Chapter 24

The world is a dull hum, vibrating in my head. My arms burn. Pain shoots through my nail beds as my fingernails tear. Cold spray from the angry rapids hits my bare ankles where my jeans have inched up.

I don't have enough strength left to pull my head back and check on Mr. Davis.

But he's up there.

All I can do is listen to the water, feel my heart beating in my throat.

I picture myself falling like a sliver of bark, breaking off and dropping into the gushing current. The image plays in my head on a loop. One of these times, it'll be for real.

"Savannah!" The voice bursts through the white noise.

Grant. He heard me. He came.

"Help!" I squeal, my weak voice drowned by the roaring river.

An ounce of resilience that wasn't there a second ago courses into my muscles. I swing my head back to find Mr. Davis above me, teetering on the log.

"I'm coming!" Grant yells, gliding from rock to rock on the bank like a web-footed creature. He scrambles onto the log, but my vision blackens from the effort of craning my neck.

I let my head sink back down, gaze catching the sharp rocks covering the riverbed below. Still feeling spittle on my ankles. My eyes fall shut, but the panic has already taken over. I wait, hoping with every fiery wave of pain that Grant will get to me first.

Then a voice drifts down. "Just hold on. I've got you." Not Grant.

Mr. Davis.

No. He's not going to help. He's going to—but a hand presses down on mine. Unsteady. Fingers slip over my skin. My body sways like a pendant beneath the log. Even the smallest gust of wind could knock me free.

I want to yell for Grant to hurry. But the effort could loosen my precarious grasp. Legs drop down, dangling on either side of the log. Grant's shoes. A second later, another hand—this one firm—grabs my hand from the other side. My fingers are pried from the log. I don't know whether to scream or try to help.

But Grant grabs my forearm. My body is lifted until I'm secure, sitting on the log. He helps me up, ushering me back along the fallen tree. My limbs shake, but I reach the ravine. Grant's arms hold me up as he guides me down the slope. When we reach the bank, he lowers me onto a rock.

I try to catch my breath, but Mr. Davis comes into focus. He climbs down from the log, and that dark haze covers my vision again.

"He…" I gasp, but the leaves in my periphery flutter. I turn, taking in the orange pop of Noah's jacket, the vibrant red of Sam's flannel shirt. The rest of the group trickles through the brush above, some already scattered nearby on the bank.

Jacey moves to sit down on the rock beside me. Twigs and pine needles are embedded in her disheveled hair and clinging to her sweatshirt. Taking a few ragged breaths, she leans in, placing a water bottle in my hand. "What happened?"

I flick open the cap with bleeding fingertips. "You're asking me?" I hiss. "How did all of you manage to let him out of your sight?"

"I never even found him. By the time I caught up with the guys, they'd already lost track of Mr. Davis. I didn't get a chance to say anything. Just keep quiet."

"It's too late," I mumble. "He knows."

Her eyes grow wide as Mr. Davis collapses to the ground in front of us, head bent over his knees. His breathing is labored and husky.

I fasten my eyes on him, watching his every move until a rattling sound breaks my focus. Tyler crouches down next to me. "Are you okay?"

I nod, my gaze skipping back to my target, but Grant steps in front of me, blocking my view. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, eyes wide as they skim over my torn, filthy clothes and bleeding fingers. "What were you doing, Savannah?"

"I'd like to know the same thing." Abby's boots crunch over the rocks as she moves to stand beside Sam. Noah and Alexandra hover behind us on the slope.

"Let her catch her breath," Tyler says, like he's some kind of saint. He promised he would keep an eye on Mr. Davis, and he broke that promise.

"I was running for my life," I mutter. "The only reason I'm still here is that you guys showed up. Otherwise, I would've ended up just like my sister."

"What do you mean?" Grant asks.

"Just keep Mr. Davis away from me."

Sam eyes me leerily. "It looked like he was helping you, Savannah."

"That's because you didn't see him chasing me through the forest!"

Mr. Davis lifts his head slowly. "Savannah, I had to make sure you didn't get lost. You're my responsibility this weekend. You all are. I'm so sorry about your sister. I really am. But you're mistaken. You said Piper came to see me after school the day she fell, but I never saw her."

