Truth about Truman School

by Dori Hillestad Butler

  “No,” Kylie said, barely above a whisper.

  “Good,” I said. Because what happened to Lilly could easily happen to Kylie, too. I hoped she realized that.

  Lilly:

  Mom kept trying to get me to talk on the way to school, but I just hugged my backpack to my chest and stared straight ahead out the front window.

  “If you won’t tell me what’s wrong, how do you expect me to help you?” Mom asked.

  I didn’t expect her to help me.

  “Please, Lilly. Talk to me.”

  I couldn’t talk to her. I couldn’t talk to anyone.

  My eyes welled with tears when Mom pulled into the carpool line at school, but I bit down on my lip and blinked them back.

  Mom tried one more time. “What is it, honey?” she asked.

  I got out of the car and slammed the door behind me. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to go someplace where there were no people. And no computers. Someplace where I could be totally alone and no one would ever find me.

  I could tell my mom was watching me walk toward the school. I could feel her eyes on my back. So I kept walking until I finally saw her pull away from the curb. But then, instead of heading for the front door, I turned and walked casually alongside the buses. When I was sure no one was looking, I darted around the corner of the school. I inched along the side of the building and rounded another corner to the back of the building.

  I’d never been back here before. I heard pans rattling and water running. I was back by the kitchen.

  I crept around a dumpster and just about tripped over a pair of legs. The legs belonged to Sara Murphy, who was sitting in the dirt, her back pressed against the dumpster, reading a computer gaming magazine.

  Great. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  She looked up at me, but didn’t say anything. Big surprise.

  “Why am I always running into you?”

  Still nothing. No expression. Nothing.

  “WHY DON’T YOU EVER SAY ANYTHING?!”

  Why was I even talking to a girl who never talks back? I had to get out of there. I darted through the hedge that separated school property from the neighborhood. Then I ran and ran and ran, until I couldn’t run anymore.

  Sara:

  Everyone wants to know why I don’t talk. I think it’s hilarious when people come up to me and ask me to my face, “Hey, freak girl! Why don’t you ever talk?” If they know I DON’T TALK, why do they ask me a question and expect to get an answer?

  First of all, I do talk. I talk at home. I talk to my online friends. I just don’t talk at school.

  Why? Because I decided not to back in sixth grade.

  It all started when Lilly and those girls made fun of my eczema in gym every day. Yeah, my skin was kind of gross. It still is, I guess. But what am I supposed to say when people call me Fungus and they don’t want to sit next to me and they don’t want to touch me. It’s not like I can make the eczema go away. So, I stopped saying anything. I couldn’t control what the other kids said to me, but I could control what I said (or didn’t say) back.

  At first it was just those mean girls that I refused to talk to. But then I extended it to everyone. Even teachers. From the moment I stepped onto school property until the moment I left school property, I went silent. I didn’t ask questions; I didn’t answer questions. I didn’t say a word. It was kind of empowering!

  People get a little freaked out when you suddenly stop talking, though. I remember Mrs. Horton called me into her office and asked me what was wrong.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Your teachers are concerned about you, Sara,” she said. “There’s got to be a reason you stopped speaking.”

  I just stared back at her. I didn’t want to tell her the reason.

  Mrs. Horton didn’t know what to do with me, so she called my mother, and we all three had a conference. She told my mother I needed more help than the school could give me and that I should see a psychologist.

  “My daughter doesn’t need a psychologist,” my mother said. I’m not sure my mother believes in psychologists. “Sara talks just fine at home. If she’s not talking here at school, maybe it’s because she has nothing to say.”

  All of a sudden, Mrs. Horton was the one who had nothing to say.

  That was two years ago. By now most people have figured out that I DON’T TALK and they leave me alone. Which is way better than when they all picked on me. I much prefer being known as “the weird girl who doesn’t talk” than “the weird girl with the disgusting skin problem.”

  You may not realize this, but people who don’t talk all the time are usually better observers and better listeners. For instance, I know everything that goes on at this school. I even know who milkandhoney is. But I’ll never tell. I’m that weird girl who doesn’t talk, remember?

  Hayley:

  Lilly’s mom called while I was doing my nails. “Have you seen Lilly today?” she asked.

  I held the phone against my ear with my shoulder. “No,” I said, as I painted my pinkie nail deep red. “I don’t think she was in school, was she?” I knew perfectly well she wasn’t in school.

  “Well, I thought she was in school,” Lilly’s mom said. “But then the school secretary called me at work around ten o’clock this morning and told me Lilly wasn’t in school. I thought it was a mistake. I dropped Lilly off myself, so I know she was there. But then she didn’t call in after school like she’s supposed to, and she didn’t answer the phone when I called home. So I got worried and came home. She’s not here, Hayley. Her backpack’s not here, either, so she hasn’t been home. Do you have any idea where she could be?”

  I blew on my nails. “No, I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t have any idea.”

