Portia's Exclusive and Confidential Rules on True Friendship (8 page)

8:16
A.M.,
M
EDIA AND
T
ECHNOLOGY FOR THE
M
ILLENNIUM
C
LASS
, P
ALMVILLE
M
IDDLE
S
CHOOL

M
isty has been trying to get my attention ever since she walked in late to Scuzzy's class. I've got Sweet Sunshine safely nestled between my hat and my math textbook, which are all buried deep inside my book bag. I refuse to even acknowledge Misty. If I do, I might receive an even worse punishment than writing an essay, since third chances are rarely, if ever, granted by teachers.

Every time Scuzzy turns around to write on the board, Misty loud-whispers to me, “Is she here? Do you really
have her in your very own possession? I can't believe you found her!” She grins so wide I think her mouth will break. Her braces sparkle in the morning sun. I look at her only from the corner of my eye. Besides the fact that her purple-tinted braces look extra bright this morning, I notice that she's got a monster pink Band-Aid on her left arm. The plastic strip seems to be hiding red scratch marks.

Mr. Scuzzy is staring at me, repeating my name slowly. “Portia?”

“Hi!”

“Hello, Portia. Now can you tell us how you view twenty-first-century media as it relates to your life.”

“Isn't that kind of personal?”

Mr. S. thinks seriously about what I've just asked. “Interesting. What you're saying is that with the Internet and cell phones and PDAs, media has become personal.”

Following along, I'm surprised how easily I dug my way out of this potentially disastrous teacher/student moment. “Absolutely.”

Then Mr. S. has an idea. “I'd love to hear more about your theory. How about gifting us with a short essay on it for class tomorrow?”

I smile and agree to the assignment. Do I really have a choice?

I mentally take note of Mr. Scuzzy's possible personality problem. Then it hits me that he said “tomorrow.” That means the day after today! This mystifying case starring Misty Longfellow is turning out to have a not-so-kind impact on my free time.

Class sludges forward until the bell finally rings. That's when Misty races over to me. “So extraordinarily sorry I was late today!” She waves her bandaged arm in my face. “Maxwell was extra moody this morning.” She looks around for the soy mayo jar. “Where is she? I've got to see my little girl!”

I lead Misty to my locker, then slowly take Sweet Sunshine's glass condo out of my book bag and hand it to her. She's so overjoyed that she does an ancient rain dance in the middle of the hall. Her dance is so jungle-crazy that she loses her grip on Sweet Sunshine's temporary home and sends the glass jar flying high into the
air. I reach out with both hands to catch it. But another set of hands is there first, intercepting and catching it just before it comes crashing down to the floor.

The two hands and ten fingers belong to Webster!

Misty is horrified at what's she's almost done. When Webster calmly hands her the jar, she quickly checks out Sweet Sunshine, who is shaken, but not stirred. She stares at Sweet Sunshine's big bug eyes. “I promise never to forget you, my Sunshine.” She turns to Webster, but it's no surprise that he's already off to earth science class to challenge his brain cells.

Then I remember something important. Webster and I held hands and hugged in less than one week!

The bell for my next class is about to ring. I hand Misty the postcards Vera gave her, except for the one safe inside my back pocket. “Is it okay if I keep one? There's something about it that reminds me of someone very important to me.”

Happy and grateful for me rescuing Sweet Sunshine and for trying to figure out Maxwell's ongoing psychological problem, Misty enthusiastically says, “Of course!” Then she adds, “So, you'll be coming by to see Maxwell, right?”

“I've got a very busy afternoon.”

Misty discloses alarming new details about the subject. “Maxwell has gone through a complete and total personality change. Now he's snapping, growling, scratching, and snarling!”

I don't want to break my date with Amy, and I've got to go to Trash and Treasures and The Tent to investigate the new material evidence for the Patch case in the form of a postcard, so I suggest, “What if I come by later in the day?”

Misty's voice cracks with emotion. “I've never had a friend…like you before!”

The bell rings and I scramble to my next class, managing to leap into my seat with a forced smile on my face just before the bell has finished its tinny, shrilly ring. A star is born when I casually reach for my social studies notebook as if life right now were totally normal.

