Portia's Exclusive and Confidential Rules on True Friendship

by Anna Hays

  Before I have time for a private tutorial from W.H., A.C. steps into the picture, waving a letter-size color pencil sketch of a potential girl detective outfit in my face. She announces, “I’ve done it again! Your new look will send a fashion buzz across the country. It’s positively electric.” She looks over at Webster, while still talking to me, “Am I interrupting something?”

  I quickly jump in, “We were just talking.”

  Webster adds, “About math.”

  Amy winks at him, then finds a seat between us, ignoring the fact that Webster and I were engaged in a conversation. “I’ve been thinking that your new look needs to make a statement that says, ‘I see everything, but reveal nothing.’” She shows me one drawing of a pair of pants that has pockets sewn inside and outside. There are so many pockets that I can barely tell what color she has chosen for the pants. She continues, “The pockets are for the evidence.”

  I check out the sketch and think that even though I do sometimes find bits of evidence that would fit inside a pocket, my real findings are filed in my brain. They are thoughts about the people—or in the case of Maxwell, about bunnies—who are in need of being figured out or who have lost their way.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Misty’s voice. I look up and there she is, swinging her opened pendant in front of me. Excitedly, she screeches, “Sweet Sunshine! She’s gone. I’ve lost her!”

  Thinking on my feet, even though I’m still sitting down, I ask, “Where did you see her last?”

  “At The—”

  I finish her sentence, “Tent!”

  Amy looks up at Misty. “Excuse us, but Portia and I are focusing on serious business here.”

  Misty insists, “This is about a missing cricket with only three legs. I’d say that’s pretty serious.” She sighs. “How will she ever survive without me?”

  Amy just shakes her head in an “I told you so” sort of way, slipping her fashion sketch into the center of her pop-star-emblazoned homework folder. “Portia, text me when you’re ready to get serious about beautification.”

  Caught in the middle, all I can do is just nod okay. In an attempt to escape this tense girl triangle, I take out my PDA to make a few quick notes.

  OBSERVATION: Amy and Misty appear to be from different planets, both of which are currently circling the same galaxy, and unless I figure out a solution soon, they are about to collide!

  I look over at the spot where Webster was sitting, but he’s gone. The first bell rings, and I think I see him caught in the swell of kids rushing to avoid the late bell. With one deep breath, I scoop up my books and zoom in through the front door, careening down the hallway, speed-walking in the direction of Mr. Scuzzy’s Media for the Millennium class. Amy is way ahead of me, while Misty, who has a highly tuned radar for what seems to be my every move, is right beside me. “Portia, we’ve got to find him!”

  I stop my furious pace and decide to listen to what Misty has to say. “I’m all ears.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re an excellent listener?”

  “Thanks—that’s not something I hear a lot. Misty, I’ve never actually been late for class, so do you think you could tell me what you have to say now?”

  “Oh, there I go. Talking, talking, talking.” Misty just barely keeps up with me. She confesses, “Every time I rescue a helpless animal, something always goes wrong. Look what’s happened to Sweet Sunshine!”

  Trying to find a way to help Misty’s current stressed-out state of being while still trying to get to Mr. Scuzzy’s class on time, I insist, “I’m going to find her. She’s at The Tent for sure.”

  Misty admits, “The worst part of my extreme love of animals is that they are usually wild and untamed, which makes for highly unpredictable behavior. I can never guess what’s going to happen next, and that always creates some sort of big mess.”

  The second bell rings. We are now both officially late for Mr. Scuzzy’s class. Running at Olympic speed, I reassure Misty, “I just know we’re going to find Sweet Sunshine.”

  Interestingly, Misty doesn’t seem to care in the least that she’s late for class. In fact, she’s bursting with intergalactic enthusiasm now that she knows I’ll be helping her find her beloved cricket. If she had wings right now, she’d be flying.

  FACT: By agreeing to listen to Misty’s unhappy story about Sweet Sunshine, I’ve broken a highly punishable school rule. I’m late!

  I offer Mr. Scuzzy the legitimate-sounding excuse that I was helping the new girl find her way to the classroom. He buys 74 percent of my story, so he gives me and Misty a simple warning. My nerves are on fire from this unprecedented transgression in my otherwise perfect school record. Amy just smirks at me as I settle into my seat, then rolls her eyes in Misty’s direction.

  After class, Amy breezes by me while I make plans with Misty to meet at The Tent right after school to search for Sweet Sunshine. Misty cheers at the prospect of working together on a rescue.

  Then I casually inquire about progress with Maxwell. Misty covers her mouth and gasps. “I was so wrapped up in Sweet Sunshine’s disappearance, I forgot to check on him this morning! I’ve completely abandoned poor Maxwell! Could we possibly switch our meeting at The Tent until later?”

