Chapter 8

Friday morning, I hop into Grant's truck carrying a full duffel bag.

"Um, what is that?" he asks when I heft it over the passenger seat and into the back alongside his own bag.

"My stuff for the weekend."

"The weekend?" He stares blankly.

"The backpacking trip," I say like it's obvious as I lean over to kiss him.

"You're not going on the backpacking trip." His voice is muffled against my lips.

"I changed my mind." I shrug and mess up his curls with my fingers. He's wearing my favorite shirt of his, a teal button-down we picked out at the mall together. "Thought it might be more fun than hanging around at home while you're out fighting bears." I press closer and whisper in his ear, "Don't you want me to come?"

Grant's eyes fall shut and he nods, smiling faintly. "This might be the best idea you've ever had."

"Hey," I say, heat rushing through me at the thought of spending a weekend in front of a crackling fire, cuddled up in Grant's arms. It's quickly followed by a memory of the two of us that first night—the one that had to stay hidden from everyone, the one where the idea of wrong slid into the recesses of our minds, replaced by the feelings of his hands in my hair and my mouth covering his. The night that was danger and excitement and falling faster and further than I'd ever fallen.

I slap him on the shoulder. "I'm full of good ideas." Then I pull down the mirror and begin to apply Roses Are Pink.

"You are," he agrees, turning the key in the ignition. The truck rumbles to a start, and we lumber off down the road. "Which is why I'm hoping this plan doesn't have anything to do with Piper."

He glances over at me, and there it is again. The look.

I slump back in my seat. "Of course not. You were totally right about all of that. I was just searching for someone to blame."

Guilt presses down on me like a weighted blanket. The truth is so heavy I can barely breathe. Someone was always to blame. And if I'm wrong about all of this—about Alex—there's only one person left.

My thoughts flash to that day. To the last time I saw Piper without a million wires attached to her body. The last time I saw her turquoise eyes open.

They were filled with tears. And if she never wakes up, that's how I'll always have to remember her.

Add that to the list of things I'll never be able to tell my boyfriend.

"I'm surprised your parents signed the waiver," Grant says as the truck turns onto our school's maple-tree-lined street.

Another brick of guilt drops onto my shoulders. "They took some convincing. But you know my parents." I let my head fall against the window so I don't have to keep looking at him as I spew lies. "Just happy to see me getting involved in something that's not a contact sport."

"Could be good for you," Grant offers.

"That's what I told them."

The truth is that I debated getting that signature for two days. Last night, I had the perfect opportunity when my parents came home from the hospital for a few hours to eat and shower.

But dinner was so quiet. I tried to warm them up with my anecdote about dropping by the journalism room and how everyone missed Piper. I may have slightly embellished the experience. But Mom just looked up at me in that vacant way she's been doing everything lately and mumbled, "That's nice, honey." Then she went back to picking at her rice.

They never would've agreed to sign that waiver. They think I'm supposed to be like them, putting my life completely on hold while Piper's in the hospital.

But it's been a month. I can either shrivel up and stop living, like Mom and Dad, or I can prove to them that they were right this whole time: Piper didn't try to kill herself.

I can do that for my parents, but it means I have to deceive them and everyone else in this club. That's why I forged Mom's signature on Mr. Davis's waiver.

All my parents have to do is exactly what they've been doing—spending their weekends at the hospital and forgetting I exist. I'll text Mom that I'm staying at Jessica's house all weekend.

Simple.

***

Grant and I get lunch off campus, even though Mr. Davis said to meet him in the gym at lunch to pack equipment. I can't very well go out into the wild for three days on cafeteria food.

"Hey, I'm going to talk to Jess real quick," I tell Grant when we get back to school. He's carrying both of our duffel bags like the prince he is.

"All right. I'll go ahead and start stuffing our packs. You gonna use Piper's?"

I blink. I hadn't thought about the fact that we're now one hiking backpack short. "Yeah, sure." I can't admit I snooped through the equipment locker and discovered that someone had stolen Piper's incriminating pack. Hopefully, Mr. Davis has an extra.

I find Jessica in the parking lot, which is flooded with upperclassmen returning from lunch at one of the three fast food places along the nearby strip. "Hey," I call out, waving to her.

She smiles, says something to Taryn Locke, who's propped against the hood of her Mercedes, and then strides over. "I feel like I never see you anymore," she coos, making a pouty face.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. It's just—I've really been hunkering down, trying to get good grades so I can get into MLC."

Jessica makes a face. "Did you just say hunkering ?" She laughs, and then I laugh, because I did indeed say the word.

"Not sure where that came from."