  Lilly’s mom sighed. “Is there something going on with her that I should know about?”

  This was not something I wanted to get into with Lilly’s mom. “What do you mean?” I asked vaguely.

  “I don’t know … have you noticed any change in her behavior lately? It doesn’t seem like you girls have been getting together quite as much lately. Has she been hanging out with some other kids? Maybe kids she shouldn’t be hanging out with? Kids who could be getting her into trouble?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

  “I really don’t know who she’s hanging out with these days, Mrs. Clarke,” I said.

  “Are you sure? If you’re trying to protect her, trying to keep her from getting into trouble—”

  “I’m not,” I insisted, anxious to get her off the phone. “It’s just … like you said. Lilly hasn’t really been hanging out with us much lately.”

  “Why not? Did you girls have a fight?”

  I paused. “Not a fight, exactly … ” How do you tell someone’s mom that their daughter just isn’t making the cut anymore?

  “I’m making you uncomfortable,” Lilly’s mom said.

  “Uh … yeah. Sort of.”

  “I don’t mean to. I just want to know where Lilly is.”

  “Well, if I knew anything, Mrs. Clarke, I’d tell you. Really.”

  Lilly’s mom sighed again. “Okay. Well, thanks, Hayley.” And then she finally hung up.

  Brianna:

  I was freaking out! Lilly’s mom called me. Apparently she’d called Hayley, too, but for some reason Hayley wasn’t anywhere near as freaked out as I was.

  “Did Lilly’s mom tell you that Lilly’s missing?” I shrieked into the phone. I’d called Hayley as soon as I hung up with Mrs. Clarke.

  “She’s not ‘missing,’ ” Hayley said in a bored voice. “Lilly’s mom just doesn’t know where she is.”

  “Neither does anyone else,” I said. “
Did Lilly’s mom ask you if there was anything going on between all of us, any reason we weren’t all hanging out together anymore?”

  “Yes, and I blew her off. Why? What did you tell her?”

  “I didn’t tell her anything,” I said. Which was true. “But what about … did you tell her about … ” I didn’t quite know how to word it.

  “Did I tell her about what?” Hayley asked impatiently.

  “You know,” I said, my heart pounding. “About our website?”

  “Of course not,” Hayley said. “Did you?”

  “No. But what if she finds out about it? What if Lilly ran away or something because of our website?” If she did, we were going to be in major trouble.

  “They can’t prove that site is ours,” Hayley said. “Our names aren’t on there anywhere. Besides, what about those other sites—the Lilly’s Lesbian Diary and the Truth about Truman? Those are just as bad as ours, and we didn’t have anything to do with those.”

  I bit my lip. “Yeah, I guess,” I said. But that didn’t make me feel any less freaked out.

  Zebby:

  The phone rang while I was doing my homework. It was Lilly’s mom, of all people. She wanted to know whether I’d seen Lilly at all that day.

  I just kind of “uh’ed” at her for a few seconds because I couldn’t figure out why she was asking me. Finally, I had to just come right out and say, “You know, Mrs. Clarke, Lilly and I haven’t exactly been friends for the last two years … ”

  “Yes, but even if you’re not friends anymore, you still know each other. You live in the same neighborhood. You see each other now and then. I just want to know whether you saw her in school today. Or after school.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember. “I don’t think so.” Honestly, I try to pay as little attention to Lilly as possible.

  So then Mrs. Clarke started asking me a bunch of questions about whether I’d noticed anything strange about Lilly lately, whether she was still hanging around with the same girls, whether she had new friends, whether I had any idea why she might not have wanted to go to school. Each question she asked made me squirm just a little more because of course I knew why Lilly wouldn’t want to go to school. So did everyone else at Truman.

  Mrs. Clarke sounded so worried. So scared. She must have called like fifty other people before she called me. Had no one told her what was going on at school? Had no one told her her daughter was getting trashed online?

  “You know, I’m sorry you and Amr and Lilly have all gone separate ways,” Mrs. Clarke said. Her voice was all choky. “But if you don’t know anything … ”

  “Wait!” I said, before Mrs. Clarke hung up. Because somebody had to tell her what was going on.

  Amr:

  “You told Lilly’s mom about the Truth about Truman?” I practically yelled into the phone. Why would she do that?

  “I had to,” Zebby said. “You should have heard her, Amr. She’s really worried. She asked me if Lilly was having trouble with kids at school. What was I supposed to do? Tell her everything was fine?”

  “Couldn’t you have just told her about the Lilly’s Lesbian Diary site and the We Hate Lilly site? Did you have to tell her about the Truth about Truman?” If my parents found out I ran a website where people gossiped and posted mean things about other people, they’d kill me. That was why I took that fable off our website.

  “I didn’t think I could tell her about those without at least mentioning ours,” Zebby said. “If she stumbled across the Truth about Truman on her own, she’d wonder why I didn’t mention it. Besides, there’s no reason we should have to hide. We’re not the ones who posted any of that stuff about Lilly.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “So what did she say? Did she get online and look at any of those sites while you were talking to her?”