  “I’ll be there studying all afternoon.”

  “Coolio! I promise to give you a full report on Maxwell when I see you.”

  Misty is almost out the door when I offer, “Look for any unusual signs. Something that appears out of the ordinary.”

  “For sure! I’ll totally look out for any signs of unusualness.” Misty leaves the building, galloping home to collect more evidence for the case.

  I begin my all-too-familiar walk to The Tent from school. Sometimes I play a game where I close my eyes and take long strides down the hill in total darkness. I try it today just for fun. I shut my eyes and get pretty far down the hill until a wild parrot squawks overhead, interrupting my concentration. I follow him as he leads me to a shaded spot under a grouping of palms. I curl up into a comfortable position, the way Frederick does just before he goes to sleep on my bed (when he’s not mad at me). The faint sound of a fire truck fills the still dry air as I open my PDA to input the new data from today.

  3:15 P.M.,

  UNDER A PALMVILLE PALM

  I reflect on the case so far, wondering if there’s a connection between Maxwell’s atypical bunny behavior and Sweet Sunshine’s recent escape.

  That’s when I realize that this new case doesn’t star Maxwell, the super sad bunny. And Sweet Sunshine isn’t the lead subject either. It’s Misty, the animal-loving new girl! There’s a definite unsolved mystery that lies beneath her extreme behavior that needs figuring out.

  IMPORTANT QUESTION: Why is Misty so rescue crazy?

  FACT: It’s a noble cause to save animals from dangerous situations. However, it appears that Misty’s steady stream of rescues prevent her from having a normal middle school existence.

  The Case of Misty Longfellow: The Mystifying Animal Rescuer

  IDENTIFYING DATA

  SUBJECT: Misty Longfellow (aka New Girl). Twelve years old. A recent import to Palmville. Straight brown hair, usually worn with a part down the middle, tucked behind her ears. Big, round, hazel eyes. Wire-rimmed spectacles that have seen happier days. Purple-tinted hardware on all her teeth. Is highly excitable. Appears to have a warm heart, expressed mainly when it comes to helpless creatures of all types and breeds.

  NATURE OF CONTACT: Made a memorable first impression in Miss Killjoy’s class.

  LENGTH OF CONTACT: Approximately twenty-four hours.

  BACKGROUND MATERIAL: Subject is known to rescue stray and wounded animals without blinking. Lives deep in the dusty canyons.

  DIAGNOSTIC CATEGORY: Chronic Animal Rescuer.

  METHODS: Spend time with subject and observe her perplexing behavior.

  Misty mustn’t know that the new case is actually about her. With one press of an onscreen button, my secret data is saved and stor
ed. I look up, expecting to see the sun blazing down on me, but instead, it’s Webster H.!

  NOTE: Webster appears to be popping up a lot lately!

  QUESTION: Could this be a coincidence, or is it an unknown and bewildering boy pattern worth investigating?

  Webster awkwardly begins the conversation. “Are you studying for the quiz? I have determined with 100 percent probability that it will occur tomorrow.”

  Carefully placing my PDA inside the secret pocket of my knapsack, acting as naturally as possible, I make a move to stand up. I respond casually, “Just taking some notes.”

  Like Prince Charming (if he was eleven and a half), Webster reaches for my hand. “Allow me, Miss Avatar. Where are you headed?”

  Without thinking about it, I give him my hand, and suddenly I’m vertical. I look at Webster and simply say, “Contentment.”

  Webster freezes, then asks, “Are you referring to the state of being when one is extremely at ease in one’s situation?”

  “Contentment is my mom’s vegetarian restaurant on Main Street. I’m going to be late.”

  “I understand.” With an outstretched arm, his right hand points in the direction of Main Street. “To Contentment!”

  RANDOM QUESTIONS: Why Webster’s sudden interest in spending time with me? What exactly is that burning question he wanted to ask me when we last met in the canyons?

  I look at myself from an aerial view. Having a boy walk me all the way to Main Street is not something I planned. Throughout the entire journey, I’m church-mouse quiet, not sharing even one noun, verb, or adjective with him. We make it to The Tent in record time, thanks to the high-speed pace I set the whole way there. Outside The Tent, I find myself staring at the front entrance. Webster comments on the antique bell, made from a carved horseshoe, that hangs at the center of the door. “Fascinating, indeed!”

  Trying hard to avoid even one uncomfortable boy/girl moment, I smile. “It’s different.”

  Webster then makes an about-face and steps down the three small steps to the sidewalk. I follow him and catch his hand. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”

  We both look down at our intertwined hands. I gracefully slip mine away, cleverly turning it into a wave. Webster attempts to say something but can’t get the words out. Then, just like that, he’s gone.

