Page 23 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

“Jace, I don’t want to spend another minute up here with you until we talk about it.”

“I already said I was sorry,” Jacey says, arms hanging limply at her sides.

Heat itches up my neck like a prickly rash. What’s she sorry for? Somewhere behind me, Abby starts singing while she works, muffling their conversation.

My calves burn from the way I’m half squatting to get a view, so I lower until I’m sitting in the dirt. Mercifully, the song stops. I can hear Jacey again, but I only catch the end of her sentence. “…didn’t mean to do anything to her.”

I rock up onto my toes to peek at them again; Noah’s head is dipped, his eyes on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Jacey pleads. “I keep saying it. I’m sorry.” She wipes at her face. “Can we go now? We’ve got to set up.”

She trudges off farther into the woods, but Noah remains there for a moment. He rubs his temple before following her.

I stand, brushing dirt off my jeans. What did Jacey do that has Noah so upset? And who’sher?

I turn around, my pulse ready to leap out of my skin when I skirt the tent and smack straight into Tyler.

“You okay?” He squints down at me, hands in his chain-bedazzled pockets.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” Tyler grabs a pole, removing it from Grant’s pack with a swift tug. He moves on to the others, spreading them out over the large polyester sheet. “It’s really easy.” Deftly, he secures the poles inside the little rings and motions for me to do the same on the opposite side.

“Now we just clip the tent to the poles, all the way up.”

I start to clip, glancing at the focused expression on Tyler’s face. The wind rustles the black hair out of his deep brown eyes. “Good. That’s it. Almost done. Now we’re going to put the fly on top.” He waits for me to grab the other side of the fabric.

Once we finish, I admire our work. Tyler moves to stand beside me. “Nice necklace,” he says, indicating the hand-painted charm strung from my neck.

My hand darts to the necklace instinctively. Protectively. I spread my fingers out, pressing the cold chain against my clavicle. “Thanks. My sister made it.” My hand lowers, allowing the little silver-framed ceramic charm to rest in my open palm. “This one’s supposed to be me.”

“I can see that.” His mouth twists into a boyish grin. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

I roll my eyes. When Piper was twelve, my parents signed her up for a summer jewelry-making class. Every day when she came home, my parents asked what she was working so hard on, and every day she told them it was a secret. We all figured she was making a gift for Mom, like some clunky bracelet made of shells. But on the final day, she brought home a small, neatly wrapped present with a pink bow and placed it in my hands.

I tried so hard to squash my enthusiasm. I was the mature older sister. But as I folded back the tissue paper and uncovered the nickel-sized ceramic gem with tiny hand-painted characters, I couldn’t help but smile.

It was us, side by side. She’d used special tools to paint miniature versions. But while Piper looked like herself—scrawny and plain, hair fanning around her like a halo—she’d made me into a superhero. My hair was long and shiny, painted yellow with care. I wore a pink cape and had a hand on my hip and a soccer ball nestled at my feet.

My heart burst like a firework, and I couldn’t undo the clasp fast enough. Piper helped me secure the silver chain around my neck. I refused to take it off.

Eventually, I outgrew Piper’s necklace. Sister-made jewelry was no longer the fashion. But I carefully placed it in its own special compartment in my jewelry box.

Over the years, the necklace moved farther and farther to the back of the box, one little velvet square at a time. Then, on the day Piper was found, I frantically rummaged for it again—the only artifact I had from a time when my sister loved me. I wanted to feel like part of her was still with me, even as her body lay in that hospital bed miles from our house. Instead, when I scooped up the silver chain, letting it dangle between my fingers, I felt like a fraud. An impostor.

I keep wearing it, though. The feel of it is comforting. I find myself checking to make sure it’s there throughout the day, running my fingers over the cold ceramic. Like caring for it will somehow make up for the way I neglected its creator.

Tyler watches me, his features perked with interest, like he can read my thoughts. “Thanks for your help with the tent,” I say, dropping the charm and dismissing him.

“Who are you sharing with?” he asks, not getting the hint.

“Oh, um…” I hadn’t really thought about it. Guess I can’t share with Alexandra after I accused her of being involved in Piper’s fall, and I can’t share with Jacey for obvious reasons. “Abby.”

He frowns, but there’s a devious glint in his eyes. “That’ll be tough, since she’s already sharing with Alexandra.”

“She is?” I try to sound disinterested even as alarm bells blast in my brain.

“There’s still Jacey,” he says.

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