Chapter 11

Daylight dims as Grant dangles a packet of savory stroganoff between two fingers. He squints up at it. "Freeze-dried heaven."

I make a face and dig through the packets while he pours bottled water into his Jetboil. Snatching the one that says CREAMY PASTA, I study the way Grant makes food appear from virtually nothing.

When I finish stirring my mush, I take a seat with the others around the campfire. The sun has vanished behind the mountains, its hazy glow trickling through the trees to make shadows of everyone's faces.

I steal a glance at Grant, eating beside me in the dirt, perfectly in his element. Guilt rubs at an already-raw spot. When we got together, I tried so hard to get him to quit this club. In my head, he couldn't love me and go to meetings with his ex. I see it now, though—the way this stuff makes him come alive. His features darken as the light fades, but I can just make out a grin as he catches me staring.

I take a bite of pasta, which tastes bland and has gone cold, and set the container down. Everyone but me seems prepared with an extra coat. I shiver and cross my arms over my chest.

Finished eating, Grant scoots over to wrap an arm around me. "Cold?" he asks, pulling me in closer.

"Not anymore." I snuggle into the crook of his arm, watching the firelight dance on the tents and the figures huddled around it.

"So, is this the part where we tell ghost stories?" Noah's voice crashes through the mixture of gentle whispers and crackling from the campfire. "Mr. Davis, you brought the marshmallows and chocolate, right?"

"Sorry, Mr. Crawford. They didn't fit in my pack."

Noah exhales an exaggerated sigh. "That's okay. We can still tell stories and roast something over the fire. Sam, what did you catch out there?"

From the other side of the fire, Sam's brow furrows.

"You know," Noah continues, "when you were out there hunting while the rest of us were building tents. You're not pulling your weight around here. When we vote someone out of the camp tonight, I might have to toss your name into the basket."

Sam grunts, his expression bored.

Jacey swats Noah, but he's obviously determined to make himself tonight's entertainment. "Ooh!" he shouts. "Ghost story tag! I'll start."

I should let my head slump back in a show of disinterest, but someone claps, and an excited buzz builds around the fire.

"Think I might go to bed," Grant whispers in my ear.

"Don't be such an old man."

"Forgive me if I don't want to participate in Crawford's drama club story hour."

"This is going to be so much worse than that," I say like an archvillain. "Promise." I tug on his arm, but he stands anyway.

"You have fun." It's obviously too dark for him to get the full effect of my pouty face. He leans over to kiss me, then walks off in the direction of his tent.

"'Night," I say, feeling hurt but also feeling ridiculous that I'm hurt. A few feet away, Tyler is watching me like I'm his favorite Netflix show.

"Are you eavesdropping?" I ask.

He stands, the hood of his black sweatshirt falling back to reveal messy black hair, and shuffles over, taking a seat in the dirt beside me. "Sorry, couldn't help it. I'm a fixer by nature, and you look upset."

My face heats. "I-I'm not upset," I stammer as the rest of the group bursts into laughter. "Now, can you pipe down? We're missing the story. How are we supposed to kill off whatever characters they've created if we don't even know who they've created?"

Tyler smirks. "Fair enough." But he adds, "Sure you're okay?"

"Well, now that you mention it again …" I shake my head. "I'm not talking to you."

He crosses his arms, head tilted thoughtfully. "You're not a talks-about-feelings kind of gal, I gather."

"You're not a super quick gatherer, I gather."

He glances around like he's searching for something in the dirt. "It's fine. I have time. I just need the notebook where I pretend to write insights about my patients when I'm actually drawing what I think they'd look like as a cat."

I restrain my smile. "How about you invest all that energy into setting someone's things on fire? I have the perfect target. First syllable j , second syllable c ."

"Ah," he says, looking pleased with himself. "Now we're getting somewhere. You don't like Jacey."

"I'm not doing this with you, stranger."

He rests his chin on a fist. "Tell me more about that."

"Stranger danger."

"I'm sensing an age-old grudge. Likely involving a feud over property, perhaps oil." His brows lift in mock hope.

"You have the gift."

He grins.

"Let's just say I'd rather stay up all night and tell myself ghost stories than get in a tent with her."

He sobers slightly. "She did something pretty terrible to you, huh?"

My insides twist, that sliver of amusement I'd felt a moment ago shredded. If only I felt this way about Jacey because of something she'd done to me .

"Changed my mind," I say, turning away. "I'd rather brave the tent than stay here with Mr. Chatty Pants."

"Hey, I didn't—"

But I'm already yards away, grabbing my pack off the ground beside Grant's tent.

