Chapter 10

I wait for Grant to catch up, and we start up the mountain base, stitched with evergreens. Up at the rocky peak, the sun is blinding.

"You okay?" Grant asks, either because my eyes are watering after looking straight into the sun or because I'm never this slow.

The trail is narrow, and our group takes it in pairs. Mr. Davis is the exception, his khaki wide-brimmed hat leading the way.

"Yep." My sneakers start to slip as the terrain changes from asphalt into gravely dirt. After a rain, this path becomes sloshy mud, but now the dirt is dry and loose. The pair ahead of us kicks it up into the air.

An hour later, we reach the fork in the trail. The steeper, rockier path veers to the right: Vanderwild Trail. Slightly more treacherous, but exploding with views. Grant took me up here for a picnic on my birthday. And I was here years ago, when I followed the three amigos on one of their little adventures. I'd been home, bored after a fight with Jessica, and those three were all laughs as they put on their sneakers and headed outside. Even Piper seemed content as they sang their way up the mountain, sharing licorice and inside jokes. And I stayed hidden, playing spy, judging their clothes and song choices while part of me wished I'd been invited.

Now, I try to push past the fork, but my eyes catch on the place where the trail winds up the mountain, dropping off into a deep, lush gully on one side. A gust of wind whips through the trees, fanning my ponytail and chilling me through.

I know we're not traveling that way; you can't even get to the river by that trail. Still, my heart thuds against my rib cage. The path goes hazy. It ripples and moves like a snake in the sand. I can't catch my breath.

"Hey, hey." Grant's arms are around me. "You're pale. Sit down." I try to resist, but my pack is already off, and I'm down in the dirt. "Drink," he says, handing me my water bottle.

"I just want to keep moving," I mumble, unable to take my eyes off Vanderwild. The path that leads to the Point.

Grant follows my gaze, then places his hand on my jaw, gently turning my face to look at him. "We're not going that way."

"I know—I'm fine."

He sighs. "This was a bad idea. I should've tried harder to get you to stay home. I'm going to run ahead and tell Mr. Davis that I'm walking you back down."

"I said I'm fine," I snap, forcing myself onto my feet. My head spins as I cap the bottle. I sway, but Grant steadies me. Up the trail, Mr. Davis takes the path on the left.

My vision starts to clear, and my lungs let air back in. The path stops moving. I find my footing again. A moment later, Vanderwild Trail disappears as we push on toward an area where the smattering of trees becomes dense forest.

Golden Trail, the path threading through the woods on this side, is named after the river. It's even narrower than Vanderwild, but there's no cliff bordering it, which makes it popular among locals.

I pause to jostle the backpack higher on my spine. But it keeps sagging, like it's trying to drag me back down the mountain. Like it doesn't want me here. Grant turns to check on me, a look of concern on his face. I take a deep breath of crisp mountain air and flick my chin for him to keep going.

We reach an unremarkable area, and Mr. Davis tells us to scout a good place to make camp. I glance around, seeing nothing but rocks and trees, the same view I've had the last two hours. I pull out my phone to check the time, then remember that I shut it off an hour back when we lost reception.

Moments later, Lumberjack Sam spots an ideal patch of land just off the trail. An old fire ring and a rusted tin can nestled in the ash are among the remnants of previous campers.

Mr. Davis instructs us to pitch our tents, and Grant asks me to start on his while he helps clear the area. I have no idea how to put a tent together, but how hard can it be? I bend over, tugging on his tent poles, but he jammed them inside the backpack so tight they won't budge. Plopping down into the dirt, I use my feet for leverage and pull. But only one stake comes loose, and the rest leave angry marks on my hands.

Cursing under my breath, I slam the whole pack into the dirt. What were you doing in this club, Piper? She would've hated it up here.

But she would've succeeded. She would've assembled her tent in no time and then built mine before I even asked for help. And I would've felt like an idiot for about sixty seconds—the way I always do when my little sister comes to my rescue—until she made some remark about the incompetence of the tent manufacturer and how she would've made the part I was stuck on snap together more easily. Then she would've disassembled her tent just to confirm said theory.

