Read Online The Truth Commission by Susan Juby - Free Book Online Page A

a relationship. If I ever get married, I hope my first husband is like Constance.
    I assumed things had been different at CIAD. I’d seen the website: tiny class sizes, low student-teacher ratios, acclaimed yet engaged professors. In addition to the Chronicles, Keira had submitted a superstar portfolio, and there’s no way she’d have gone unnoticed by her peers. Even if she hadn’t made any close friends, she must have had acquaintances. Someone must know something.
    Unfortunately, the school had a privacy policy.
    Enter Facebook: Slayer of all privacy policies!
    It took me about three seconds to find a Facebook group for students taking the undergraduate animation program at CIAD. The program has a reputation for being harder to get into than Harvard or Yale, and being more expensive.
    I switched my profile photo to one in which I was wearing an ironic chapeau. From what I could see in their profile pictures, the heads of CIAD students were festooned with berets, trucker hats, deerstalkers. To be honest, I briefly considered using a photo of Dusk and me together, in the hope that I’d be mistaken for her. Studies have confirmed that beautiful people get special treatment, and I needed some.
    I sent a Facebook message to one Roberta Brown Heller II because, despite the regnal number after her name, she had a friendly, freckled face.
    Hi. My name is Normandy Pale.
    I think you went to school with my sister, Keira. We are planning a surprise party for her and wanted to ask a couple of questions about her time at CIAD. On the Q.T.
    Thanks,
    Normandy
    The message would go into that “Other” message box that Facebook helpfully makes invisible, so I hoped that Roberta Brown Heller II would get it. Trying to friend her seemed too pushy. After all, we were supposedly just planning a surprise party. No need to get psycho about it.
    Less than a minute later, I got a response.

    If you’re some desperate fan, please go away. She doesn’t even go to school here anymore, and we’re all sick of getting Facebook messages about her. Same goes for Instagram, Twitter, etc.
    How to respond?

    I really am her sister. I go to Green Pastures Academy. Ask me anything about her.
    This was like a Jason Bourne moment, only not athletic and on the world’s least secure privacy platform other than skywriting.
    Get lost.
    Heller II’s friendly, approachable profile picture was misleading. She was rude and off-putting. I was starting to like her.
    I am not a stalker. Seriously. I’m Keira’s sister.
    Then you should ask her your questions. You people are really pathetic.
    That’s just it. She’s not talking much. Since she came home.
    Just go away.
    You’re very rude.
    And you’re annoying. I have a short film due in three hours. Our time is up.
    Clearly, you have something against surprise parties. So what if I told you I’m not writing because of a surprise party? Also, I can’t help but notice that you have time to check your Facebook messages.
    My Facebook habit is none of your business. (I use it to relax.) Keep talking.
    My sister hasn’t been feeling well since she came home. We thought that if we could talk to her about her friends at CIAD it might cheer her up.
    Still think you’re probably a sadfan.
    My sister never wears socks. A lot of her shirts are white and billowy. She drives a white 1987 Crown Vic. She looks
very
tired. Except for her hair. It looks like it’s in mid-cartwheel.
    Go on.
    I tried to think of a detail I knew about Keira that a classmate might also know but that the people who obsessively followed her career wouldn’t.
    She has this nervous habit of tapping her thumb on her chin when she thinks.
    Maybe you saw her at a signing.
    My sister doesn’t do signings. Hasn’t for a few years.
    Why don’t you just go ask her whatever it is that you want to know?
    She’s not talking.
    I had to be careful here. Keira had made