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spoke first. “I hope they’re okay in there.”
    â€œThey’ll be fine.”
    â€œYeah,” I said. As I spoke, I realized that I hoped that Tyler Jones would tell Neil to mind his own business. Then maybe all this Truth Commissioning would just go away.
    But Neil and Tyler had been in the studio for too long. They were obviously talking about something.
    â€œDo you know why people overshare online?” asked Dusk, surprising me.
    â€œBecause they’re attention whores?” I said.
    â€œBecause they want people to know them. To know the truth about them.”
    â€œIsn’t it enough that we know the truth about ourselves?” I asked. But as I spoke, I realized that I
didn’t
really know myself, never mind the people in my life.
    â€œI think we learn the truth about ourselves by telling it to someone else,” said Dusk.
    That observation was followed by another five minutes of silence. During that time, it came to me that I should find out more about my sister’s story. She’d gotten involved with a teacher. That was bad. But was there something else going on?
    Tyler Jones and Neil stayed in the empty studio for another ten minutes. In those minutes, I made a plan. I would find out more about what happened to Keira at school. Just in case . . . just in case what? I had no idea. Even if I found out her teacher was sleeping with every girl in his classes, my sister had sworn me to secrecy.
    I was so caught up in my thoughts that I was only half paying attention when Neil emerged from the studio.
    Dusk and I stood and watched him come.
    Tyler Jones followed him out, looking thoughtful. Not worried or angry. Just thoughtful. He chin-nodded us and left the atrium.
    â€œWell?” said Dusk, rubbing her hands together, visions of dating opportunities with the possibly heterosexual Tyler Jones dancing in her head.
    â€œHe said it was a fascinating question. He appreciates us being interested. He’s going to give the matter some thought.”
    â€œThat’s it?” said Dusk. “Ten minutes to get three sentences?”
    â€œI feel lucky that he didn’t punch me in the face. He’s a big guy. I think he works out. And the minute I asked him, I realized that the question was . . .”
    â€œInappropriate?” I offered.
    â€œBrave,” said Dusk.
    â€œHe’s going to get back to me.”
    â€œIt’s much more satisfying when they just answer our questions,” muttered Dusk.
    â€œHe will. He just needs to think about it.”
    I saw a flash of orange and red out of the corner of my eye.
    â€œHi!” Dusk offered Mrs. Dekker a sunny and open smile.
    â€œYou kids get to class,” rasped Mrs. Dekker in a voice that sounded like the result of a back-alley tracheotomy.
    Dusk recoiled. I could see that she wanted to say something, but Neil grabbed her by the leather-patched elbow of her old tweed jacket.
    Mrs. Dekker, as unfriendly and unpleasant as ever, flapped out of the atrium, and we retreated to our respective classes.
    â€œI don’t get it,” muttered Dusk. “I thought we had an understanding.”
    â€œMaybe something happened to one of her ostriches,” I said.

 
    Pale Investigations
    By the time I got home, I’d decided that since I was initiating a Pale Family Truth Commission comprised of me, myself, and I, the first order of business was to speak to Keira’s friends. Maybe they knew something about her teacher. Of course, first I had to figure out whether she had any friends.
    My sister has always been too consumed by her art to really nurture friendships. Still, everyone at the Art Farm paid attention to her, just like all the kids at camp had. At G. P. she mostly hung out with a girl named Constance, who went off to the Ontario College of Art and Design to study Industrial Design. Constance was one of those people who don’t mind doing most of the work in