It's not exactly easy when your little sister passes you by in every subject in school. Still, having that massive brain around gave me a sense of comfort. I never realized how much until now. Piper has a way of swooping in and saving the day before I manage to get too worked up. She senses when she's needed. I guess some subconscious part of me has been waiting for her to take this tent from me.

At least I have Grant. "Hey, Grant," I call, scanning the area, "I tried, but you shoved this thing in—"

Grant seems to have wandered off. I abandon his pack and start poking around the grounds. A few yards from the fire ring, Mr. Davis sets a pot and a Jetboil on a large, flat rock, creating a makeshift kitchen.

I round a gray pop-up tent that's already assembled, halting when I see Jacey and Noah in the woods beyond it, both visibly upset. I back up, crouching down behind the tent and peeking through the mesh window.

"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's her ?

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.

Leaves crunch behind me. "I'll take it from here, thanks." Grant stomps between us to reach the tent.

"It's done, man." Tyler lifts his hands and backs away. "I was just making sure she got it set up before dark."

"Thanks for your help." I try to catch his eye, to apologize for my boyfriend with a look.

"No problem," he says before trotting off toward the others.

"You could've asked me for help." Grant moves behind me, wrapping his arms around mine.

His warm breath sends chills down my spine, but I slip free, spinning to face him. "I didn't ask him for help. He just did it. He's not a bad guy."

Grant shrugs. "I'm sure he's fine. Just needs to stay away from my girl."

I blow air through my teeth. "Jealousy's not a good look on you," I say, dragging my fingertips over his chest. "I have to find Abby." And work a little magic. "There's no way I'm sharing with Jacey."

"Well, you and I could share," he says in a singsong voice.

"Sure, Mr. Davis will be totally fine with that."

"He doesn't have to know." He waggles his brows playfully, and he's just so ridiculously gorgeous that any irritation I had about his Tarzan complex starts to dull.

I shake my head and wander in the direction of the blue tent where I last spotted Abby. I'm on thin ice with Mr. Davis as it is.

Ice that Grant has no idea about. And I need to keep it that way.

"I'll come with you," Grant calls after me. "Might as well find Sam so I don't get stuck with Noah."

Noah hates Grant for what he did to Jacey. Of course, it's the Noah version of hate. Like bunny rabbit rage, basically.

When we don't spot Sam and Abby's matching camouflage jackets, we ask Mr. Davis where they are.

"I sent them to gather firewood," he replies. "If you two are done setting up, you can help."

"Great," I mumble, wandering off into the trees alongside Grant. After a few yards, he bends over to pick up a branch. "What are you doing? I thought we were looking for the lumberjacks. Once we find them, we can ask Sam to hack down a tree with his ax or something."

"Savannah, you have to play nice."

"Oh, please." Abby's at the bottom of the popularity pyramid. She's going to feel like the queen of her entire imaginary kingdom is asking to stay at her house tonight. I'm doing her a favor.

"I think they're on the other side of this stream." He points to where the trees give way to a dip in the earth. "Stay here in case they come this way."

"Sure." I scan my surroundings for somewhere to sit, but there's only a rotten stump covered in ants. After a few seconds, I tug the note I found in Piper's locker from my pocket. I've been waiting for a moment alone to reexamine it. I turn it over in my palm and rub at it like you would one of those scratch-off tickets—as if the author's mysterious identity might be hidden somewhere beneath the ink. The words send a prickly sensation up my spine.

Survival Club will be holding an extra skills session after school today at Vanderwild Point.

Whoever wrote this meant to deceive my sister.

Whoever wrote this could be dangerous.

A hum drifts through the trees, and I stuff the note back into my pocket. Sure enough, where singing is, Abby's unmistakable fire-red hair and camouflage getup will follow. She's probably made friends with the birds and the squirrels by now.

"I was just looking for you," I say, feeling almost bad that I've interrupted her Briar Rose moment.

Abby quirks a brow. "Me?" Her lips shift into a confused smile.

"Everyone's partnering up to share tents," I say, waiting for that perplexed expression to morph into a flattered one.

But her grin drops. "I sort of partnered up with Alexandra already."