"Sounds like Piper," she says through a giggle. Then she stops. "Sorry, I didn't—"

"It's fine. Piper would totally say hunkering ." I smile. Bite my lip. "Hey, Jess, if my parents happen to call you—which they won't—but if they do, can you cover for me? I told them I'd be at your place all weekend."

Jessica's eyes widen. "Are you—"

"No," I say before she can get any ideas. "I'm just going on this club trip. One of Piper's things. Sort of in her honor. But yes, Grant will be there too."

"I knew it." She grins conspiratorially. "Of course I'll cover for you. It's not like you've never done it for me."

"Thanks." I squeeze her hand. "You're the best."

The bell buzzes to signal the end of lunch just as I take off around the building to the side gym door, pretty positive I'm going to get an earful from Mr. Davis for showing up last-minute. Inside, the bleachers are folded up against the walls, and it smells like sweat and whatever food some of the club members are still finishing up. Unsurprisingly, Lumberjack Sam and his humming girlfriend, Abby, have their twin backpacks zipped and ready to go. Alexandra and Tyler are still working on theirs, and Grant seems to have ours under control.

Scratch that. He seems to have his pack under control. My duffel is still lying on the ground beside him, untouched. I hurry through the scattered equipment toward him. "Where's my stuff?"

"Oh," Grant mumbles without looking up. "Mr. Davis is looking for your pack. He must've left one behind in the locker."

"Great." I cross my arms, looking for a way to help him, but I have no idea what any of these supplies are. "Should I, uh, fill these water bottles?"

"I got it," Grant says, working his clothes into tight rolls. "Did you bring a sleeping bag?"

I wince.

Grant's eyes flick up to mine, and he smiles. Shakes his head. "There should be extras with the gear."

I make my way to where Noah and Jacey are digging through equipment in the large storage container. I hover behind them, trying to spot a sleeping bag.

"Why do we need this stuff, again?" he asks. "Pretty sure a thick jacket and snacks will do the trick for a campout."

"It's not a campout." Jacey kneels, withdrawing some sort of metal contraption and adding it to the pile behind her. "Didn't you learn anything on the last three trips? Just behave, and I'll give you sour gummies." She grabs a cord attached to a couple of cylindrical objects and something that looks like a razor blade.

"What's all that?" I ask, moving alongside her.

She glances over at me like I'm a fly and she can't fathom how I learned to speak.

"It's a ferro rod." Noah points at the cylindrical object, then the metal one. "And that's the striker. For starting fires." He sticks his tongue out at Jacey. "See, Captain Alpine? I did learn a thing or two."

"Literally two things," she mutters.

"Why don't we just bring a lighter?" I ask.

"What are you doing in this club, Savannah?" Jacey asks, going back to rifling through the box. In her gray fleece pullover, black nylon cargo pants, and hiking shoes, it's obvious she's a seasoned pro. Not like Noah and me, who are wearing Nikes and jeans.

"I came to bask in your delightful presence."

"I'm serious." She stands up; at a mere five foot five, she still towers over me. "It was bad enough that your boyfriend stuck around, but now I have to look at you too?"

"What is it with you not wanting anyone else to join your damn club?"

She flinches. "I told you, I didn't threaten Piper."

"Yeah, well, someone here did." Empty-handed, I march back toward Grant and spot Alexandra along the wall, staring at me. She wrenches her eyes away and messes with the zipper on her purple vest, but it's too late. This is the third time I've caught her watching me this week.

I haven't been able to prove she's Alex , not by any discreet means. Maybe it's time to be indiscreet.

"Hey, Alexandra," I say, hurrying over to her. "Can I speak to you real quick?"

She pauses, her hand still stuffed inside a pouch of her pack. Then she nods. "Sure." After zipping up the pack, she rests it against the wall.

I stride to the door, my foot tapping as I wait for her to follow. When she reaches me, confusion etched in her forehead, I check the hall before whispering, "Did you speak to my sister the day she fell?"

The creases above her brows deepen. "What?"

"You heard me. Did you call my sister the day of her ‘accident'?"

Alexandra flushes. "I-I don't even have Piper's number."

"You're telling me you never called her? Or met her up at Vanderwild Point on September sixteenth?"

"What are you talking about?" She takes a step back, and I realize my fists are balled at my sides. "I don't have her number. You can check my phone." She pulls it out, thrusting it at me, but I bat her hand away.

"That's worthless to me. I know you didn't use that phone."

She frowns and lowers her phone to her side. "Savannah, what are you talking about?"

"Someone sent my sister up to the Point that day. Someone threatened her—told her to quit this club. Someone spoke to her on the phone twice that day. Someone named Alex . You're the only person in this club named Alex. And what I want to know is, were you up at the Point with her that day?"

Alexandra pulls out her phone, unlocks it. Starts scrolling through.

