Moment of Truth

by Kasie West

  Dedication

  To my soul mate sister, Stephanie Ryan. Love you!

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  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

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  One

  I moved my arms in a windmill as I stared out over the pool in front of me. The water had calmed from the last race and the still night made it look like glass. I couldn’t wait to break through its surface. I rotated my head side to side to the beat of the music blasting through my headphones. My music was loud but I sensed a hush come over the watching crowd. That wasn’t normal. I brought my brows together, determined not to think about it. I needed to stay in the zone. No distractions.

  The shrill sound of microphone feedback cut through my music. I tugged out a single earbud and looked up. The first thing I saw was my dad. He sat in the middle of the bleachers with a goofy grin on his face. He waved. Mom was next to him, typing something into her phone.

  The feedback sounded again and then someone cleared their throat into the microphone. The noise wasn’t coming from the booth, where the announcer was looking around, just as confused as the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice said. “May I present Heath Hall.”

  “What the—?” I mumbled. “No.”

  A low buzz of chatter rippled through the audience.

  “The guy from the movies?” someone behind me asked. “Is he here?”

  I knew the real Heath Hall wasn’t here. Well, obviously. Heath Hall was a spy hero character played by the actor Grant James. But the person about to appear was neither the character nor the actor. The person about to appear was some attention-seeker who I’d successfully ignored until this point.

  The coaches and officials moved around the pool, searching for the interruption. That’s when a guy in a Speedo and rash guard emerged from the locker room across the way, hands in the air. He was wearing a Heath Hall mask. Not one of those cheap, plastic, fake-looking masks but a high-quality, very realistic version of Heath Hall encased his head. The same exact mask I’d seen in online pictures classmates had posted over the years of him causing public disturbances. If I were closer I would’ve seen the electronic eyepiece and scar running along his right cheek that some mask maker had painted on so we wouldn’t mistake this mask for another one of Grant James’s characters.

  The impersonator let out a guttural yell and charged straight for the pool. My mouth dropped open. The coaches rounded the pool but weren’t fast enough to catch him before he jumped in feetfirst. The voice over the rogue microphone said, “Go, go, go!”

  The crowd soon joined in as fake Heath Hall swam the length of the pool and crawled out right next to my starting block, mask still concealing his entire head. He gave me a thumbs-up, water flicking off his hand and onto my arm, then took off at full speed toward the open gate. I wiped off my arm and watched the coaches attempt to catch him. He was too fast. A few moments later they walked back, defeated.

  “Okay,” the real announcer said. “That was interesting. Are we ready for an actual race? One hundred free, take your places.”

  What? No. My chest tightened in a panic. My goggles were still pushed up onto my forehead, very much not in place. The other racers were heading toward the starting blocks. I swallowed my protests about needing more time, realizing none of the officials seemed to care, then quickly tugged out my other earbud, dropped it on top of my parka at my feet, and pulled down my goggles, pressing them into place.

  Less than thirty seconds later I dived into the pool. I was glad this was my last heat of the night; my body was tense. The lines on the bottom of the pool were there just like they always were, but as I fell into my rhythm, the image of the guy wearing a Heath Hall mask seemed to take over my vision.

  Stop, I told my brain.

  My shoulders burned and my eyes stung with the pain. I winced and pushed through, forcing my arms to make the rotation even though they tried to tell me as loud as possible that they didn’t want to. I touched the wall and then flip-kicked off it. Just one more length of the pool. The adrenaline masked some of the pain. I stretched out and with one final kick, touched the wall.

  My eyes went straight to the results board. I was three seconds slower than my normal time, putting me in fourth place. I hit the water in frustration. It was the first race I’d lost in weeks.

  Coach stood over my lane so I pulled off my cap and goggles.

  “Hadley, how are the shoulders?”

  “Okay.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Go have DJ ice them.” Coach reached down and gave me a hand out of the pool. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to.

  After rinsing off in the shower and pulling on my T-shirt and sweats over my still-wet suit, I went to the trainer’s office.

  DJ sat in a chair, his feet on the desk, reading a book. There were some who faked injuries just to get in front of him. His dark eyes were so concerned as he’d check out any ailment. And yes, he was cute. I wasn’t interested, but I wasn’t blind either. With his light brown eyes and loose dark curls he looked like the sweet best friend in movies who always ended up with the girl.

  I knocked on the glass of the open door and he looked up.

  “Are you busy?” I asked.

  He held up his book but the title was in Spanish so I couldn’t read it.

  “For school?” I asked.

  “Sort of,” he said. “And to make my mom happy. Apparently language can be lost in as little as one generation.” He set the book aside and sat forward. “What can I do for you?”

  “Ice.”

  He jumped out of his seat. “Shoulders?”