"Tell her you changed your mind."

"Why would I do that?"

My face heats. "Because if you don't, I'll have to share with Jacey," I snap.

Abby takes a timid step back.

I press my hands together like I'm praying. There's got to be a way to change her mind. "You don't understand. We have a history."

Abby's forehead scrunches. "It's not exactly a secret, Savannah. You stole her boyfriend."

My neck jerks. "Excuse me?"

"The photo in the Grayling High Gazette ." She must see the vein popping in my forehead, because her voice lowers and her face reddens, washing out her freckles. "I would think you'd want to be nice to Jacey after what you did." She makes a motherly face of disapproval. "Maybe sharing a tent would be good for you."

This doesn't happen often, but I'm speechless. I can't correct her, because she's not wrong. Still, the nerve of this flannel-covered frontierswoman, when I was trying to be nice to her. I glance helplessly at the pine trees surrounding us. At the crow squawking irritatingly, high overhead. Here in the wilderness, my social standing is about as useful as it is in the Sullivan home.

"I'm really sorry about Piper," Abby continues. "I am. But you and your sister…" Her lips twist in something like disgust.

"I wasn't aware you had such strong feelings concerning me and my sister ."

Abby shrugs. "You don't seem aware of much."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're sort of in your own world. That's why you didn't know Piper was—" She shakes her head. "Forget it." She reaches out to touch my arm, but I step back. "My thoughts are with your sister."

"What didn't I know about Piper?" She's not changing the subject.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters if you threatened her."

Abby's eyes narrow. " Threatened her?" That stupid smile reappears on her face, but it contorts unnervingly, sending a chill up my spine. "I don't know what you're talking about, Savannah."

Abby pivots and plods away, leaves crunching beneath her massive boots. Once she disappears into the trees, I flop down onto the ant stump, my legs sore from the hike, hands sore from how tightly they've been balled up.

I touch the cold silver of my necklace, pressing the charm between two fingers. Out in the middle of this forest with the wind whipping against my face, I feel exposed. Bare. I wish my bed weren't a billion miles away so I could crawl under the covers.

But the thought of my bed only conjures a memory from the day Piper fell. Raised voices. The flutter of paper. Words I can never take back.

Now, the wind sings through the trees. A woodpecker knocks, and my heart echoes the sound as it pounds in my chest.

"You didn't find her?" Grant's voice arrives before he appears through the pine boughs.

I wipe away the welling tears. "I did." I sniffle and attempt to stand.

Grant whistles in a breath and motions toward the phone in my back pocket. "Did they call about—?"

"No, nothing like that," I assure him. "I don't even have reception. I was thinking about her, that's all."

"Oh." He nods dumbly, and I can't exactly blame him; I don't get weepy often. Even when I found out about Piper, I didn't cry. He extends his arm, and I clutch it, leaning against him as we walk back to camp.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you back down?" His head tilts forward, a dark curl tumbling over his forehead as his eyes search mine.

"It's going to be dark soon. I can survive a couple more days with these creeps." Hopefully. "What did Lumberjack say?"

"He's cool. Abby?"

I bite my lip, trying to force new tears back into my eye sockets. "Apparently, she and Alexandra already paired up, so…"

Grant stops dead in his tracks. "Oh, no, babe."

I kick a branch so hard pain shoots from my toes up to my shoulders. A metallic taste seeps over my tongue; my teeth have broken through the soft inside flesh of my lower lip. "Look, whatever. I don't have to speak to her. We'll just be sleeping."

Grant picks up the pace again, probably relieved that the only thing I'm kicking is a stick.

As the sun hugs the top of the mountains, we round a familiar boulder. A smattering of brightly colored tents pops into view. I take a deep breath.

We enter the camp to find most of the group sprawled out in the dirt, inspecting the little packets of instant camp food. A fire blazes in the old steel ring. Sam and Abby are crouched on either side, tossing sticks onto it.

Taking a seat on a log at the edge of camp, I pretend to dig a splinter out of my palm. But I'm watching Abby, because she knows more than she's saying about Piper.

And it could lead to the truth about that day.