Chapter 7

Country Club purses her lips, like she wishes she hadn't said anything. Like she's trying to keep herself from spilling another drop of gossip.

"What happened earlier this year?" I repeat, aiming for vaguely interested as I pick at my nails.

And just like that, she has to win my attention back. "Well," she says, glancing over her shoulder, "I guess it actually started last year. Of course, this is just what I've heard. But Piper and Alexandra were both up for the Peterson." When I stare blankly, she adds, "It's an award only journalism kids care about. Named after some alumnus." She rolls her eyes, trying to show me she's above all that. "So, Alex came up with this story she was sure would win her the award, about department budget cuts and who was getting screwed, and she pitched it to Mr. James in one of their meetings—this is how she tells the story, anyway. Apparently, Mr. James raved about the idea and then proceeded to hand it right over to Piper. Like the story was too big to give to a freshman, even if the idea came from one. Alex asked Piper if she could at least help, but Piper said she worked better alone, and then"—she makes a furling motion—"went on to win the Peterson.

"Not that I believe Piper would do that," Country Club adds, shaking her head.

I listen, unsure what to think, because I don't remember that story coming out, much less Piper winning some award for it. Seems like the type of thing my parents would've loved to parade around.

"Who knows why Alex thought she had a shot at the Peterson or why she got so worked up about it. Because, I mean, Piper is Piper. And she was a sophomore, while Alex was only a freshman. Anyway, Alex had her heart set on the stupid thing and then she lost, obviously ."

"What happened with them this year?" I ask, unable to swallow as I hang on to every one of her words.

"Alex had the nerve to go up against Piper for assistant editor, even though they almost always give it to a junior. And she lost, again, ob—"

"Obviously," I chime in, giving her an aren't we in sync grin.

She smiles back. "Alex was super pouty about it for the next…" Her eyes widen, and the smile disappears. "Well, until your sister's accident, I guess. While Piper's in the hospital, Mr. James asked Alex to take over as assistant editor."

So, with Piper out of the picture, Alex suddenly has what she wants. Interesting. Maybe assistant editor wasn't the only thing she wanted. Maybe she also wanted revenge for Piper taking her award-winning story last year.

"Well," I say with a shrug, "I guess Alexandra wouldn't exactly be a fit for my ceremony."

Country Club checks her surroundings one more time. "Look, I love Alex—I do. She's one of my best friends. But she wasn't one of Piper's. Like I said, Piper is a sweetie—at least, she seems like she is. I'm sure she has plenty of other friends in her grade you could talk to. Sorry I couldn't be more help."

"Oh, it's totally fine. You're right. I should be talking to other juniors."

I get up from the bench, checking my jeans for smashed bits of food, and bid adieu to Country Club, whose real name I've legitimately forgotten.

Country Club, who has helped far more than she'll ever know.

***

Piper always had journalism on Tuesday afternoons, so I head to Mr. James's room after school to talk to Alexandra. I want to gauge her reaction when I ask if she spoke to Piper that day. And I want to know why someone who wasn't even friends with my sister would call her three times right before she fell.

I walk into the room like I own the place—this has worked countless times in the past—only to find that no one even notices me.

There's a group huddled around a computer in one corner, arguing about something. Up at Mr. James's desk, I spot Alexandra. She's pointing to her notebook and gesturing animatedly.

Girl's got big plans, apparently. Now that my sister's out of the way.

I'm about to interrupt their conversation when I notice the backpacks and sweaters dumped along the wall beside the door. And the messenger bag with the initials AM embroidered on the outside pocket.

My skin prickles with nervous excitement. Alexandra's phone could be in there. The one that's going to prove she called Piper the day she fell. My eyes whip to her again. She's still focused on Mr. James, and I don't see a phone in her hand or back pocket.

I hover in the doorway on my toes, like the whistle is about to start the game.

Then I dive for the bag. In one quick, fluid motion, I lunge, grab, and I'm out the door, hopefully before anyone noticed me. My heart hammers in time with my steps as I hustle down the hall, messenger bag clutched in front of me. Where do I go, where do I go ?

I turn the corner, and the library door comes into focus ahead. The light is on—after-school hours. Checking behind me, I duck inside.

A few students are scattered about, heads in books. The librarian looks up from her computer and eyes me, like I'm out of place in my own school library. Which I am. At a long table to the right, a couple giggles softly with their faces squished together. I sling the bag over my shoulder and weave through the tables. Pressing on through the aisles of books, I find a hidden corner and slump down to the floor.

I unbuckle the flap and start digging, but it's a mess inside. Impatient, I dump the entire bag over and out spills all sorts of junk. Books, pens, a sweater, little folded-up notes. No phone. But the bag still feels heavy. I bunch it up in my hands until I find something substantial tucked into that embroidered pocket. I unzip it and stick my hand inside.

An electric jolt zips up my spine. This is it. Her phone.

