Chapter 2

After I spend all of first period wondering how Piper possibly could've had a Survival Club meeting at the exact place and time of her fall, the bell finally rings. I leap from my desk, ignoring Se?ora Pérez's last-minute homework instructions.

I scan the hall for my boyfriend, Grant, and spot his dark curls and athletic build through the crowd. He's coming to walk me to World Lit. Hurrying over, I take his hand and drag him to an empty corner.

I glance over my shoulder before facing him. His gorgeous brown skin is flushed pink.

"Missed me, huh?" He wraps both hands around my waist and leans in.

"Of course," I say, pulling back. "But I wanted to ask you about something." I tug the note from the pocket of my jeans and show it to him. Grant's in Survival Club too. "I found this in Piper's locker. Were you at this extra skills session the day she fell?"

His brow furrows as I hand him the note. "No," he says, examining it.

"Really?" Disappointment hits me like a soccer ball to the chest. I was really hoping he could tell me something, anything. "I just don't understand—"

"I wasn't there," he interrupts, "because there was no meeting that day. We always meet on Mondays."

A tingle courses up my spine. "Then why would Piper get a note that says otherwise?" I take the paper back, turning it over in my hand.

Grant shrugs. "Maybe Mr. Davis thought she needed extra practice."

"Just the two of them?" I ask skeptically. "And if that were true—which would be super weird, by the way—why wouldn't he have mentioned it? He would've been there, where she…" Sadness swells in my throat, but I swallow it down. "He would've seen her just hours, maybe minutes, before it happened, right?"

Grant places a hand on my shoulder, peering down at me with concern in his hazel eyes. "Just ask him, Savannah. After chemistry."

"I'd rather have you there," I say.

"Then swing by our meeting after school."

Swing by our meeting. In Mr. Davis's room.

It might be the only way to find out the truth.

***

Two steps into room twenty-five, I want to creep out into the hall again and shut the door. But I can't.

Not until I find out if someone was really up at the Point with Piper that day.

Mr. Davis sits slouched on top of the desk, the same way he does during chemistry class. He's wearing jeans and a gray collared shirt, and he casually sips coffee from a mug that says WORLD'S MOST OKAY TEACHER. He's young, probably the youngest teacher at Grayling High.

Piper loves him. She was always talking about him. He's probably the reason she joined Survival Club. She took chemistry two years early, because Piper was— is —like that, and afterward, he let her become his student TA as part of some program she could put on her college applications. Not that she needed more shiny programs.

Guilt ripples through me, and I take a deep breath.

I can sense someone watching me from the other side of the room. When I glance over, I find Jacey Pritchard, Grant's ex, standing in the middle of a circle of chairs, glaring.

My stomach clenches. I'd forgotten she'd be here.

Where the hell is Grant? I pull out my phone to text him when a deep voice says, "Hi, Savannah."

A chill runs like droplets of cold water down my back, but I force myself to meet his gaze.

"Looking for Grant?" Mr. Davis's blue eyes sparkle at me as he brushes a strand of sandy blond hair off his forehead. The grin is a permanent fixture on his face. All the girls at this school find him so dreamy.

I used to think so too; now I just find Mr. Davis problematic. A possible roadblock in the way of living happily ever after with my boyfriend.

I move closer to the desk. "Actually, I was looking for you." There's a tremor in my voice. I haven't spoken to Mr. Davis directly in weeks. I wasn't planning on speaking to him directly ever again, if I could help it. Each day, I sit in the back of his fifth-period chemistry class and will myself invisible. "I need an extracurricular," I lie. "I was thinking about this club."

Mr. Davis looks surprised. "What about soccer?"

"It's preseason. My parents want me involved in something now."

"Even with things…" His eyes drop to his mug.

"I could probably use the distraction," I mumble over the noise drifting in from the hallway. "I should keep busy. And I think Piper would want me to join this club. Sort of, like, in her honor."

"I understand." His voice is warm.

