Portia's Exclusive and Confidential Rules on True Friendship (2 page)

12:15
P.M.,
C
AFETERIA
,
P
ALMVILLE
M
IDDLE
S
CHOOL

A
my is midway through one of her famous Clamdigger monologues. “P., I am so excited for
moi
. Yesterday Mama agreed that I deserved another sparkling new pair of wedged flip-flops and so, yes, they are ordered, purchased, and waiting for me as we speak. I got the confirmation e-mail this morning.”

“That's so cool, Ame. I'm incredibly thrilled for you.” I look down at my worn pair of flats and plot how I will convince Indigo that I deserve a sparkling new pair in a different color next time. Maybe blossoming pink. I quietly determine that my wardrobe is in need
of a serious rescue mission if it's going to survive the rest of the school year.

Amy continues, “Life is delectable. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be right now. Maybe the Queen of England. Erase that thought. She's ancient. I guess that leaves little young me again.”

Sometimes I have to tune out Amy's random meanderings. I know that she basically means well, but she has this weird habit of thinking too much about herself. She gets so caught up in Amy with a capital A that she forgets about her best friends, for example, Portia with a capital P.

As I think about Amy and look around at the other tables with groups of kids huddled together at the same
spots they have claimed since the first day of school, I wonder what makes a friend a friend.

I slide my PDA from the side pocket of my knapsack and type in the following: “Portia's Exclusive and Confidential Rules on True Friendship.” Careful not to attract attention, I pretend that I'm checking my horoscope, while I clandestinely type in my first rule.

Then I look up from my PDA to experience a strange moment. Silence. Amy Clamdigger silent? She stares me down with suspicious eyes. I fumble, then regain my composure. I search for a way to fill the dead air space with a fictional account to distract Amy. Scrambling, I say, “Cozmik Newz reports that my intuitive powers will be on overdrive today!”

“So what else is new? Your brain is always on the
lookout for something unusual.” She takes a bite of her grilled-cheese-and-tomato pressed sandwich, then surprises me. She asks me something about myself. “How's the case going with your missing-but-somewhere-in-the-universe father? Is he still halfway across the globe?”

“Not sure yet. Being a Girl Psychoanalytic Detective definitely has its ups and downs.”

“So what's it today? Up or down?”

“I'd have to say it's moving in a downward direction at the moment.”

Suddenly, from the shadows of the endless rows of plastic cafeteria chairs, Misty appears, leaning over my shoulder. “You're the one!”

I decide to interpret her mysterious comment as a compliment and thank her. She just stands there with her feet glued to the ground; not even her toes move. Then she sits down in an available plastic chair at our table. She nervously tries to join in on my conversation with Amy. She begins with a question. “Did you say ‘detective'?”

As I try to figure out if I'm going to reveal my double identity as a detective to “new girl,” I watch Misty adjust her wire-framed glasses, which are hopelessly bent out of shape. She can't wait another second for my response. “Did I do something wrong? It's just that I think you're incredible, Portia Avatar. You're utterly and completely the person I've been looking for since preschool.”

Amy, meanwhile, pores over her new copy of Kewl Teenz magazine, refusing to even acknowledge Misty's presence at the table. Every once in a while, I hear a loud, exaggerated sigh emerging from Amy's side of the table from behind the fluorescent glossy teen zine. For a split second, Amy even turns her head to check out the exchange between me and Misty. That's when I hear a loud scream. Amy leaps dramatically from her chair, sending it flying across the cafeteria, bouncing like an oversize toddler's toy. She points madly in the direction of the table, shrieking, “That thing is back!”

Then I see it too. Misty has brought Ralphie back for his second school visit of the day. She stumbles out of her chair and starts chasing Amy around the cafeteria, opening and closing the purple retainer case, insisting that Ralphie has been safely relocated, promising that the only thing that resides in her retainer case now is her red-tinted plastic molded retainer. Amy screams anyway, “Get that thing away from me!”

The rest of the kids in the near vicinity crack up at the live comedy act that's totally free of charge. Before you
can say “super-awkward moment,” Amy has vanished out the door, clinging to her designer tote, which contains half of her life. Her more-than-a-little-bit perfect hair is less than perfect now, which is by my calculation what's really upsetting her most.

