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

me promise not to tell what happened at school. Of course, she hadn’t exactly told me what happened, either. It was all vague allusions. Looking into her story was a betrayal. But I felt compelled. She was finally talking to me again, and I had a terrible feeling that she was leaving things out. Important things.
    What if I pretended she’d never said anything and she went out one day and never came home? She was disappearing more and more often. I knew it was connected to what had happened. What was my responsibility here?
    I was about to close Facebook when another message popped up.
    No one knew your sister. She seemed cool, but she kept to herself. Sorry can’t help. It’s been pretty shitty around here since the spring.
    I hesitated. Then I typed:
    Why?
    I don’t want to get into it. I hope your sister feels better and that she comes back. She’s got serious talent. We could use someone else to look up to.
    Okay. Thanks. Good luck with your film.
    There were no more messages after that.

Thursday, September 2 0
    Making the World Safe for Bad Judgment
    â€œGot one,” said Dusk.
    Neil and I turned to her. We were in Acrylics 1, taught by the effervescent Cynthia Choo. Ms. Choo looked like a recent graduate from grade eight. She wore her medium-length black hair in two braids and shuffled around in cheap embroidered Chinese slippers and silk coats.
    Ms. Choo had been my sister’s favorite teacher, and she always asked after Keira in a way that was nicely friendly as opposed to overly interested, which I appreciated.
    â€œShouldn’t you get the last candidate to cough up the facts before you move on to a new one?” I said.
    â€œDon’t worry about backlog,” said Neil. “The truth is a river. We’ve got to let it flow.”
    He looked down at his cell phone. “Oops. It’s Aimee. I have to get this.”
    â€œAimee. Agony Queen,” intoned Dusk.
    It was true. Aimee, though popular and in demand even before the renovations, spent her time reeling from imaginary crisis to imaginary crisis. Her boyfriend of two days had looked at another woman. The guy she dated after that looked at a guy. She’d read in the
Los Angeles Times
(online edition) that broadcast television networks were only hiring men of color. Her best friend had had a vision board party and sent her an invitation a full two days after everyone else. 46 Other Aimee problems: The new sweater from that adorable store in Qualicum had been stolen out of her gym bag. Jo Malone discontinued her favorite cologne. She gained half a pound. And her perennial favorite: people were talking about her.
    Aimee was paranoid, self-centered, and fear-based. She did not share much in the way of affection or support with Neil, at least not that I could see, but she sure had a free hand with the neediness. I was going to resent it very much if she became his new muse, even though I’d pretend I wasn’t bothered.
    Neil took it all in stride and even seemed to like it.
    â€œNo one is listening to me right now,” said Dusk. “This Truth Commission is starting to feel like home.”
    â€œI’m listening,” I told her.
    â€œNot to me you’re not,” said Ms. Choo, sliding up to us on her tiny embroidered slippers. These ones were high-noon blue with plenty of metallic embroidery. Her robe, made of some papery material, was suburban lawn green. White cranes flapped their way across the fabric. “Is any of this getting through?”
    â€œMs. Choo,” said Neil. “Those clothes look wonderful on you.”
    â€œIt’s true,” said Dusk. “They do.”
    â€œAllow me be the first one to say something that doesn’t rhyme. I like your ensemble,” I said.
    â€œBut do you like the brushstroke technique I just spent twenty minutes explaining and demonstrating? That’s the big question.”
    â€œLove it,” I assured her. I stabbed at