Page 17 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

The truth is that I debated getting that signature for two days. Last night, I had the perfect opportunity when my parents came home from the hospital for a few hours to eat and shower.

But dinner was so quiet. I tried to warm them up with my anecdote about dropping by the journalism room and how everyone missed Piper. I may have slightly embellished the experience. But Mom just looked up at me in that vacant way she’s been doing everything lately and mumbled, “That’s nice, honey.” Then she went back to picking at her rice.

They never would’ve agreed to sign that waiver. They think I’m supposed to be like them, putting my life completely on hold while Piper’s in the hospital.

But it’s been a month. I can either shrivel up and stop living, like Mom and Dad, or I can prove to them that they were right this whole time: Piper didn’t try to kill herself.

I can do that for my parents, but it means I have to deceive them and everyone else in this club. That’s why I forged Mom’s signature on Mr. Davis’s waiver.

All my parents have to do is exactly what they’ve been doing—spending their weekends at the hospital and forgetting I exist. I’ll text Mom that I’m staying at Jessica’s house all weekend.

Simple.

***

Grant and I get lunch off campus, even though Mr. Davis said to meet him in the gym at lunch to pack equipment. I can’t very well go out into the wild for three days on cafeteria food.

“Hey, I’m going to talk to Jess real quick,” I tell Grant when we get back to school. He’s carrying both of our duffel bags like the prince he is.

“All right. I’ll go ahead and start stuffing our packs. You gonna use Piper’s?”

I blink. I hadn’t thought about the fact that we’re now one hiking backpack short. “Yeah, sure.” I can’t admit I snooped through the equipment locker and discovered that someone had stolen Piper’s incriminating pack. Hopefully, Mr. Davis has an extra.

I find Jessica in the parking lot, which is flooded with upperclassmen returning from lunch at one of the three fast food places along the nearby strip. “Hey,” I call out, waving to her.

She smiles, says something to Taryn Locke, who’s propped against the hood of her Mercedes, and then strides over. “I feel like I never see you anymore,” she coos, making a pouty face.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—I’ve really been hunkering down, trying to get good grades so I can get into MLC.”

Jessica makes a face. “Did you just sayhunkering?” She laughs, and then I laugh, because I did indeed say the word.

“Not sure where that came from.”

“Sounds like Piper,” she says through a giggle. Then she stops. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine. Piper would totally sayhunkering.” I smile. Bite my lip. “Hey, Jess, if my parents happen to call you—which they won’t—but if they do, can you cover for me? I told them I’d be at your place all weekend.”

Jessica’s eyes widen. “Are you—”

“No,” I say before she can get any ideas. “I’m just going on this club trip. One of Piper’s things. Sort of in her honor. But yes, Grant will be there too.”

“I knew it.” She grins conspiratorially. “Of course I’ll cover for you. It’s not like you’ve never done it for me.”

“Thanks.” I squeeze her hand. “You’re the best.”

The bell buzzes to signal the end of lunch just as I take off around the building to the side gym door, pretty positive I’m going to get an earful from Mr. Davis for showing up last-minute. Inside, the bleachers are folded up against the walls, and it smells like sweat and whatever food some of the club members are still finishing up. Unsurprisingly, Lumberjack Sam and his humming girlfriend, Abby, have their twin backpacks zipped and ready to go. Alexandra and Tyler are still working on theirs, and Grant seems to have ours under control.

Scratch that. He seems to havehispack under control. My duffel is still lying on the ground beside him, untouched. I hurry through the scattered equipment toward him. “Where’s my stuff?”

“Oh,” Grant mumbles without looking up. “Mr. Davis is looking for your pack. He must’ve left one behind in the locker.”

“Great.” I cross my arms, looking for a way to help him, but I have no idea what any of these supplies are. “Should I, uh, fill these water bottles?”

“I got it,” Grant says, working his clothes into tight rolls. “Did you bring a sleeping bag?”

I wince.

Grant’s eyes flick up to mine, and he smiles. Shakes his head. “There should be extras with the gear.”

---