Page 5 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

It had finally happened. So why did she try to end everything?

With a shiver, I think of the note tucked inside my back pocket. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe something else happened, and whoever wrote this note—someone who could be sitting in this very room—knows all about it.

I survey the faces again. Everyone here is connected to my sister in some way.

Guess I’m joining a new extracurricular after all.

Chapter 3

Mr. Davis passes a small stack of papers around the circle. “This is a waiver your parents need to sign. If you’re eighteen, you can sign the waiver yourself, but please pass along the details to your parents.”

“What exactly are we signing?” I ask, not bothering to glance at the paper.

“This form pertains to this weekend’s backpacking trip on Mount Liberty,” Mr. Davis says. “You’ll all be excused early on Friday—”

The room bursts into applause.

Mr. Davis attempts to continue over the clapping. “We’ll camp Friday night, then spend Saturday at the river below the falls. After another night camping beneath the stars, we’ll hike back down to school Sunday morning. Pretty basic. But we still have some ground to cover.” He stands. “Part of my job as your advisor is teaching you to rely on each other. Our group is going to work as a family.”

“A dysfunctional family,” I whisper to Grant. No amount of skills could help me survive a weekend with Jacey Pritchard, who hasn’t taken her beady eyes off me since I got here. How has Grant managed to last so long in this club?

I can’t leave now, though. If I’m going to find out who gave Piper that forged note, I at least have to make it through this meeting.

“Which is why,” Mr. Davis continues, “we’re devoting the rest of today’s meeting to team building.”

A chorus of groans echoes around the circle.

Mr. Davis shuts his eyes, probably counting to ten under his breath so he doesn’t murder one of us. He may look calm and collected now, but as the boys’ soccer coach, the guy can definitely yell. The team has been in the spotlight since last year, when Mr. Davis miraculously took them from being the worst team in the league to regional champions.

Just like my sister and most of the other kids at this school, Grant worships the ground Mr. Davis walks on. And the feeling seems to be mutual. This year, Mr. Davis made Grant senior captain of the guys’ team.

Which is perfect, since I’m captain of the girls’ team. King and queen.

Not that this accolade means anything to my family. The second week of school, I told my mom that I needed money for the preseason tournament. But Piper had a debate tournament scheduled for the same weekend, and they could only afford to pay for one.

Big surprise—they chose Piper’s.

It didn’t matter that a scout from Mount Liberty College was going to be at my tournament. Or that I was older. Or that Piper had perfect grades and tons of other extracurriculars and one debate tournament wasn’t going to make or break college acceptance for her.

My mom told me I’d have to figure out how to pay for it myself, and that was her final answer.

Final answer.I guess it would’ve been, if I’d let it go.

Mr. Davis opens his eyes, and there’s a slow rise and fall to his chest. “All right, everyone. We’re heading outside.”

“We are?” asks Noah, comfortably slouched in his seat.

“Even though you’re clearly all so eager for the activity”—Mr. Davis lifts a folder from his lap—“first I need to provide a quick overview on packing your backpack for a three-day hike.” He stands up and walks toward the door, motioning for us to follow. “We’re off to the athletics equipment locker. Everyone take a gear list.”

He hands each of us a sheet of paper on our way out the door. The hall smells like the pizza they served in the cafeteria today, reminding me I skipped lunch. I wait for Grant, taking his hand as we amble after the others. When we pass by the athletics office, my chest constricts at the memory of the colossal mistake I’ll never be able to take back.

Grant’s fingers tighten around mine as we pass beneath the huge WE LOVE YOU, PIPER banner strung from wall to wall. It’s signed by half the school, including people who never even knew her. Strangers who may be hoping for the best but believe that Piper did this to herself.

My parents are probably the only people in town who have a different theory. They like to tell themselves that what happened to Piper was a freak accident. Like she’s this daring thrill-seeker who would have climbed up on top of that guardrail for the sheer rush of it. Like a gust of wind or a loss of balance caused her to plummet down the mountainside.

The truth is, I used to fantasize about life without Piper. Without the younger sister who could say more words at ten months than I could say at two years. The award-winning journalist. The debate club champ. The Future Scientist of America. The prodigy who had to take AP classes at another school because Grayling High couldn’t keep up with her.

In my fantasies, there was never a concrete reason for Piper’s disappearance. I didn’t dream up ways to get rid of her. She was simply blotted out of existence. And the end result was always the same: I ended up the favorite by default.

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