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Back Moment of Truth Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-One
  24. Twenty-Two
  25. Twenty-Three
  26. Twenty-Four
  27. Twenty-Five
  28. Twenty-Six
  29. Twenty-Seven
  30. Twenty-Eight
  31. Twenty-Nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Thirty-One
  34. Thirty-Two
  35. Thirty-Three
  36. Thirty-Four
  37. Thirty-Five
  38. Thirty-Six
  39. Thirty-Seven
  40. Thirty-Eight
  41. Thirty-Nine
  42. 2 Months Later
  43. Acknowledgments
  44. About the Author
  45. Books by Kasie West
  46. Back Ad
  47. About the Publisher

I zipped up the backpack, the Heath Hall mask still inside, and went back in the house. I just wanted to go to my room and pretend this hadn’t happened. It killed me to disappoint Jackson.

This was unfair. Other people wouldn’t care what Jackson thought of them if they did or didn’t do it. Did other people even know Jackson was involved? I was almost positive they didn’t. I set the backpack on the kitchen counter and stared at my brother’s keys on the wall. The truck probably wouldn’t even start. It had been a month since my dad had charged the battery. All I had to do was climb in, turn the key, and when it didn’t start, climb out. That was facing a fear.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the glass box and grabbed the keys off the hook. This was the first time I’d ever held them. When they didn’t burn a hole through my palm, I carried them outside along with the backpack and my purse and I stared at the truck some more. That platform was high. Several feet off the ground. And it didn’t have a ramp or anything. If I got the truck started, would I be able to drive it off without damaging it? And how would I get it back up before my parents got home?

It wasn’t going to start, so none of this mattered. I took a deep breath, opened the driver’s-side door, and climbed inside. That wasn’t too hard. I unzipped the backpack and pulled out the mask of Heath Hall. “There’s no way I’m wearing you, dude, but you can have a front row seat for the action.” I propped the mask up on the dash. It was about the spirit of the challenge, not actually having to wear the mask, right?

“Okay, Moore,” I said to myself, “just put the key in and turn.” My hands were shaking more than those of the museum Heath Hall that night. I couldn’t even still mine enough to insert the key in the ignition. I took several deep breaths. Finally, the key slid in. I pressed on the brake and turned the key. The engine sputtered but then caught. My heart doubled in speed. No. It wasn’t supposed to start. I hit the wheel. I really hated this truck.

There was no way I could drive it. “Why?” I asked, playing the other side of an argument against myself that I didn’t want to have. “Because they’ll know,” I answered.