  I was only ever in here for one reason: my shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Come in.” His hands were gentle as he guided me to the seat he’d just abandoned. “Your races go okay? You seem upset.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to talk about the only race I lost tonight and how irritated I was about the distraction. Apparently my face had already done the talking for me. I changed the subject. “I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”

  “I’m here so the real trainer can be poolside.” He scooped ice into two large ziplock bags. Only half of his last scoop made it into the bag, the rest spilling on the floor. He fumbled with trying to clean it up. I bent down to help him and he waved me off and left it there scattered across the floor. He returned to my side.

  “I know you don’t take this pain very seriously, Hadley, but if you’re not nicer to your shoulders, this could get serious soon. You need to rest them more.”

  “I’m
nice to my shoulders.”

  He gave a grunt of disagreement and placed a bag on my right shoulder. “Hold this.”

  I did and he grabbed the plastic wrap, then began to secure it down. As his hands worked their way around my shoulder, his shirt brushed my cheek. It smelled so good that it relaxed me a bit. He moved on to the other shoulder and I looked away to control my urge to sniff him.

  “Okay, you’re all set.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Maybe for a while, until your joint pain settles, you could work on your form.”

  I smiled. “Yes, Coach.”

  Amelia, my best friend, was applying mascara when I joined her by the lockers. After she put it back in her bag, she turned and poked one of the ice packs attached to me. “Nice. You’re all suited up for some football.”

  “Funny.”

  “How was DJ? As dreamy as ever?”

  “Yep. Still the cutest nerd I know.”

  “Do you think he’d date a high school student?” Amelia often set her boy-sights high, determined to land guys that were mostly unavailable to her. I liked her confidence, even though her plans almost never worked.

  I always supported her unrealistic hopes because I knew that she knew they were just that. “He only graduated last year, right?” I wasn’t exactly sure because he’d gone to a high school across town.

  “Yes, but I feel like college years are like dog years compared to high school years.”

  I opened my locker and pulled out my towel and bag. “Dog years?”

  “Yes, for every year you’re in college, you’re like seven years older than a high school student.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “And proud of it.”

  I opened my bag and stared inside blankly. “Were you out there for my last race or were you already in here?” Amelia swam the race right before mine so she was often changing when I was up.

  She scrunched her nose, looking guilty. “I’m sorry, did you want me to watch? Are your parents not here tonight?”

  “No, it’s not that. Heath Hall was here. He jumped into the pool.”

  “What? And I missed it?”

  “He completely distracted me . . . and probably all the swimmers.”

  “That sucks. So . . . did you get a good look? Who is he?”

  “What?”

  “That’s the online debate. He’s obviously someone from around here because most of his public appearances—”

  “Public disturbances,” I interrupted.

  “Have happened within, like, a hundred-mile radius.”

  “How do you know this?”

  She turned one way and then the other as she looked at herself in the long mirror on the inside door of her locker. “Someone did a map of them.”

  “People have too much time on their hands.”

  She shut her locker and leaned her back against it. “By the way, did I ever tell you that my brother met the real Heath Hall last year? I mean the guy who plays him—Grant James.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, only a million times.”

  “That’s because it’s cool! And Grant James is hot.”

  I shoved my towel into my bag and zipped it up. “Is that what Cooper said?”

  “Yes, actually, he did. Was this guy hot?”

  “What? No, I mean, I don’t know, he was wearing a mask.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Just a mask?”

  “Yes, just a mask.” I shoved her shoulder. “No! He had on a Speedo and a rash guard too.”

  “So . . . did he have a nice body?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. He jumped into my pool!”

  Amelia raised her eyebrows. “Your pool?”

  “Well, my lane, whatever. He spread his bad mojo all over it.”

  She laughed and slung her backpack over one shoulder. “You and your rituals.”

  “I don’t have rituals, I have routines.” Routines that made me win races and today that routine was wrecked by a wannabe Heath Hall. If I ever found out who he was, I’d have some words for him.

  Two

  Sarah’s street was lined with cars when we pulled up after the meet. “I thought you meant this was a party for just the swim team,” I said, peeling the ice packs off my shoulders, the numbness not completely hiding the ache.

  “That’s what I thought she meant. I guess a few more people showed up.”

  I dumped the ice into the gutter and left the empty bags on the passenger-side floor. I didn’t go to a lot . . . okay, any . . . real parties. I hadn’t even changed. I was still in my suit and sweats. Amelia looked adorable next to me, makeup and all. I self-consciously tugged at my still-damp hair and tried to smooth it into place.

