Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

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Books. Change. Lives.

Copyright © 2022 by Chelsea Ichaso

Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks

Cover design and image by Erin Fitzsimmons

Internal design by Ashley Holstrom/Sourcebooks

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

sourcebooks.com

Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the Library of Congress.

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Piper: Fall, One Year Ago

Chapter 20

Piper: Two Weeks Before She Fell

Chapter 21

Piper: The Day She Fell

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Piper: The Day She Fell

Chapter 25

Piper: The Day She Fell

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Piper: The Day She Fell

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Piper: The Day She Fell

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Excerpt from They're Watching You

Chapter 1

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Cover

For Matias,

with love

Chapter 1

How’s Piper? Any word? A girl with long, raven-black hair swoops in front of me, blocking my way down the crowded school hall. She blinks dewy eyes and bites her bottom lip like she’s about to cry. Like she’s been losing sleep worrying about Piper.

I clench my teeth and consider barreling by her. Instead, I shake my head. No, nothing.

The girl frowns, stepping out of the way. I’m nearly out of earshot when she calls after me, I really hope she wakes up.

The words pummel my gut. Raven Girl must think it’s that easy. She probably thinks going into a coma is like going into some sort of machine, like those hibernation pods in sci-fi movies. The person just lies there for days, weeks, however long it takes for their body to decide it’s had enough. And then, like no time has gone by, they wake up.

That’s how it used to go in my imagination too. At some point, the person always woke up.

But Piper’s not in some cryogenic chamber, waiting for her brain to restart.

I know she might not wake up. Ever.

And I know it’s my fault.

I try to blot the girl with the inky hair and fake tears out of my mind. None of these people care about my younger sister, who was far from well known around campus. They’re probably just trying to get into my good graces.

But all they’re really doing is forcing me to replay everything I did—everything I didn’t do—to push Piper to her breaking point. I’m one well wish away from ending up a puddle on the crusty linoleum floor.

The school hall is lively and bustling as students rush to first period. It’s drafty—it always is in the fall until sometime around eleven, when the sun comes out. I shrug my backpack off and rifle through it for my Grayling High Girls’ Soccer jacket. But it’s not here. I must’ve forgotten it. Annoyed, I wrap my arms around myself and trudge to class, goosebumps prickling my arms.

When I reach the end of the lockers, a memory stops me. Piper keeps an extra sweater stuffed inside her locker because she’s always cold. No meat on her skinny bones.

I rub my frozen shoulders again. She wouldn’t mind. We borrow each other’s clothes. I mean, we would, if we were closer in size.

And closer in other ways.

A different kind of chill racks my body. She certainly isn’t going to need that sweater today.

I head back the way I came, pushing through the herd until I’m at Piper’s locker. No one’s touched it since the day she fell. Everyone’s acting like she’s going to waltz back through the school doors any second, even my parents.

Even though they know Piper’s prognosis.

My parents, for all their brilliance, are very stubborn.

My backpack slides to the floor, and I work on the lock. The numbers don’t come to me right away. We aren’t the kind of sisters who share locker combinations or passwords, but I’ve gotten her books a couple of times when she’s been out sick. I dig out my phone and find the combo in my notes. Then I grasp the cold metal and twist until it clicks, falling open.

I tug on the door, and immediately, Piper’s scent wafts out. Dusty old books and raspberry vanilla shampoo. My chest constricts. Piper’s locker is a reflection of her room at home. The books are neatly lined up at the back. There’s a pile of spiral-bound notebooks on the left. Everything else—her sweater included—is piled up on the right.

The tardy bell rings, startling me. I take a breath and reach for the sweater, tugging it from beneath a pile of ChapSticks, pens, and packs of gum. Being late doesn’t worry me. Teachers tend to make exceptions for the girl whose sister threw herself off of the town’s scenic viewpoint.

Once the sweater is free, I shut the locker door and cradle the fabric in all of its bright yellow, cotton-blended glory. Piper looks like a canary when she wears this, frizzy blond hair spilling over the yellow threads. Suddenly, I don’t know why I thought borrowing the sweater was a good idea. I can’t wear this. It looks like her. Smells like her.

Then again, maybe wrapping a constant reminder around my body is exactly what I deserve. I shake it out of its perfectly folded state to slide an arm inside, and something slips out, tumbling to the floor.

A note.

I bend over to retrieve it. Just an office note, telling Piper about a change in plans for one of her millions of after-school clubs.

Survival Club will be holding an extra skills session after school today at Vanderwild Point.

—Mr. Davis

My pulse quickens. Vanderwild Point: the place where Piper tried to take her own life four weeks ago. Despite the chill in the hall, my forehead starts to sweat. In addition to being signed by the Survival Club’s advisor, the note is dated.

September sixteenth. The day Piper fell.

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 Señora 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,