I switch it to silent and grab my own phone, my finger hovering over Alex's name. But I pause. This person might get really angry if I call again. If they had something to do with Piper's fall, what might they do to me?

I take a breath, let it out. One phone in each hand. Fingers sweaty against both. But I have to do this. I have to find out what happened to my sister.

This person said not to call again. Fine—I won't call. I set Alexandra's phone down on the disgusting carpet and type out a text.

Why don't you want to talk to me?

My chest tightens as I hit send.

Then I wait for Alexandra's screen to light up with a new text.

One second. Heartbeat. Two seconds. Heartbeat. Three.

Nothing.

I slam my fist down on the carpet, sending all of Alexandra's stuff bouncing. With a flush, I remember I'm supposed to be quiet in here. Pain spreads through my jaw. I've had my teeth clenched so tightly, I'm lucky nothing's cracked.

Does this mean Alexandra isn't Alex? I don't know. She could have another phone. One she keeps hidden.

That still leaves me with zero proof that it's her.

A little spider-crawl of doubt runs through my brain. Maybe there's nothing to my suspicions. Maybe the only person to blame is the one whose face is reflected back in this stolen phone screen.

Shoving everything aside, I lean against the wall and let my head drop into my hands. I have to return this stupid bag somehow. But I can barely lift a finger to clean up this mess.

"Savannah?"

Panic tears through my chest. I'm caught. I glance up to find Noah Crawford standing over me, stack of books in hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I straighten, gathering the items back into the bag.

"Let me help you." He sets his books down on the carpet.

"No, you really don't—"

But he's already crouched beside me, reaching for Alexandra's phone. He stops, registering the phone in my hand. His eyes flick up to mine, and a wariness I've never seen in Noah's green eyes stings me to the core. He takes everything in—the pile, the bag. "What is all this stuff?"

A text pings on my phone. One I definitely can't read in front of Noah. Not if it's an answer from Alex. Sweat beads on my forehead. I cover the screen and tuck the phone into my back pocket as I shift onto my knees. "Noah, please. I can explain."

His expression now is familiar. It's the one where his eyes bleed disappointment. I've seen it plenty on Piper, too, ever since she found out what I did to Jacey.

"I found this bag here," I lie. "I was trying to figure out who it belongs to."

"Oh," Noah says, an edge of uncertainty to his voice. He grabs the large three-ring binder and flips it open. Then he points to a sheet of half-filled-out graph paper tucked inside the front pocket. "Says it's Alexandra Martinez's."

"You're a true detective," I quip, shoving the rest of the stuff inside the bag.

"She's not in here?" He glances around.

"I don't think so." I pretend to sweep the room too. "Oh, you know what? I think she's in journalism with Piper on Tuesdays."

"Well, I can return it to her," Noah says, standing. "I'm on my way out."

"No," I blurt in what's definitely not a library voice. "Sorry, I just…I need to talk to Mr. James anyway. He's been badgering me about helping with a piece on Piper and how wonderful she is." This isn't a lie. "I really should've dropped in by now and helped." My eyes well with tears I'm not faking. "It's just hard, you know?" That crack in my voice is real too.

"Hey," Noah says, kneeling again. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and when I look up at him, any trace of disappointment is gone. "You have to do these things in your own time. Don't let people make you feel bad."

I nod, even though it isn't other people who are making me feel bad.

"Sure you don't want me to drop off the bag?"

"I'm sure. Thanks."

I sling the bag over my shoulder and make my way back through the library. In the hall, I tug my phone from my pocket, adrenaline pumping. Was that text from Alex?

I read it, and my nerves fizzle. It's only Grant, echoing the common theme of the week: Where RU?

Seems I'm completely lost.

I forgot he was waiting for me in the parking lot. We were supposed to study together at his house. I know he's nervous for me. For us . If I can't get into Mount Liberty College, who knows where I'll end up? And long-distance relationships don't exactly have a great track record. Be there in 10 , I text back as I trudge toward Mr. James's room.

First, I have to return this bag without anyone noticing.

I tiptoe up to the door, holding the bag behind my back. Peeking inside, I search for Alexandra, who's no longer at Mr. James's desk. Instead, she and the rest of the journalists are messing around by the whiteboard, taking selfies.

I drop the bag right beside the door frame, relief thawing my rigid muscles. Then I slide back into the hall, my gaze taking one last turn about the room.

And smacking right into Alexandra's glare.

I freeze, and her eyes stay glued to me.

I force myself to turn and flee, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum. She didn't see me with the bag. She was taking a selfie.

So why did she look at me like that? I keep going, stopping briefly at my locker to grab the books I'm supposed to bring to Grant's house, and then make a beeline for the parking lot.

When I'm out in the hazy afternoon sun, my phone dings in my pocket, startling me. Patience, Grant, damn it. I pull out my phone, ready to text him as much, but it isn't his name on the screen.

It's Alex's.

I think we both know the answer to that.