Portia's Exclusive and Confidential Rules on True Friendship (9 page)

6:36
P.M.,
M
Y
B
EDROOM

F
rederick's tail wags left to right. He's slurping up all the attention he's getting from me after a long day of playing alone. Then he stops short and just stares at me. He sniffs me up and down like an investigator on prime-time television. He wisely suspects that I've been spending time with another animal again, but he still hasn't figured out if it's a cat or not, so he keeps sniffing. I pet the white fur puddle shape on the back of his neck. “Have no fear. I would never substitute you for another four-legged creature.” He rolls over and plays dead. I playfully sneak up behind him to rub his speckled belly,
but he quickly darts out the door and down the stairs.

My PDA sounds off to a new tune. It's Misty. Without even saying hello, I ask, “How's Maxwell?”

She whispers, “He's not responding to anything.”

The wind chimes ring. I rush Misty off the phone. “Dinner is on the table. I'll text you later.”

Misty whispers again, “Enjoy your home-cooked meal. I'll keep watch over Maxwell…Portia.”

The chimes ring a second time, even louder this time. “I've really got to go.”

Misty adds, “I'm so glad you're the detective on this case. I know that Maxwell's situation is perplexing and taking a lot of your free time, but there's got to be a breakthrough soon. I just know it. I still can't believe you're actually helping me—I mean, helping Maxwell.”

“I'll text you later.” I hang up. But before heading downstairs, I quickly update my latest findings.

I hear Indigo giggling at high volume from downstairs. There's a deep voice that's laughing along with her. I can only deduce that the voice belongs to Rock. He's here!

I find my seat at the table, only to discover that Rock has already claimed it. There are Avatar family rules, and Rock has just broken a major one!

Tonight this important family ritual is shaken by a happy-go-lucky heroic type, whose endless stories of rescue and sacrifice are sure to smother any possibility of decent dinner conversation.

As politely as I can, I begin tonight's official dinnertime chat. “Hi, Rock. That's my seat.”

Rock stands up, slowly imitating a cowboy. “Pardon me, Miss Portia,” he says, tipping an invisible hat. Then he casually sidles over to Patch's chair and makes himself comfortable there. I feel a tinge of upper back pain as soon he pulls in the chair and makes his new position official. My neck twitches as he shouts over to Indigo, “Whatever you're cooking, I put in a request in advance for seconds.”

In my imagination, I roll my eyes, but in the real world, I fake a smile.

Trying to recreate our family dinner ritual even though Rock is in the process of invading our nearly perfect existence, I call out to my gray and white best friend, “Frederick. It's dinner!”

Galloping into the dining room, Frederick passes me by, excitedly jumping onto Rock's lap instead. He purrs loudly, showering him with a dozen wet kitty cat kisses.

Rock takes full advantage of the situation. “I don't know what it is about me, but animals love me. I once rescued a cat and…” He begins to rattle on about yet another heroic deed.

I cover my mouth, letting out a big yawn.

Indigo immediately deflects my conspicuous behavior. “Long day today?”

Rock jumps in. “It's been tough out there. And there's still no letup in sight.”

Indigo turns to me and asks, “How about you, Portia? Did you make any progress at Misty's?”

With an exaggerated arm stretch, I yawn again. “I collected a lot of crucial data, and I'm exhausted. I hope I'll be able to make it through dinner.”

Indigo looks at me, but I know she's really talking to Rock. “Why don't you start with the pomegranate yogurt dip and rice chips?”

With a full mouth, Rock crunches, “Did you make these chips yourself?”

Indigo answers demurely, “I did.”

I look at Frederick for a little support. He can't possibly be enjoying this little one-act play that is unfolding before our eyes. But he's still purring up a storm, brushing up against Rock's muscular arms now.

Before I can suggest that “since it's been such a long day, I think it's best that I have my dinner upstairs so I can finish all my homework,” the doorbell rings.

Indigo excuses herself from the table and takes long, graceful strides to the front door. I can barely hear her feet hit the ground. I lean over my chair to see who's there. It's Hap, balancing two giant bags of pomegranates and stumbling down the hall. Forget homework! Now this little soap opera is getting interesting. I wait with anticipation to see what's going to happen next between the lovesick Hap and the mighty Rock.

Indigo leads Hap into the kitchen. He's taking his time, relishing the golden moment that he has just stolen from Indigo. I wave to him.

Rock bellows, “What did the delivery boy bring?” Frederick jumps off Rock's lap and immediately circles Hap, hissing at him, while every few seconds swiping at his calves. Hap tries to appeal to Frederick's adorable catness but fails miserably.

Rock calmly calls Frederick over to him. Frederick then retreats from his surprise attack on Hap and jumps back onto Rock's lap, purring at an exceptionally high volume now.

It's intermission, so I excuse myself from the table. “Indigo, I'll just grab a plate of whatever and do my homework upstairs.”

Indigo can't exactly argue with her daughter, who dutifully offers to do her homework, but she tries to convince me to stay anyway. “Are you sure you don't want to join us?”

I present a totally legitimate excuse. “I've got an essay to write. I really should get to it.”

With a big sigh, Indigo prepares a plate of grilled tofu and other healthy surprises for me. Hap waits patiently, still clutching his two bags of pomegranates, trying to figure out where to place them in the kitchen without getting in Indigo's way. He also tries hard not to respond to Rock's “joke” about him being a delivery boy. But he can no longer suppress his male pride and finally blurts out, “I'm an assistant chef!”

