The Truth Commission by Susan Juby Page A

haven’t noticed, Tyler Jones is the most together guy in our school and maybe on Vancouver Island. He’s extremely self-possessed. He doesn’t need me to ask him anything. People get to make their own schedules for things like coming out.”
    â€œThat’s where you’re wrong,” said Dusk. “Everyone assumes that because Tyler is so handsome and talented and quietly confident and everything, he doesn’t need to be nurtured.
Everyone
needs to be nurtured and encouraged.”
    â€œAsking people their private business isn’t nurturing them.”
    â€œI think it is,” said Dusk. “It shows you care.” She pointed her index and middle finger at her own eyes and then at mine. “‘I see you.’ That’s what we’re saying to people with the Truth Commission.”
    â€œHe’s too cool,” I said. “I can’t do it. I can’t even look at him.”
    â€œOh, Normandy. Don’t be so easily intimidated,” said Dusk.
    Easy for her to say. She was the only person at school in Tyler Jones’s league, looks-wise.
    â€œYou’re part of this thing, Norm. We just don’t want you to miss what is turning out to be one of the most valuable life experiences we might ever have,” said Neil.
    I turned the key. Nancy’s engine whirred, coughed. She backfired a couple of times, causing a startled deer to burst out of the trees and bound across the road in two gravity-defying leaps. It narrowly avoided being hit by a car coming the other way. The north end of town is lousy with deer, thanks to all the new subdivisions.
    I pulled the truck back onto the road. When I flipped on the turn signal to go right, Neil couldn’t stand the suspense anymore.
    â€œSo?” he asked. “Are you going to do it?”
    We rolled into the gravel parking lot, which merged beautifully with the xeriscaped grounds of Academy. 42 Art kids loitered everywhere, many of them looking vaguely French. 43
    â€œI’m not ready,” I said, staring at three hipsters singing an a cappella version of Public Enemy’s “He Got Game” near the front doors.
    â€œFine,” said Dusk. “We’ll do it. By which I mean Neil will do it. Then I’ll do another one. You’ll see how important this work is and be ready to join us.”
    Neil put a hand on my shoulder. He mimicked Dusk’s finger-eye thing. “The truth, Norm. Powerful.”
    â€œSet you free,” added Dusk.

Monday, September 17

    Game of Benches
    As we hung out in the vicinity of Tyler Jones, I felt a strong desire to disappear. Or to pull out my embroidery and go sit in a tucked-away place to work on it. My friends didn’t share my reluctance to sneak around.
    â€œI think I might have a talent for this,” said Neil.
    â€œLurking?” I said.
    â€œPlease. That’s such a harsh word. I mean blending in. Going unnoticed while remaining extremely observant. I feel like a character from
Dune
.”
    â€œOne of those big sandworms maybe?” said Dusk.
    â€œPlease don’t start speaking in convoluted riddles, the way you did when you were reading those books,” I said.
    â€œIf you would read the series, too, you would be aware that I was doing an uncannily accurate impression of a Mentat. A human supercomputer, if you will, able to think and feel in multiple dimensions. My ability to—”
    â€œThere he is,” said Dusk before Neil could go full-Mentat on us.
    We turned and watched Tyler Jones walk out of Pod 3, where he was working on his Senior Year Major Project. In grade eleven, every student at G. P. does a Spring Special Project. 44 In grade twelve, the Major Project runs the full school year and forms the basis of your graduating portfolio.
    Tyler Jones was one of the few students who got his own studio pod. There are twelve small studios and three large spaces arranged in a sort of honeycomb in the