2:35
P.M.,
M
ATH
C
LASS
,
P
ALMVILLE
M
IDDLE
S
CHOOL

I
've spent every free minute of the day sneaking peeks at practice quizzes and printed worksheets. Now it's quiz time! When Miss Killjoy hands me the long-awaited math test, which has been pestering me like a hungry mosquito, I surprise myself. I calmly thank her and slowly, with confidence, complete the test before every other kid in the class, with the exception of Webster Holiday, of course.

Without being too obvious about it, I slip this extraordinary piece of my family puzzle out of my pocket to look at it again. It's real! Then I quickly slip it back inside my pocket for safekeeping.

It's five minutes before class ends, so I decide to review the quiz one more time. This time I notice I missed a question. It's for bonus points too.

Since I'm the newly anointed queen of essays, I decide to give it a try. Here's my answer:

A collective sigh is heard in class when the bell rings. The highly anticipated Killjoy pop quiz is now officially over.

3:05
P.M.,
O
UTSIDE
M
Y
L
OCKER
,
P
ALMVILLE
M
IDDLE
S
CHOOL

A
my drops her sketch pad accidentally on purpose directly in front of my locker. Dipping down, she casually flips through the pages filled with colorful drawings. “Pardon
moi
, is this mine?”

“You've got more sketches. I must see what you've been up to at once!”

With a devilish grin, Amy insists, “I'm saving them for later, when we get together. We are meeting up at Purple Haze, aren't we?”

“You're not going to believe what happened. I stumbled on a postcard with Patch's name on it. Actually,
Misty found it when we were at Trash and Treasures. It's a huge, potentially earth-shattering breakthrough in the Patch case.”

Eyeing my newly discovered plaid detective hat, Amy asks, “Where did you pick that up?”

“It's the new hat I wrote you about. Misty found it!”

“Of course she did. So what time are we going to meet?”

“Amy, this afternoon is so jammed. I've got to investigate why Vera has never revealed to me that she knew Patch, and then I have to track down Indigo to discuss this new piece of incredible evidence.”

Amy dramatically slides the sketchbook into one of her dozen designer school totes that she alternates every day of the week.

I continue, “And Misty's bunny is seriously freaking out! He needs me!”

Amy smacks her lips together. “So glad you and new girl are becoming such good friends.”

“What a relief. I thought it was bothering you. Hey, I've got a great idea. Let's all hang out tomorrow!”

“I don't think so. I've got this new friend, and…”
Amy checks her pink bubblegum watch. “Look at the time. I really must go!”

3:23
P.M.,
T
RASH AND
T
REASURES

T
his afternoon Vera wears a straw cowgirl hat, a white T-shirt, and a pair of cut-off jean shorts that cover her knees. She's polishing an over-the-top set of silverware from an era I haven't studied yet in school. She lifts a decorative salad fork against the hanging factory light and casually asks, without looking at me, “How's the case?”

I respond, “Which one?”

She turns to me. “Take your pick!”

I spring into action. In 100 percent investigation mode, I begin, “How long have you lived in Palmville?”

“Since I was born. I've never lived anywhere else.”

“Interesting.”

Setting the fork on the counter, Vera asks, “Something to share?”

“I found new evidence today, by accident.”

Vera then leans against the table, searching for the answer in my eyes. “Now you've got my full attention. Spill.”

Checking to see if my hat is still on my head (it is!), I confront Vera. “You knew my father, didn't you?”

Without missing even half a beat, she answers, “Yes, I did.”

I slip out the postcard signed by Patch and hand it to her. “I thought you were my friend!”

She smiles knowingly. Then, with a mellow tone in her voice, she tells me, “Everything has its own timing.”

I don't say a word, but my face says everything. Vera knows that she owes me more than a cloudy day explanation. She continues with her side of the story. “It just hasn't been the right time to reveal what I know yet.”

I take charge of the moment. “I have an idea. Come to the Patch Powwow on Sunday. Indigo and I are going to review the case. I think you might be of some help.”

Vera is middle-of-the-night quiet. I count to twelve. Then she finally responds, “Is there a time I should show up at your doorstep?”

Careful not to let any hint of emotion slip out, I say, “Dinner will be served at seven.”

With a smile and a wink, Vera says, “Sunday at seven it shall be.”

