Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- 2 Months Later
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Kasie West
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
“I didn’t want to.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not friends. So . . .” Now I felt like I was being rude.
He smiled. “But we should be, Moore.”
“That sounded creepy.”
He laughed. “It did, didn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to.” He opened his car door, which I just noticed belonged to a silver Lexus. Not surprising that he had a fancy car. He had the attitude of a kid who got handed everything. “You’d better get going.”
He climbed in, shut the door, and started his engine.
“And you talk too much,” I grumbled to his retreating car. I walked back to the truck and got inside.
My dad had a leftover smile on his face. “I liked that kid.”
“I could tell.”
“He reminded me of . . .”
No, don’t say it, don’t say it, I mentally begged.
“Eric. I’ve never met someone who reminded me more of your brother.”
Twelve
I was done obsessing over Heath Hall. I’d talked to him. He hadn’t shown up to my swim meet the day before. As far as I was concerned my mission was accomplished. I didn’t care who he was anymore. Amelia and I hadn’t talked about him at all when we went out to eat earlier. We talked about what I thought her chances with DJ were (decent); we talked about who we thought would win awards at the swim banquet (the seniors); we talked about how Ms. Lin had accosted Amelia in the hall begging her to take another year of art (she nicely said no). But we had not talked about Heath Hall.
So why was I now pulling up his social media on my phone?
There wasn’t a lot of activity on his part, but when I searched his name, I saw many people from the museum were congratulating him. He didn’t need me to add to his ego. Besides, I’d already told him I liked the painting when I was there. In that back hallway. Where his hands were shaking and his eyes were darting.
He didn’t have an ego, I realized. He had the exact opposite.
He wasn’t some popular kid. He’d seemed so shaky, unsure of himself. Was that what this whole act of pretending to be a spy hero was about? It gave him confidence without having to be himself?
It didn’t matter. I was done obsessing over Heath Hall. I tossed my phone into my desk drawer so I didn’t drag it into the bathroom with me and went to get ready for bed.