The Truth Commission by Susan Juby Page A

and all points in between. She wore feathers in her hair, turquoise and jade jewelry, buckskin chaps, and a button blanket she’d made herself. 60 She went around telling everyone she was one-tenth Tla A’min and that her great-grandmother was part of the Sliammon First Nation of Powell River.
    All of it was, of course, total fiction. Lisette DeVries’s grandparents were from Prince George by way of Holland and before she came to Green Pastures she’d gone to the Dutch Reformed Christian School.
    At first, Dusk and Neil joined me outside the Shed where the IAP programs are housed. 61 The Shed is much nicer than it sounds. It’s a big open post-and-beam building attached to the rest of the school by a glass-and-cedar walkway. Huge ceramic pots of ferns line the approach and are good for sitting on while pretending you are an elf or similar. Or maybe that’s just me. On this day the double doors to the Shed were thrown wide open and we could see some students painting drums and others making a canoe out of a huge log. Our school is getting a reputation for producing some of the most promising young carvers in BC, aboriginal and nonaboriginal. The distinctive scents of tanned hide and cedar floated out.
    Before Dusk could begin issuing orders and taking control of the situation, her cell phone buzzed.
    â€œIt’s Zinnia,” she said.
    â€œAlready time for another Slut Riot?” asked Neil.
    â€œShe wants me to meet her by the bike racks. We’ve been touching base regularly. We’re becoming honest but not close friends.”
    And just like that, Dusk left, medical bag in hand. Since she started working on her Spring Special Project, she’s begun carrying around an old-fashioned black medical bag everywhere. This thrilled her parents, who thought it was a sign of incipient medical-ness. Then they figured out it is stuffed with taxidermy tools like latex gloves, scalpels, a fleshing beam, 62 bondo, and fake eyeballs.It’s basically the kit of a serial killer or Damien Hirst. I guess she wants to be ready in case she comes across a recently deceased small creature. She’ll be able to preserve it at the side of the road, then build it a tiny trailer to live in.
    â€œDo you think—”
    Before I could finish my sentence, Neil’s phone buzzed.
    â€œAimee,” he said. “She wants to talk. Something going on with her parents. Also, there’s been a change in Number Two. See you, Norm. Good luck.”
    â€œI’m not talking to Lisette today!” I told his retreating back.
    â€œNo rush. We love you,” he said.
    â€œI don’t feel the same,” I said. Even though I totally did.
    It was odd to sit by myself. Neil and Dusk and I did almost everything together when we weren’t making stuff or at our separate houses. We were a unit, and I loved it. I became more and more aware of how lucky I was to have my two friends as I watched Lisette.
    She wore her long blonde hair in two braids and had on a rawhide headband. She was carrying a drum and dancing from group to group.
    The painters smiled tolerantly and said a few words to her, and the canoe carvers did the same. A boy working on a mask at the end of the hall didn’t even look up when she came banging over to him, but another one gave her an indulgent high five.
    She was like a butterfly that had no place to alight. In fact, she was basically the opposite of a starfish.
    â€œHey.”
    I looked up to see Mr. Thomas staring at me.
    Mr. Thomas, AKA Randy, was G. P.’s visiting artist. We get two artists every year. In the fall, we always have a First Nations artist. In the spring, the artist is international. The visiting artists are always amazing, but Randy Thomas took it to the next level. Maybe because he sometimes worked in television. Or maybe in spite of the fact he worked in television.
    He was at least six four and massive all around, but he had this light, dancer-y