  We walked through Sarah’s house and into the backyard, where the majority of people were. Sarah lived in a neighborhood built around a man-made lake. In the middle of that lake, a large island, complete with lamps and picnic tables, had drawn everyone’s attention. Or at least that’s what several people were pointing at—the island. They chanted something I couldn’t quite make out. Someone’s name. I scanned the island but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as we came to a girl at the back of the crowd.

  She gave me a double take, surprised to see me here or surprised my hair was wet; it could’ve been either. “They’re trying to make him swim out there,” she answered.

  “Why?” This wasn’t a swimming kind of lake. It was full of fish and who knew what the neighborhood kids threw in. It wasn’t very deep: a lake people used paddleboats on and took engagement pictures in front of. It wasn’t practical. It was for looks. Plus, that island was at least six pool lengths away.

  “They dared him.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not sure. I just got here.”

  “What does he win if he does it?”

  Amelia elbowed me. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I’m already in my swim stuff.”

  “Hadley wants to do it!” the girl we’d been talking to screamed.

  I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t said anything of the sort. But soon the whole party was chanting my name and my heart started beating to the rhythm.

  “You haven’t even heard what the prize is,” Amelia reminded me. She must’ve seen how my eyes lit up at the possibility of a challenge. And it would be a challenge. My shoulders were already shot.

  I pushed through the people until I came to the front of the group. Jackson Holt was toeing the water with his bare foot. “You want to race me, Moore?”

  I groaned and almost walked away. Jackson was one of my least favorite people ever. He was so . . . middle school. Once, in the cafeteria, he pretended to be hurt just so Mindy Halpburn, who happened to be walking by, would stop and help him. When she realized it was a joke, she slapped him and the whole room laughed. And this wasn’t even the most childish thing he’d ever done. Yet everyone seemed to love him, in the way they loved puppy videos or chocolate—they couldn’t get enough.

  Those thoughts kept me from fleeing. Maybe it was time to humble Jackson a bit. Make him realize he didn’t always have to be the center of attention, loved by all. He wasn’t an athlete. I could win a swimming race against him easy, sore shoulders or not.

  “Are you sure you’re okay being beaten by a girl?” I said softly.

  He stripped off his shirt, his toned chest making me think twice about his athletic abilities, and jumped in, jeans and all. When he surfaced, a playful gleam shone in his eyes. The gleam that shone there most of the time. “The water’s great.”

  I stepped out of my shoes, then eyed the island. Did I really need to do this? My skin buzzed to life, telling me I did, in fact, need to do this. I pulled off my sweats and waded into the water beside Jackson. Unlike the school pool, which was heated, the chill of the lake immediately sucked the air from my lungs. The water smelled like mud, fish, and mildew. I almost got back out.

  “Can’t pass up a compe
tition, can you?”

  Someone standing above us called, “On your mark, get set, go.”

  I took off, not knowing if Jackson followed. Not really caring. My shoulders ached a bit, but I didn’t press them and the more I swam the more they loosened up. It was weird swimming in silence. I was used to having my music on for everything but races. It gave me a rhythm to swim to and kept my head clear of unwanted memories.

  About halfway through the swim, I felt a movement by my foot and then suddenly it was yanked backward. I went under for a second and came up coughing. Jackson treaded water next to me. It was nearly black in the middle of the lake, but I could see his teeth glowing with a smile. He smiled way too much.

  “I thought you were going to try, Moore. Make this hard on me.”

  “What?”

  “I thought you were on the swim team.”

  I coughed again and wondered what the best way to dunk him would be.

  “Lighten up. I was kidding. I could barely keep up with you. Couldn’t you give me a tiny break?”

  It was only then I noticed him panting for breath. “Oh.”

  “And I’m tired. I thought I was going to drown out here in the middle of nowhere and you’d be all the way to the island, leaving me with no help.”

  His smile made it hard to tell if he was still kidding or not.

  “That was the last chance I had to make a grab at your foot before you were gone.” He looked down at the water, his head bobbing with his movements.

  The people back on the shore looked as tiny as insects. The island was closer. If he really was having trouble swimming, the island was where we needed to go.

  “I think I can make it,” he said, probably noticing my analysis. “Do you think there are fish out here? I’m kind of scared of fish. At least there aren’t any sharks. Do you swim in the ocean a lot?”

  “Rarely,” I said. Even though we lived within a five-minute drive of the Pacific, the waves didn’t mimic my race conditions so I didn’t practice there much.

  “If . . .” His eyes got wide, then he looked down again.

  “What?”

  “Did you feel that?”

  “No.”

  “It must’ve been noth—” He went down fast, under the water, and out of sight.

  I gasped, then reached forward, feeling around for him. I dived under, but between the murky water and the dark night, I couldn’t see a thing. I surfaced and propelled myself in a circle, panicked. The people back on shore couldn’t hear me through their loud music as I yelled for them. I gave up and continued to search around me.