The truth is, my sister would want me locked in a cell after what I did to her last month. "The only problem is that I might have a scheduling conflict."

"Well, you're here now," he says, tilting his head, "when we meet."

"I know, but Piper said you sometimes have extra skills sessions on Wednesdays."

"Extra skills sessions?"

"Yeah, like, on Mount Liberty or whatever."

He shakes his head. "We only meet on Mondays. There's a biannual backpacking trip, but that's it. Could you commit to that?"

I pause thoughtfully, even though my heartbeat accelerates with each lie. I unzip my backpack and tug out the letter I typed up in the computer lab at lunch. "I think so. Can you do me a favor and sign this? My mom is making me bring it back to prove I made an effort to get involved in something."

Mr. Davis quirks a brow as he takes the note. "Shouldn't I be signing this after you attend the meeting?"

"Please? I promise to at least stay long enough to find out how boring it is."

He grins, letting out a too-exhausted-to-care sigh as he grabs a pen from the desk and scribbles his name. Before releasing the note, he leans in and whispers, "We're all really pulling for your sister."

I freeze for a moment before forcing out, "Thanks."

I head to the circle of chairs. Jacey is still looking at me like I'm a bug she'd like to squash, so I plunk down into a seat as far away from her as possible. Then I pull my backpack into my lap to block Jacey's view and hold the fake note from my mom beside the one I found in Piper's locker.

My pulse throbs in my neck as I glance from one signature to the other.

They don't match.

Mr. Davis is telling the truth about not holding an extra skills session the day Piper fell.

So why would someone forge a note from him?

I glance around the circle of chairs, taking in the setup of the place Piper's been spending her Monday afternoons. When my sister told me she was joining Survival Club two weeks into the school year, I laughed. "Good one," I said. Piper does not do outdoors.

But she wasn't joking.

My gaze darts from Jacey's glare to a girl with braces and amazing curls: Alexandra Martinez, a sophomore. She's always trying to interview me for some piece or another for the school's online newspaper. Homecoming. Prom. Soccer. The articles were always about things I'd won until a couple of weeks ago, when she did a piece on the vigil the school held for my sister.

Next to Alexandra is a hand-holding couple wearing matching hiking boots and creepy smiles. Oh, and red flannel shirts. They look like members of some sort of mountain cult. I've seen the scruffy-looking lumberjack guy around, and I know the redhead as Miss Humsalot. She's some sort of musical prodigy who sings to herself in the halls like we're all just side characters in her Disney movie.

The guy two seats to my right is dressed like Halloween incarnate, wearing black from the clunky boots on his feet to the hair on his head. Metal chains tumble from his belt loop, rattling whenever he moves. I've never seen him before, but he's the furthest thing you could find from a mountain man.

The rest of the chairs are empty. I pull out my phone to look occupied until Grant arrives, but it doesn't work. Mr. Halloween shifts closer. "Hey, I'm Tyler."

"Savannah Sullivan," I say, though everyone at this school knows who I am. He's probably going to ask me about Piper next. The thought sends an image of her lying in the hospital spiraling into my mind, and now I wish I'd sat next to the mountaineer couple.

But instead, he asks, "You're joining the club?"

"Just auditing today."

"Seems fun so far. I only joined a couple weeks ago. I go to Foothill, but they don't have an outdoor club." He leans back in his chair, arms crossed.

That explains why he doesn't know about Piper or me. "Do you want to be a wilderness guide or something? You'd have to be pretty motivated to drive over here after school."

Tyler shrugs. "I like this kind of stuff. Being outdoors. I used to fish and camp and all that with my dad, but"—his gaze drops to his black boots—"he passed away last year."

A giant knot forms at the base of my throat. He passed away. Even though Piper's still alive, I hear my mom's sobs every morning when she wakes up and remembers this isn't a dream. I heard my parents' hushed conversation two nights ago after they spoke to Dr. Porter. He no longer believes Piper will recover. He recommended removing her from life support. Piper's body is hanging on, but there's a good chance that whatever makes her her is already gone.