I quickly slip away upstairs, happy to avoid any more of this embarrassing display of random grown-up theatrics.

7:48
P.M.,
M
Y
B
EDROOM

I
take exactly one bite of the grilled tofu and two and half bites of the apple pomegranate relish and sweet potatoes on my plate. Then I grab my PDA to see what messages have arrived in my virtual mailbox. There's a message from Misty.

I press Misty's preprogrammed cell number on my PDA. She picks up after one ring. “It's you!”

“It's me. I can't talk long. I've got Scuzzy's essay to write on media and me.”

“You can do it. You can do anything, Portia.”

“Thanks. I'd better go. It's getting late.”

“Wait! Before you hang up, I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“How was dinner?”

“Since you asked, I witnessed my mother acting like a twelfth grader flirting with tonight's special guest, Rock, the friendly firefighter. Then I watched as she ignored her super cool assistant chef, who showed up all teary-eyed. He blessed her with two bags of pomegranates but then got totally insulted by the firefighter-dude for his efforts.”

“Your family sounds incredible! I don't want to be too pushy, but I'd love to see the whole Avatar family experience in live action one day soon. Hey! I just decided where I want to live someday! Your house!”

“But you've got a great canyon hideaway.”

“Nobody is ever home. My brother is at boarding school and my parents work all the time. All my mom
cares about is if I did my homework or not, and of course if I've adopted a new animal. My family seriously fails to comprehend me.”

“But you're so easy to comprehend. You love animals and you totally appreciate your friends.”

“Gosh, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Just then Amy sends an emergency text message. I'd better see what she has to say. I sign off with Misty. “Oh no! I've got an incoming emergency message.”

Misty insists, “One more question. Can we have lunch together tomorrow?”

“Sure. Good night, Misty.”

Just as I hang up, my PDA flashes again.

I immediately text her back.

Amy responds before I can count to twenty.

I am officially losing my patience with Amy's covert behavior.

A
N
H
OUR
L
ATER
, M
Y
B
EDROOM

 

Twenty-First-Century Media and Technology…and Me by Portia Avatar

7:05
A.M.,
M
Y
B
EDROOM
, A D
REAM

T
he sun peeks through the clouds, sending its warm rays over Palmville. It's early morning. My eyes are half open, but Frederick insists I let him outside. He leads the way down the stairs through the hall into the kitchen out the back screen door through the tall grass in the backyard and up one of our eternally ripe lemon trees. While Frederick peers through a grouping of lemons that hang from the tree, I lean back on the carved wooden bench, tucking a brightly printed canvas pillow under my head. Something startles Frederick. He shimmies down the tree, then gallops over to warn me. I look up to see a swarm of golden butterflies
skywriting a message to me. It says, “Imagine if…” I can't make out the rest of the message because the butterflies decide to fly in all directions, creating a golden yellow cloud that floats far away. DREAM ENDS.

I hop out of bed with a burst of morning energy. This was the first dream I've had about Patch since Indigo and I decided to go on a search for him together. I race downstairs to report to the Dream-Checker-in-residence. She'll want to hear about the awesome details in living dream colors.

7:13
A.M.,
A
VATAR
K
ITCHEN

I
ndigo is in high spirits this morning. The breakfast menu, which is never quite the same, features pomegranate muffins with lemon-lime butter. I sample one, biting off just the crispy browned edge. “I had a dream last night!”

She spins around, her long Indian skirt following her dramatic move. “How wonderful. Tell me everything!”

“The golden butterflies were back. This time with a
message they wrote in the sky just for me. I know what they were saying too, even though they didn't actually finish the sentence.”

Indigo isn't a fortune-teller, but she can predict what I'm about to say next. “Dad is on his way home!”

Indigo, who is now back behind the kitchen counter prepping my lunch for school, turns to me. Her voice cracks. “Really?” I pretend not to notice that her light morning mood is slowly darkening. She tries to keep up a cheerful tone. “Your lunch is ready, and I've got to get you to school now.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I grab my overstuffed book bag with my lunch crammed inside, feel for the postcard from Patch in my back pocket, and before I close the front door behind me, I shout to Frederick, “I'll see you later! Be a good cat. And I promise we'll have lots of playtime in the very near future.”

7:58
A.M.,
P
ALMVILLE
S
TREET

I
ndigo drives insanely slow today. She has no idea that the other drivers are tossing nasty sneers her
way. She moves at her own pace, trying hard to protect me from the
dangerous
roads of our small-town paradise.

I look out the window while I casually mention, “Vera told me that the circumstances surrounding Patch were about timing.”

Indigo, the super safe driver of all time, swerves the car, then realigns the vehicle and her mind. “She told you?”

For a more dramatic touch, I nod and don't say anything.

Indigo stutters as the car pulls to a stop in front of school. “You know it was a twist of fate how Patch and I met in the first place.”

Pretending to know exactly what she means, I say, “I know.”

Her shoulders sink back, and she's more relaxed now. “Vera just happened to be the one who introduced us.”

I leap up off my seat. “What?”

“Vera told you how she introduced me to Patch the first day he got into town, right?”

I open the door and step out, then lean into the car. “Vera told me that she knew Patch, not that she intro
duced him to you. This changes everything!” I close the door and walk down the stairs in the direction of the school's main entrance.

Indigo just sits there in the car, staring at me. I calmly continue walking.