To avoid any more awkwardness between me and my “friend” Vera, I use the “I have so much homework” excuse to slip out of Trash and Treasures and make my way to The Tent to tell Indigo the news of my radical finding and to ponder this unexpected twist in the case of my missing father.

4:33
P.M.,
C
ONTENTMENT
(T
HE
T
ENT
)

I
slip through The Tent's back door, reserved for employees, delivery people, and me, calling out for Indigo, “Mom, are you here? I need to talk to you!”

Indigo is in her office, balancing her phone against her shoulder while lighting a soy pear candle on her desk. She quickly shakes out the match. “Oh no! Call me later!”

I try to piece together the other part of this dramatic exchange. Indigo calms herself with a deep yoga breath before reaching out both arms for a hug. I oblige, but I can tell that she's still thinking about her most recent telephone conversation. I ask, “Who was that?”

“Rock. The wind has taken a dangerous turn, and he's been stuck up in the canyons since last night!”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Indigo's nervous eyes insist that I switch lanes, so I do. “I read something today that's going to change my life and yours forever.”

“A book?”

“Not a book.”

Indigo leans a little closer to me. I show her the card that I've been concealing in my back pocket. “It's a postcard from Patch!”

Indigo turns so pale that she matches the newly painted office wall. I hand her the card. Her hands tremble as she studies the image and then turns it over to read the message. She quietly asks, “Where did you get this?”

“Misty found it at Trash and Treasures.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “This isn't the right time.”

“When is the right time?”

She hands me back the card. “Let's hold off on this until Sunday.”

I take the card and slip it back into my pocket. “Vera
will be joining us too. She's got a lot to share, and my guess is that she'll offer important new evidence for the case.”

Indigo remains perfectly still. “I thought this was going to be an evening reserved for just the two of us.”

“The case is bigger than us now. We need Vera. She knew Patch. Why didn't you tell me that crucial bit of information?”

Hap rushes up to the door, interrupting this tension-filled conversation. “The pomegranate cake is ready!”

Indigo looks over at him, preoccupied with thoughts of Patch and my new discovery. “I'll be right there.”

He's convinced that he said something wrong. “So terribly sorry,” he says, backing out of the room. “I'll be in the kitchen.”

Walking on eggshells, avoiding a late afternoon argument, Indigo turns to me. “I've got to get back to work.”

I check my watch and see it's getting late. I still have to get over to Misty's house to check on Maxwell. “I've got to go now too. The mystifying Misty case is heating up.”

Indigo tries to ease the tension in the room by redirecting the conversation. “How are things going?”

Tilting my head to one side to get my point across, I tell her, “It's top secret.”

“I understand, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for accepting my double life.”

Her face relaxes. “Of course, honey. Just be back in time for dinner.”

I assure her that I will.

Then I step out into the dining room and wave good-bye to Hap, who is closely examining a pomegranate. Indigo calls out to me, “Portia, why don't you bring Misty a piece of the pomegranate cake? I have a feeling she could use something sweet today.”

Hap senses an opportunity. Losing his grip on the kooky fruit, he stutters, “I'll get right on it, Indigo!” When he says the word “Indigo,” it sounds like it's a sacred artifact to be worshipped and admired. He scrambles behind the counter, quickly packaging a piece of pomegranate cake for me to take to Misty.

I'm just about out the door when Indigo calls, “There's been a change of plans.”

“Okay.”

“Rock will be joining us for dinner tonight. That's assuming he can get off his shift on time.”

Upon overhearing this bit of unfortunate news, Hap drops a drinking glass on the floor; it shatters everywhere.

I shout back, “I wasn't thinking about that kind of change of plans.”

Indigo states her case. “Rock has been fighting fires for two weeks straight. He needs a home-cooked meal. Hurry along, your case is waiting.”

4:57
P.M.,
P
ALMVILLE'S
D
USTY
C
ANYONS

T
hree fire trucks pass by me in less than five minutes. I'm almost up the hill to Misty's house, but first I have to walk by Webster's abode. As I do, I casually sneak a peek at the front yard, which is surrounded by tall green pines. My eyes must be doing tricks on me, because what I see is too unbelievable to actually be nonfiction.
It's Webster and Amy sitting on a blanket together, reading a book. I rub my eyes extra hard and take a second look. Amy catches my eye. She waves emphatically at me, wearing a sly smile.