"I already told you, that thing is—"

She holds it in front of my face. "Just look at it."

I do. The calendar app is open. September sixteenth is on the screen. BEN'S GAME is listed from two p.m. to nine p.m. "What's Ben's game?"

"Ben's my brother. He plays baseball for the Liberty U." Alexandra brushes a dark curl out of her eye. "My mom picked me up from school early so I could make it there in time. I was with my parents the entire afternoon and evening. We even went to dinner with Ben after the game. If you don't believe me, ask anyone in my family."

I must not be hiding my disappointment well, because she adds, "I looked up to your sister. When she joined this club, I saw at it as an opportunity to learn from her even more." She glances at the rest of the club members finishing up their packs. "But if someone really threatened Piper, we should tell Principal Winters."

"We can't," I say, suddenly regretting my tactics. "The evidence is gone. Whoever did it stole Piper's pack, which had the threat written in it."

"So what are you going to do?"

I shrug. "Go on this hike. Find out who had a reason to threaten my sister."

Alexandra looks like she might say something, but the sound of footsteps forces us apart.

Mr. Davis approaches the door, a blue pack slung over his arm by the straps. "Couldn't find Piper's, but this one will do."

I lift it, jiggle it up and down. "Shouldn't it be…heavier? Piper's had a tent."

"You don't need a tent," he says. "Someone else will share."

A few yards away, Grant catches my gaze and makes eyes at me. My cheeks blaze.

Jacey's not standing guard over the equipment anymore, so I trudge toward it in search of a sleeping bag. A wad of green nylon is nestled in the corner. I tug it out, irritation needling me; it's not neatly tucked inside its carrying sack.

Slumping to the ground, I stare down the fabric like the formidable opponent it is.

"Need any help?"

I glance up to see Tyler, clothed in black again, chains hanging from his pockets. The black boots he's wearing are a slightly more hiking-friendly version of his ones from the other day.

"Not unless you possess whatever magical powers it takes to make this thing fit in here." I motion to the wrinkled sleeping bag sprawled over me.

"As it happens, I do." He picks up an edge of crinkly fabric and plops down beside me.

"Thanks."

"No problem." As he works on my sleeping bag, I try to make small talk. "Good thing you brought chains," I offer. "You know, like, in case we need to secure a mountain lion or something."

Tyler looks up at me, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "I keep them on hand for just such an emergency." He finishes the knot on my perfectly bundled sleeping bag.

I get up and reach for it, but he waves me off and stands. "Where's your pack?"

"Here." I lead him to it. While he attaches the sleeping bag to the bottom, I stoop to unzip my duffel so I can transfer everything. I tug out a makeup bag, a tube of toothpaste, and a travel bottle of berry-scented lotion.

"Yeah, you can't bring any of that," he says, returning my pack.

I quirk my brows at him.

"Bears love that stuff. Might as well be groceries."

I consider this for the briefest moment. "It's worth the risk."

He scratches at his jawline. "You're not afraid of bears?"

"Of course not. We have chains, remember?"

He laughs, but it falters a moment later as his gaze travels to something behind me.

"Everything good?" Grant asks, wrapping an arm around my waist.

"Mm-hmm. Tyler was trying to convince me that none of you people were planning to brush your teeth. I didn't believe him."

Grant smiles, but there's a wariness in his expression as he glances from Tyler to me. "It's called roughing it, Savannah." He rolls his eyes, pointing at some bags with cinch cords. "Anything you can't possibly leave behind goes in one of those."

Across the gym, Mr. Davis paces in circles around a mound of equipment, making marks on a pad of paper. "Savannah, I need your permission slip," he calls out.

"Oh, sure." I dig through my duffel, whip out the forged document, and bring it to him.

By the time Grant and I get the rest of my gear packed, Mr. Davis is by the door. "Come on, people. I said we needed to get out of here by one thirty, and it's almost two. We don't want to be stuck on that trail at sundown."

"No, we certainly don't," Noah says in a ghoulish voice. "That's when they come for you."

"Shut up, Noah," I say in my older-sister voice, the way I used to whenever the three amigos were annoying me. But he barely cracks a smile. I'm not that sister figure anymore.

"Okay," Mr. Davis says, making more marks on his paper. "Looks like we're—wait, where's Alexandra?" He sighs, slamming the pen against the clipboard.

"Sorry!" calls a voice from the doorway. Alexandra is out of breath and waving a water bottle. "Forgot this in my locker. But I'm all set now."

"Good," says Mr. Davis, making one final mark before placing a wide-brimmed khaki hat on his head. "Because we're leaving."

Leaving. Heading into the depths of the wilderness with a bunch of people I can't trust.

Because one of them knows what happened to my sister the day she fell.