In September of 2006, a high school senior named Matt Atkinson learned of a dark secret from three of his friends. In confidence, they told him of their plan to initiate a Columbine-style attack on their school, during which they would ignite bombs near bathrooms, set fire to exits, and then shoot any of the 1,500 students and staff they didn't like.

For Matt, these confessions created a crisis of conscience. Although the threats were gravely serious, he wasn't at all certain they were genuine. Could he risk getting his friends into major trouble over what might turn out to be a joke? In order to gain clarity, he spent the evening talking the situation through with his mother.

The following morning—one day before his friends had scheduled their attack—Matt shared his knowledge with the school's assistant principle. Law enforcement officials immediately intervened. After taking the three would-be attackers into custody, police searched their homes. What they found was a shocking confirmation of the intended assault: suicide notes, a large cache of weapons, ammunition, camouflage clothing, helmets, and gas masks.

When the news of the foiled attack became public, Matt Atkinson was lauded as a hero—a title that he consistently downplayed. "Do the right thing," he said. "That's all I can say: do the right thing. There's no harm in telling somebody about it. I didn't do it for fame. I had fear for the life of my fellow students and staff at East High School."

In the end, Matt did the right thing because he had a proper view of the consequences of his inaction—not just for his fellow students, but also for the attackers and himself. "If it wasn't true," he said, "at least they'd get the help that they needed. If I didn't go, and they were serious, I couldn't live with that on my conscience."