My throat feels swollen, and my nose threatens to drip. I need to be excused. I start to apologize as the door squeaks open.

Grant walks in, and my heart buoys. "I'm really sorry about your dad," I say to Tyler. "And about the wilderness guide thing. I have trouble keeping my mouth shut. It's, like, a real problem."

A glimmer of a grin slides over his lips. "Don't worry about it."

I motion for Grant to take the empty seat on my left, and when he does, I cup my hand and whisper into his ear, "Mr. Davis didn't write the note. Someone else did."

Grant's head draws back. "Like a prank?"

"I don't know, but it's sketchy, right?"

"I guess, if you think whoever wrote the note was up at the Point when it happened."

"Yeah," I say, taking in the faces around us again.

Mr. Davis sits down in the circle, cutting off further discussion.

"I guess they let just anyone into this club," Jacey stage-whispers to Humsalot while looking straight at me. She crosses her legs and folds her hands, polished red fingernails on display. Jacey, a.k.a. Piper's best friend since kindergarten, has come a long way since her days of oversize science camp T-shirts paired with track pants. In the last couple of years, she's been styling her drab brown locks and dressing halfway normal. She actually looks good today in her distressed jeans and form-fitting tank top. I used to spend so much time planted in front of my vanity mirror, trying to teach Piper and Jacey how to do their hair and makeup. I even taught Jacey how to put on that eyeliner she managed to apply flawlessly today.

I don't foresee those lessons continuing.

"Careful," Jacey continues. "Keep your eyes on anything you don't want stolen."

Beside me, Grant squirms. My fists twitch, but Mr. Davis, clueless about the social dynamics of the room, just frowns. I'm about to say something I'll undoubtedly regret when the door flies open. A gust of wind riffles the posters lining the walls, and in stumbles Noah Crawford, late as usual.

He meets my gaze, and surprise lights his eyes.

"Sorry, Mr. Davis," he calls out like he's not sorry at all. He ambles over, backpack weighed down by what he calls "supplemental reading." "I had to talk to a guy about a thing, and then I had this momentary bout of amnesia. Couldn't find the place. There was room twenty-three and twenty-four, but room—"

"Have a seat, Mr. Crawford," Mr. Davis interrupts, shaking his head. "We were about to get started. But make sure you bring a compass this weekend."

Noah salutes him, taking the seat beside Jacey. She leans to whisper something in his ear, clearly continuing her campaign against me.

When Mr. Davis wanders back to his desk, mumbling about forgetting something, Noah grabs his backpack and moves to the empty seat on my right. My fists relax. Something about his younger brother–like presence is comforting.

"Hey." His tone is concerned. "What are you doing here?"

This is weird. My sister's boyfriend hasn't spoken to me much in ages. Not since long before Piper's fall. In fact, Noah Crawford hasn't been able to look at me or Grant without disgust written all over his face for almost a year. "Just, uh, checking out Piper's club. Trying to get close to her in whatever way I can."

The words don't sound like me, and I can see in Noah's narrowed green eyes that he knows it too. He adjusts his glasses and begins fumbling through his backpack. It takes him forever to wade through the books. Noah must be the only high school junior who carries an entire library around with him at all times.

Finally, his hand emerges with a ratty paperback. "Here." He hands it to me before running his fingers through his ash-brown hair. "It was Piper's."

An angry heat crackles in my chest. My sister's not dead . Not yet, anyway. Still, I say, "Thanks," and tuck the book inside my own bag. "How have you been?"

He shrugs. "I'd be better if I could visit her."

"I know," I say, placing a hand on his arm. "It's a stupid hospital policy."

There's something overwhelmingly sad in Noah's eyes. Something that makes me want to lock myself in a bathroom stall and cry. Piper has always had a crush on Noah. They were friends for years, but I always referred to him as her future husband. I just knew that one day, they'd be together.

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.