I decide to run as fast as I can up to Misty's house.

M
INUTES
L
ATER
,
M
ISTY'S
B
ACKYARD

W
hen I get to Misty's house, I race over to her, out of breath, and tell her, “I'm thrilled to be here!”

Misty doesn't know how to react to this sudden show of friendship. Her only response is to do four cartwheels in a row.

Maxwell is napping, so my consultation is temporarily delayed. To pass the time, I sit on Misty's drought-resistant lawn, watching her perform an endless series of cartwheels. She finally takes a break. That's when I offer her the piece of Indigo's pomegranate cake. She opens the package slowly, savoring the moment like it's Christmas morning. When she sees that it's a piece of cake, she's even more enthusiastic. She samples a generous portion. “This is amazing! Your mom is so super amazing! I want to thank her personally for baking this delectable treat. It's simply scrumptious!” She proceeds to attempt a forward flip, which she misses completely, landing right on her derriere.

I run over to her. “Misty, are you okay?”

She laughs uncontrollably. Then we both hear Maxwell let out a loud squeal from under his fleece tent. He's awakened from his nap! Misty immediately switches to a serious mood. “There's no time to waste. You've got to talk to Maxwell.”

Maxwell's shelter is in shambles. The blanket is full of tiny tears. Sharp little teeth marks have bitten into everything in a five-foot radius. It's a full-on demolition derby. And there is Maxwell, madly chewing on an old sock in fast motion, with his eyes stuck in a cold stare.

Misty throws up her long, skinny arms. “Please help, Detective Avatar!”

I immediately adjust my newsboy hat, then tiptoe forward. This startles poor Maxwell, who changes position slightly and returns to his frozen state. Then he stares at me for two long seconds, darts away, and disappears into the darkest and most hidden corner of his hideaway.

Misty's big hazel eyes well up with tears. We hear a car pulling into the driveway. It's Misty's mom! Misty dries her tears with her jaguar-inspired cardigan. “My
mom cannot know this is happening! We must make up a story. Hurry! Why are you here?”

Mrs. Longfellow breezes by us with barely a wave. Misty breathes a sigh of relief, that is, until Mrs. L. turns around and backtracks to us. We start pretending we're gossiping about boys. In a loud voice, I giggle, “That Webster sure is cute!”

Misty forgets that she's acting. “Really? I've been wondering about you two.”

I stretch my eyes as wide as they will go, trying to remind Misty that we're creating an improvisational fiction here!

Mrs. L. takes the bait, looking first at me and then at Misty. “Misty, you're with your new friend again.”

“Mother, she's not just my new friend. She's my best friend!”

I play along and chime in, “It's true!”

Misty forgets that she's acting again. “Really truly, Portia?”

I smile through my teeth. “Of course. I mean, I've known you less than a school week, but it's like we're sisters separated at birth.”

Misty is overwhelmed. “I can't believe my ears! This is—”

Mrs. L. interrupts Misty's joyride. “—all so wonderful, Mysteria. You finally found a friend. Now you won't be wasting your time with those creatures of yours. Hurry along. There must be homework you have to do this afternoon.”

Misty suddenly calls upon her inner acclaimed actress. “Of course, Mother. Portia was just leaving. I'll be right there.”

As soon as Mrs. L. steps into the house, Misty looks into my eyes, and I do the same to her. We both break out giggling at the same time. We're so loud that Maxwell comes out of his hiding place to see what the noise is all about. I catch my breath finally, then the gigglefest begins all over again.

With the exception of playing a leading role in introducing me to my first detention and the fine art of essay
writing, Misty is bringing a lot of interesting adventures into my life. She is definitely unique.

Now that Maxwell has revealed himself, I quickly check him out to see if I can determine why he is behaving so oddly. I pull out all the tricks I perform for Frederick to get him to eat, but nothing works, not even the Guess What Hand the Cat Food Is In? which is always the clincher. I'm stumped. I make a note of his actions and Misty's reactions, then wave good-bye as I head down the winding road toward home for dinner with Indigo, Frederick, and our special guest.