I slowly walk toward the overturned chair and make believe that no one is watching me as I drag it back to the table. When I sit down again, I check my lemon yellow daisy wristwatch, wishing and hoping that time will pass faster than usual, even though it's against the laws of astronomy. There's exactly four minutes and thirty seconds left until the bell rings.

Misty stares into my eyes and declares, “I have a case for you to solve. It's about a very close friend of mine who is in desperate trouble.”

I don't even blink. “Sorry, Misty. I've got a major case on my hands that still needs solving.”

Wearing every emotion on her face, including sad, worried, excited, and anxious, Misty plows ahead. “It's only someone's life at stake!”

After a long pause followed by an ocean of anticipation, I ask her, “Are you serious?”

Then the bell rings.

Misty completely ignores it. “Yes! Detective Avatar, would you leave a friend out in the cold? I know you better than that.”

I find myself saying, “Let's talk more about your ‘friend in need' later at my mom's restaurant, Contentment. I'll be there after four.”

Misty skips in place. “You mean you might actually consider the case? This is the most joyful news I've heard all century!” She stops skipping. “I forgot to tell
you one thing. No one must know anything about this. It's top secret.”

I assure Misty that it's my job as a girl detective to keep secrets. I'm a professional.

She responds, “Absolutely, of course, for sure.”

3:03
P.M.,
H
ALLWAY,
P
ALMVILLE
M
IDDLE
S
CHOOL

I
load up my books, preparing myself for a long afternoon of homework. As I place one five-pound book after another into my knapsack, I wonder about the case that new girl had brought up earlier at lunch.

I grab one of the magenta shoulder straps of my book
bag and secure it under my arm, then feel around for the other strap, which is hanging just out of my reach. Suddenly Webster Holiday appears and hands me the strap. He gives me a half-moon smile. “Gravity can be so unkind, Miss Avatar.”

Adjusting the strap on my shoulder, I quietly say, “Thanks, Webster. Did you have even a vague idea of what Killjoy was talking about in class?” Forcing a laugh, I answered my own question. “Of course you did. You're a total math genius.”

Webster's face remains 97 percent expressionless. “I've done the numbers and have determined that there's a high probability that Killjoy's math quiz will
be sprung upon us in the next forty-two hours.”

For some unknown reason, I get a major energy boost and continue on my word safari going nowhere. “I'm so not ready for it. Thanks for the warning, though. I know Miss K. is going to throw in some trick questions, and she always adds ridiculous bonus questions too.”

I look around and notice there's no Webster anywhere anymore. It's just me talking to myself—with a surprise new guest. Miss Killjoy is standing right next to me. “Portia, is there something you want to discuss with me?”

Embarrassment central! “No, Miss Killjoy. I'm perfectly fine. Webster was here, and…never mind.” Staring at my math textbook sitting on the top shelf of my locker, I decide to distract her from thinking too much about my peculiar behavior. “Wow, math is such a mind-boggling subject.”

Miss K. smiles and responds, “I like to think so. Good afternoon, Portia!”

Before she picks up on the fact that my sincerity meter is way down below zero, I break free of her piercing eyes and make a run for it, out the door, down the hill covered with painted desert flowers, past the straight line of tall,
skinny palms, through a man-made stone path toward town. I head to my after-school job helping out at the dusty wonderland Trash and Treasures, Palmville's one and only junk shop.

My brisk walk to Trash and Treasures is accompanied by a sweet-sounding medley of Palmville's finest bird residents. It's true that all the birds are extremely happy here. They sing about this fact day and night. My guess is that this widely varied bird population, which includes wild parrots, mockingbirds, catbirds, and nightingales, enjoys living in Palmville because the weather is nearly perfect, except of course for major earthquakes, severe droughts, flash floods, and seasonal wildfires. Whenever we're not experiencing a total natural disaster, life is pretty much blue skies and warm breezes.

I rub my eyes as I walk toward Main Street. The dryness in the air is a possible clue that maybe the wildfires are getting closer than the weatherpeople report on the news. I immediately erase that thought from my brain and instead weave through all the shortcuts I know by heart until I arrive just below the hand-painted sign that hangs at the entrance of Trash and Treasures.

3:24
P.M.,
T
RASH AND
T
REASURES

I
t's always wisdom central with Trash and Treasures owner Vera Alloway. Her answers are usually
questions. Her questions are almost always answers. And she makes you think in a way that doesn't feel like homework.

