Free The Truth Commission by Susan Juby

a blob of paint on my canvas to show how much.
    â€œMe too,” said Neil. “It’s so open and expansive.”
    â€œI don’t think I’ll be incorporating it in my next installation,” said Dusk. “But I’m glad to know how it’s done.”
    â€œEvery person can benefit from brush skills,” said the unflappable Ms. Choo.
    â€œTouch!” said Dusk, who likes to mangle words because it drives her parents crazy. She held up a hand to be slapped. Ms. Choo stared at the offending appendage.
    Dusk took her hand down.
    Then Ms. Choo went to check on what the other painters were accomplishing.
    We all got to work leaving brushstrokes in heavy globs of acrylic paint. It was quite satisfying, and I’d have been happy to work in silence and cozy togetherness, but Dusk would not be prevented from telling us about the new target.
    â€œZinnia McFarland,” she said.
    â€œThat girl who puts on the Slut Walk?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œWhat are you going to ask her?”
    â€œWhether it’s true what they say.”
    â€œWhat do they say?” I found myself dreading the answer.
    â€œHer sister did a little web-stripping. Then she got severely online bullied.”
    â€œInter-tormented,” said Neil. “That’s the worst.”
    â€œShe tried to kill herself,” said Dusk. “Zinnia’s been trying to make the world safe for bad judgment ever since.”
    My brush had frozen a foot away from the canvas. “Dusk, that’s not funny.”
    â€œI don’t mean it to be funny. Everyone knows that Zinnia puts on the Slut Walk for a reason. And it’s not because she personally is sexing it up all over the place.”
    â€œOr sexting, presumably,” added Neil.
    â€œIt’s not your business why she puts on the walk. It’s cool, and she’s right. Women should be able to dress how they want.”
    â€œHere, here!” said Eleanor St. Pierre, who was at the easel behind me, clearly eavesdropping for all she was worth.
    â€œLooking gorgeous, Els!” said Neil with a big smile.
    Dusk shot me a look, and I lowered my voice. “It’s one thing to ask people their private business. But this is about her sister. So it’s not Zinnia’s truth to tell.”
    Dusk added a few more brushstrokes to the small shrewish shapes on her canvas. Since she got the idea to taxidermy a shrew for her Spring Special Project, everything she makes is vaguely shrew shaped, and she’s frequently in a bad mood because taxiderming, especially tiny creatures, is very hard. Or so she reports after each failed attempt.
    â€œI’m just asking her about her motivation. She’s putting it out there—how we should all be able to dress how we want. Get our revealing on. But at the same time, she keeps this very personal motivation private. I think it would be both healing for her and inspiring for others if she talked about what happened.” Dusk turned to me and lowered her voice. “Norm, we all know you’re kind of sensitive about family stuff. Because of your sister and everything.”
    I was about to protest, but Neil beat me to it.
    â€œEveryone is sensitive about family,” he said. “Not just Norm.”
    â€œThat doesn’t mean it’s okay. Our families are often the thing that keep us stuck,” said Dusk. “If I bought into my family’s agenda, I would—”
    â€œBe getting better than a C in biology right now,” I said.
    â€œC-minus,” Dusk corrected. “Anyway, I think that if you want people to join you in a cause, you should be honest about where you’re coming from.”
    â€œWhy?” My voice was rising again. I couldn’t help it, even if Eleanor was straining an eardrum trying to listen in. “It’s not our business. The Slut Walk is to protest all the bullshit that girls have to deal with for how