocket, startling me.Patience, Grant, damn it.I pull out my phone, ready to text him as much, but it isn’t his name on the screen.

It’s Alex’s.

I think we both know the answer to that.

Chapter 8

Friday morning, I hop into Grant’s truck carrying a full duffel bag.

“Um, what is that?” he asks when I heft it over the passenger seat and into the back alongside his own bag.

“My stuff for the weekend.”

“The weekend?” He stares blankly.

“The backpacking trip,” I say like it’s obvious as I lean over to kiss him.

“You’re not going on the backpacking trip.” His voice is muffled against my lips.

“I changed my mind.” I shrug and mess up his curls with my fingers. He’s wearing my favorite shirt of his, a teal button-down we picked out at the mall together. “Thought it might be more fun than hanging around at home while you’re out fighting bears.” I press closer and whisper in his ear, “Don’t you want me to come?”

Grant’s eyes fall shut and he nods, smiling faintly. “This might be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Hey,” I say, heat rushing through me at the thought of spending a weekend in front of a crackling fire, cuddled up in Grant’s arms. It’s quickly followed by a memory of the two of us that first night—the one that had to stay hidden from everyone, the one where the idea of wrong slid into the recesses of our minds, replaced by the feelings of his hands in my hair and my mouth covering his. The night that was danger and excitement and falling faster and further than I’d ever fallen.

I slap him on the shoulder. “I’m full of good ideas.” Then I pull down the mirror and begin to apply Roses Are Pink.

“You are,” he agrees, turning the key in the ignition. The truck rumbles to a start, and we lumber off down the road. “Which is why I’m hoping this plan doesn’t have anything to do with Piper.”

He glances over at me, and there it is again. The look.

I slump back in my seat. “Of course not. You were totally right about all of that. I was just searching for someone to blame.”

Guilt presses down on me like a weighted blanket. The truth is so heavy I can barely breathe. Someone was always to blame. And if I’m wrong about all of this—about Alex—there’s only one person left.

My thoughts flash to that day. To the last time I saw Piper without a million wires attached to her body. The last time I saw her turquoise eyes open.

They were filled with tears. And if she never wakes up, that’s how I’ll always have to remember her.

Add that to the list of things I’ll never be able to tell my boyfriend.

“I’m surprised your parents signed the waiver,” Grant says as the truck turns onto our school’s maple-tree-lined street.

Another brick of guilt drops onto my shoulders. “They took some convincing. But you know my parents.” I let my head fall against the window so I don’t have to keep looking at him as I spew lies. “Just happy to see me getting involved in something that’s not a contact sport.”

“Could be good for you,” Grant offers.

“That’s what I told them.”

---