A bitter laugh escapes my lips. "Right." I glance at the others, my tangled blond hair whipping into my face. "He's not the responsible teacher you all think he is. He's dangerous! And he did something to Piper!"

Mr. Davis runs his fingers through his hair. "We have surveillance cameras in the school halls, Savannah. All the police have to do is watch the footage from that day."

"Footage that you probably already doctored," I snap. But my stomach splits, both halves sliding around. If I'm right and he did edit the footage, he might get away with this.

"You guys," Abby says, looking at us with a mixture of terror and concern, "I'm sure Mr. Davis didn't do something to Piper. I'm sure he can explain."

She doesn't get it. No one does. I have to make them understand that our club advisor is dangerous. I unzip my jacket pocket, dig my mangled fingertips inside. "Then why was her recorder in his bag?" I tug it out, letting it rest on my scraped, raw palm for all to see.

Mr. Davis squints at the silver object, and then darkness shifts into his eyes. "You were in my bag?" There's an unsettling edge to his voice.

"You're avoiding the question."

"I know everyone's been under a significant amount of stress," Mr. Davis says, wiping sweat off his neck with his plaid shirtsleeve. "But you kids can't resort to anarchy. There will be consequences when we get back."

"Yeah, there will be consequences," I retort, raising the recorder. "Because you did something to Piper. And this proves it. She went to see you before she fell, and somehow, you have the recorder that's always in her pocket. The recorder you obviously want hidden."

His lip curls, and he tugs at his collar. "Piper left it in my office. I only listened long enough to figure out it was hers."

"Then why do you still have it?"

He's silent for a too-long beat. "I was going to give it to her the next day, but then"—his eyes lower—"she didn't come back to school, obviously. I meant to pass it off to you, but I kept forgetting to grab it from my office. Right before the hike, I finally remembered and stuffed it in my bag, knowing I'd see you on this trip."

My heart drops another level. Is that all it's going to take for Mr. Davis to weasel his way out of this? Maybe I should've kept that roll of tape. I'll never be able to get to it now.

Mr. Davis kneels down beside the river to splash some water on his face. When he picks himself up, he looks like he's aged several years. "I think I can safely say this weekend's excursion has come to an end. Let's head back to camp and clean up."

Tyler glances at me, and anger needles back into my veins. Why did he abandon me?

We climb the ravine, pushing back through the trees until we reach the camp, where the fire has long since sizzled out. My stuff is already packed, so I rack my brain for a way to escape.

But Mr. Davis is keeping a close eye on us as he disassembles his tent. He's not about to let anyone else wander off.

The others are tearing things down and stuffing their backpacks, and Grant leads me behind his tent by the hand. "Wait a sec," he says before ducking inside to remove his sleeping bag. He folds it once, and then lays it in the dirt for me. "Sit down while I finish packing." He gestures to the cushion he's created and begins dislodging the stakes around the front of the tent.

Once he's finished, he comes around to the back again and kneels at one corner, tugging a stake from the ground. Two other pointed metal pieces lay nearby in the dirt. "Need any help?" I ask, though I'm too fatigued to budge.

He glances over one shoulder. "You have to rest."

I should. I feel like I could collapse and sleep for a thousand years. But something stirs beneath the fatigue. "Grant, do you know anything about Mr. Davis?"

He frowns and moves on to the final corner, still clutching the stake in one hand. "Savannah, come on."

I lick my lips. Forcing myself to my feet, I peer around the tent. "I think Piper caught him helping guys on the soccer team cover up drug stuff."

He smiles subtly but stops working. "That's ridiculous."

"He was the last person to see her that day. She was investigating the boys' soccer scandal, and then, what do you know? Piper falls off a cliff." Grant's hazel eyes, the ones that always mesmerize me, narrow. "And as soon as we can prove it—"

Grant moves so quickly I don't see him coming. I don't even manage a yelp as I'm backed into the tent panel. At his side, the sharp stake in his grip flashes. He looks down at me, the lips I love to kiss pressed tight, the glimmering gold gone from his irises.

Leaving only a storm.