  “No, she—” All of a sudden Zebby stopped talking.

  “She what?” I asked.

  Zebby didn’t respond.

  “Hello?” I said. Had Zebby left me hanging here? I could hear voices in the background, so I knew we were still connected, even if she had suddenly gone away.

  “Yo! Zeb? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Amr, look outside. There are a bunch of police cars in front of Lilly’s house!”

  “What? There are?” I went to the window and yanked open the shade. Zebby was right. There were two police cars in Lilly’s driveway and two more parked on the street in front of her house.

  Zebby:

  There were already a lot of people standing around in front of Lilly’s house when my parents and I headed down the street. Some were talking to the police, others were clustered around Lilly’s mom or just standing around looking serious.

  Amr and his parents had just come out of their house. Amr’s dad was dressed in business clothes; his mom wore a blue hijab. “What is going on?” she asked my mom.

  “I don’t know,” my mom replied. “Zebby says Lilly is missing.”

  “Missing!” Amr’s mother cried.

  Our parents approached Lilly’s mom to see if there was anything they could do to help. Amr and I hung back at the edge of the crowd.

  A woman came over to us and introduced herself as Detective Marsh. “Are you two friends of Lilly’s?” she asked as she turned to a fresh page in her small notebook.

  Amr and I glanced at each other. “Not really,” I said.

  “We know her,” Amr put in. “But we don’t hang around with her.”

  “I see,” Detective Marsh said. “And what are your names?”

  We told her and Detective Marsh stopped writing. She turned back a couple of pages in her notebook, read a little bit, frowned, then raised her head.

  “You’re the kids who run one of those websites,” she said.

  * * * *

  As soon as my mom and I walked in our house, my mom said, “I want to see this website you and Amr created.”

  She made it sound like the Truth about Truman School was some worthless website and that it was somehow our fault, mine and Amr’s, that people posted all those mean things about Lilly. Detective Marsh was the same way. She wanted to know when we started the site, why we started it, did we know what was on there, did we post any of those mean things about Lilly, did we know who did, did we think it was wise to set things up so that anyone could post whatever they wanted, and on and on and on.

  “It’s really not that bad,” I told my mom as we sat down at my computer. My dad was out with a bunch of people searching for Lilly.

  Mom folded her arms across her chest and waited for the site to come up.

  “It’s not like the whole purpose of our site is to trash Lilly. It’s not. The Truth about Truman School is an online newspaper. It’s a place where anyone at school can go to write about whatever is on their minds.”

  “Even if ‘whatever is on their minds’ is hurtful to someone else?” Mom asked.

  “Well—” That wasn’t my intention.

  When the site came up, Mom reached for my mouse. I watched her scroll past the “Who’s the Biggest Poser at Our School” headline, Lilly’s picture, and all the comments attached to it. She clicked on the link to Lilly’s Lesbian Diary and read through everything on there. Then she went back to our site and clicked on the link to the We Hate Lilly website. With every click of the mouse, the line of her jaw seemed to tighten.

  When she finished reading, she blinked about ten times. Which meant she was upset. “What in the world makes you think it’s okay to post things like this on a website?” she asked.

  “I didn’t post any of that stuff about Lilly. I posted the article about the Lego robotics team, and the article about school food, and the article about—”

  “But you let other people
post it,” she interrupted.

  I clucked my tongue. “I can’t control what other people post!”

  “Sure you can. It’s your website. If you and Amr don’t control what people post on it, who does?”

  “Nobody,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “That’s the point. It’s a freedom of speech issue. We say right on the front page that we aren’t going to censor anyone. So what can we do? We can’t go back on our word.”

  Mom cocked her head, like you know better than that, Zebby.

  “It’s not like I wanted anyone to post this stuff,” I went on. “In fact, I would have preferred they not post it since it’s not exactly news.”

  “So take it down,” Mom said simply.

  “It’s not that simple—”

  “It is exactly that simple, Zebby. You’re the editor of this website. That means you’re the one who decides what’s fit for publication. Do you really think this,” she pointed at the link to Lilly’s Lesbian Diary, “is something worthy of publication?”

  I lowered my eyes. “Not exactly—”

  “Then take it down. In fact, while you’re at it, I’d like you to take down all the articles, drawings, photographs, polls, and comments that could somehow be considered hurtful or offensive to someone else.”

  “There wouldn’t be much left if I did that,” I muttered.

  “Then take the whole thing down,” Mom said.

  “WHAT?” I leaped to my feet in protest.

  Mom stood up, too. “You heard me. You either need to find a way to run this website responsibly, or you need to take it down.”

  Amr:

  It was really quiet at our house the next morning. The explosion had come the night before, when my mom made me show her the Truth about Truman. She got really mad when she saw the site and she said I had to take it down. I told her I couldn’t do that without talking to Zebby.