I lug it over to Jacey's tent and unzip the door. Inside, I aim my flashlight at the ground, where her things are spread over the entire floor.

I shove them all to one side and start to pull out my sleeping bag.

"Hey!" comes a shrill voice from behind me. When I turn, a light shines straight into my eyes. "What are you doing?"

I bat the beam of light like it's a fly. "The better question is, why the hell didn't you leave me any space?"

"Because I never thought you'd come in here."

"Where was I supposed to sleep? The fire ring?" I blink until the blurriness fades.

"I mean, I just figured you'd—"

"Defy school policy and sleep in my boyfriend's tent?"

At the word boyfriend , she flinches.

"Believe me, I would, but I can't afford to get in trouble right now. My parents wouldn't be able to handle it."

Jacey's head sinks. "Yeah." She kneels down to straighten her sleeping bag and then slips inside it. "I tried to make other arrangements, you know. With the tents. But Abby hates me."

"Why?" The word is out before I can help it.

"Just—I don't know."

I get my things situated and zip up my sleeping bag around me. "I heard you and Noah in the woods earlier," I say, because once my mouth is on a roll, there's no stopping it.

"What?"

"You apologized for something. Was it about Piper?"

Jacey's inhale is like thunder inside the tiny tent. "You're a real piece of work, Savannah."

"Look, if you know what happened to her that day, just tell me. Please."

"We weren't talking about that. I never even saw Piper that day. That's the truth. Yes, we had a little… thing when she joined Survival Club. I was just in a bad place, and I blew up at her. But that was it. You know she's my best friend." The last word breaks off like a weak branch in the wind.

My chest tightens. It wasn't her. Which means my search isn't over.

Or maybe Grant has been right this entire time. Maybe I'm just trying to put the blame on someone else because I can't face what I did. And I'm so desperate that I nearly dragged Jacey into this. As if I haven't hurt her enough already.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I get why you…our relationship hasn't exactly been perfect the past few years. But I love Piper."

I meant that I'm sorry about everything . About Grant. But as usual, I'm too chicken to say it. The sound of the others' voices mixed with the chirping of crickets drifts in as the two of us lie side by side in the dark.

"I should've known you had nothing to do with it," I say. "I mean, I did know, after I saw the calls from somebody named Alex. Obviously, if you'd called her, the phone would've said your name."

Jacey props herself up on an elbow. "Someone named Alex called her?"

I nod, even though she can't see me in the dark, my chin rustling the nylon bag. "Three times. Her last calls before my mom's. And I don't think they were from Alexandra."

More silence, broken only by the crickets and the occasional giggle. "So, then," Jacey says, voice barely above a whisper, "you really think someone did something to her. Who would have a reason to hurt Piper?"

I shut my eyes, trying to breathe, slow and steady. But the frustration rises until I can feel it in my jaw. "You think I'm being stupid, like Grant does. Piper fell from Suicide Point, so I should just shut up about all this stuff."

Maybe I'm frustrated because they could be right.

"I didn't say that."

I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn't say anything else. Doesn't even move for a moment that stretches for ages.

"I just can't think of anyone in the club who wasn't crazy about Piper," Jacey finally says. "Everyone pretty much thought she was God's gift to wilderness survival."

The tension shoots pain through my shoulders and neck. Of course Jacey doesn't believe me. It isn't her fault. You can't just erase months of heartbreak and distrust.

And she's right. I haven't found a single motive for anyone in this club. I turn over onto my side.

There's a rustle, then a muffled noise. Is she crying?

"This reminds me of the time we camped out in your backyard and Piper thought she heard a cougar."

She's laughing.

My lips curl at the memory. Piper and I were close enough in age that we used to have joint sleepovers with Jessica and Jacey. My parents had never— have never—camped, but they bought a tent and told us to have fun in the comfort and safety of our own gated yard. One night, I had to go inside to use the bathroom, and when I returned, Piper heard my footsteps and practically peed her pants, she was so scared. For all her brains, she actually thought a cougar might be prowling around in our grass.

Slowly, the tension between us begins to deflate. It's not the affirmation I was hoping for. But Jacey doesn't owe me anything. And this—it's something.

"I want to help," she says, wrenching me from the nostalgic moment and reminding me why I came here. "If someone was really up there with Piper at the Point—if someone in this club threatened her—we'll figure out who it was."

Unease slithers up the back of my brain. I don't trust her. We may never be able to trust each other fully again.

But Jacey's been in Survival Club since her freshman year. She knows these people. If I'm going to find out what really happened to my sister, I may have to put my faith in my least likely ally.