Announcement! If you have anything in your house that you think is worthless, broken, or out-of-date, give it to Vera. She'll make sure it's fixed and transformed into something amazing. Every day she carefully polishes, paints, and glues together combinations of collectibles, wobbly furniture, and formerly extraneous knickknacks. Vera strongly believes in second chances, especially for discarded pieces of junk.

Vera says she's old enough to know. I'm pretty sure
that means she's sixty-three. I have reason to believe that she reads minds, too. She can always tell what's on my mind before I even open my mouth. Even though Vera has been around since the last century, I've only gotten to know her over the past few months since the earthquake, when Indigo first volunteered my services at Trash and Treasures. At first it was, “Thanks, mom.” But as I got to know Vera and her mystical secret world of junk, not to mention her endless supply of more-than-decent advice, it quickly became, “THANKS, MOM!”

I hear a muffled voice from Vera's mysterious back room. “Care for a pomegranate, Ms. Avatar?” The voice belongs to Vera. It grows louder as I see her walk toward me, clutching a dozen torn prom dresses. She places them in a messy pile next to me on the floor. “I never knew how heavy lace could be!” Then she hands me a pomegranate.

I happily accept the offering. “Indigo is going to love this. I'm sure she'll find a way to turn it into something ‘interesting.' How did you know she was on a pomegranate mission?”

“I didn't.”

Vera then directs me to the part of the store reserved
strictly for music. Faded sheet music balances on shelves, crooked concert posters line the wall, and prehistoric audiocassettes fill the secondhand wood-paneled bookcases. Vera invites me to help her sort through a new shipment of vinyl records.

Vera selects one of the vinyl records. On the cover is a photo of a woman with big hair named Patsy Cline. The title of the album is Sentimentally Yours, and the word “Heartaches” also appears on the cover. Vera carefully slips it out and places it on the turntable. The music plays at full volume. Vera smiles a rare smile, then does a shuffle as she reaches for her trusty measuring tape. It's almost as if she's dancing. She looks at me with squinty eyes. “What happened to your necklace?”

I look down at the necklace I'm wearing today, a gift from Vera. The gold-plated shooting star hanging from a simple chain is now completely unrecognizable. “Ralphie did it! I swear I'm going to squish him the next time our paths cross!”

Vera looks at me with a sparkle in her eyes. “That's a pretty darn bold move, missy!”

“You don't understand. Ralphie has eight legs. Seven should serve him just fine!”

Vera crinkles her nose like she's got an itch.

I then recount the strange adventure of Misty and her deceptive retainer case. I describe Misty's cave-girl message to me about “being the one” and her out-of-the-blue-sky request for me to take on a new case featuring her alleged “friend in need.” The more I tell Vera this unusual tale, the more she insists, “This Misty chickie sounds like a live one! Taking on this new case will only help sharpen your detective skills. As I see it, it's a no-lose situation, Ms. Avatar.”

I look straight into Vera's eyes. I can't argue with her crystal-clear wisdom. I take a deep breath and then exhale. “Okay, I'll do it. But I think you should know that
I'm an incredibly busy person with miles of homework and a pop quiz on the way. I'm not sure there are enough hours, minutes, seconds, or even nanoseconds in the day or night to take on another case!”

Vera says with the cosmic patience of an old lioness, “You'll find a way.”

She then disappears into the back office while I sort through recycled prom dresses to the scratchy country melody playing in the background. I decide to arrange the dresses by color instead of size, just to keep things entertaining. Almost an hour passes, and then the sound of a rooster's crow from my PDA signals that it's time to head off to Contentment. I lift the mechanical arm from the record player just at the point when Ms. Cline is singing about how she's longing for a lost love who had blue eyes. I turn off the record player and shout good-bye in the direction of Vera's office.

Vera responds, “So long, Portia. You know that you're on your way to a new discovery!”

I'm still not sure if taking on Misty's new mysterious case is the best timing. With some hesitation, I answer, “I hope so!”

Before I leave, Vera adds, “I'll see you next time. A new shipment of lamp shades is coming in on Wednesday. I'll need some help sorting them.”

“I'm there!” And just like that, with my knapsack back on over my shoulders and a pomegranate in one hand, I'm out the door.

Under the Palmville sky, a handful of wild parrots flock from one tree to the next, chirping and flapping their way down the street, hovering just above me, like guardian angels, making sure I make the short trip to my mom's restaurant safely.