Deadly Little Lessons by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page A

your mom and I have been discussing everything, and—”
    “Where is she?” I ask, cutting him off.
    “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. She’s at the hospital, visiting with Aunt Alexia.”
    “She isn’t going to tell her, is she?” I ask, trying to imagine what it might be like if Aunt Alexia knew that I knew the truth. How would it change things between us?
    “No. And we’d prefer it if you didn’t say anything to her, either. Your mom thinks it’d be too hard for Alexia, especially if she has somehow blocked it out.”
    “Too hard for her ?” I ask, wondering how—or if—I even factor in to the equation.
    “It’s hard for us, too,” he says, looking down into his hands, perhaps wishing, like me, that things could go back to the way they were. “Anyway, it’s good that Dr. Tylyn knows the truth now. She’ll know what to do—how to use the information to help us get through this.” He looks up from his hands and gives me a tiny smile, but there’s zero happiness behind it. His eyes look strained and tired.
    I want to tell him that none of this even matters and that things will eventually return to normal. But I’m not sure if either of these things is true, which somehow feels worse than finding out about my birth.
    After he leaves the room, I start searching for summer intensive pottery programs, grateful for the distraction. Several pop up right away. I’m just about to check out the one at Savannah College of Art, remembering that Spencer recommended it. But something else catches my eye: the words Renowned Master Potter Chase DeLande to Lecture at Sumner’s Summer Intensive . I click on it and Sumner College’s pretty New England campus sprawls across the screen in full, sweeping color with the heading SUMMER INTENSIVES FOR HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS . I open up another browser window to do a separate Google search on the town of Peachtree, Rhode Island, where the college is located.
    A bunch of links pop up: news reports, cultural info, and event happenings. Both Peachtree and the program at Sumner appear to be rich in art and opportunity. But surprisingly, the link that catches my interest the most involves Sasha Beckerman, the girl who’s been missing.

A CCORDING TO EVERYTHING I’ve researched online, Sasha was given up by her biological mother shortly after birth and adopted by the Beckerman family. Two parents, one cat, and thirteen built-in cousins.
    One particular Web site maps out Sasha’s life from childhood to present. She grew up the only child of John and Tracey, in a warm and loving home in Peachtree. Good in school, voted most valuable player in soccer, and a loyal member of the art club and contributor to the literary magazine, Sasha kept a tight network of friends. But once she reached her fifteenth birthday and learned the truth about her parents (like me, she discovered it by accident, when she found her birth certificate in her mother’s keepsake box), everything fell to pieces, including her picture-perfect life.
    I move my cursor up to the menu bar and click on the About Me link. It brings me to the bio page of the person who maintains the site. I recognize her right away: Sasha’s adoptive mother. I plug in my earbuds and click on a YouTube video Mrs. Beckerman has made, where she sits in front of the camera, urging anyone with details about the case to contact either her or the authorities. I stare into her pale blue eyes, wanting to know why she and her husband never told Sasha the truth about her birth. Were they concerned that Sasha wouldn’t love them anymore, or afraid that she’d want to find her biological parents?
    Mrs. Beckerman continues to speak to the camera, trying her best to be strong: “Please know that Sasha wasn’t some reckless teen who acted out in school or went to underground parties. She was angry at her father and me, which caused her to behave in a way that was out of character. Sasha distanced herself from family and