  QUESTION: Why is it that boys are even more confusing than middle school math?

  ANOTHER QUESTION: What is the formula for staying cool while in the presence of a boy you might like just a little bit?

  Chapter 8

  5:38 P.M.,

  CONTENTMENT (THE TENT)

  The Pythagorean Theorem

  In any right triangle, the square of the length of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the lengths of the other two sides.

  The hypotenuse is the side of a right triangle that is opposite the right angle.

  Who came up with this theorem? I really want to meet him. I have a few important questions I’d like answered.

  While waiting for Misty, I toil away at homework at my favorite corner table. I decide to take a break from triangles and right angles to picture the new outfit that will be conceived and designed by none other than Amy Clamdigger.

  When it comes to girl detective fashion, I need to be comfortable while still maintaining an air of mystery. The comfort part of the outfit is necessary, in case I am required to run long distances, lift heavy objects, or crawl into dark caves (or maybe a bunny hut!). To achieve the appearance of mystery, it will have to be all about the hat. The hat will set the look, and the rest of the fashion statement will follow from there. I make a note to tell Amy about this detective accessory insight.

  But she’s three steps ahead of me. According to my PDA, an e-mail from one Miss Amy Clamdigger arrived less than fifteen seconds ago. I click on the blinking icon to see what news she brings me this afternoon.

  To: pavatar@palmville.net

  From: mememe@palmville.net

  I know you meant to text me, so I forgive you in advance. No apologies necessary.;) I was browsing the Palmville boutiques this afternoon, scouring the racks for inspiration. Of course I found it, but first things first. What is up between you and Webster? I witnessed you two walking through town together. You weren’t on a date, were you? No way! That just wouldn’t add up. Anyway, back to my inspiration. I see you in pink. Pink has got to play a role in the outfit in some way. Hold everything! My creativity is bouncing off the walls right now. I’ve got to take a beauty nap immediately! I must get my rest before another rendezvous with my “new friend” later. Truffles and tiaras, Amy

  I immediately respond to Amy’s message.

  To: mememe@palmville.net

  From: pavatar@palmville.net

  Thanks for working on my new look. I was thinking about the sketch, and maybe we should mellow out on the pockets. As a detective, I need to be more discreet about where I store my evidence. Peace, Portia

  P.S. Who is your new friend?

  A response from Amy arrives in a matter of seconds.

  To: pavatar@palmville.net

  From: mememe@palmville.net

  Note taken. BTW, meet me at the Purple Haze Boutique off Main on Glenside Drive tomorrow after school. There’s something I want to show you. For now, I’m going to close my eyes and take my beauty nap. It’s important for the balance of my inner and outer well-being. Laughter and lollipops, Amy

  P.S. The true identity of my new friend will remain confidential until further notice. P.P.S. I hear Miss Killjoy’s quiz counts for more than half of our grade. You’re not worried about it, are you? It’s the last thing on my mind. I don’t have a clue why I even brought it up.

  Of course I’m worried about the upcoming math quiz!

  QUESTIONS: Why does Amy have to remind me about this fact when we were in the middle of creating my new image? And what’s the big mystery about her “friend”? Who could this person be?

  Then I get another message from Amy.

  To: pavatar@palmville.net

  From: mememe@palmville.net

  I forgot to warn you. Beware of the animal kingdom. A friendship with insect-loving new girl will only lead to fleas. Paging your favorite laundry detergent!;) Ame

  OBSERVATION: Amy seems to be extra concerned about me spending time with Misty.

  I decide to take a moment to remember how much Amy means to me and make a note to explain to her that my relationship with Misty is purely professional and an opportunity to perfect my detective skills.

  I then focus my attention on other pressing matters. It’s time to study for math, especially because Misty will be here any minute. I find it difficult to focus on the intricate art of mathematics, and so my thoughts drift to the type of hat that will serve as the perfect accent to my upcoming new look. Sun, baseball, floppy, beanie, knitted, cotton, velveteen, skateboard, denim, camouflage, Hawaiian, a scarf, or maybe it’ll be a beret.

  The reason I’m so convinced that it will be the hat that will complete my outfit for the new case is because my traveling father, who has somehow managed to miss the Palmville exit on his way to saving the world from one international disaster after another, always wears a different hat for his cases. I cannot confirm this for sure, because it’s just a theory, but I know in my heart that I share this same detective trait.

  I then reach for my math book, but what I see is Indigo slowly sliding a plate of pomegranate linguini in front of me. It’s her newest creation, part of a growing list of pomegranate productions brought to us (me!) by Indigo and Hap. She stares down at me and, in a sincere mother voice, says, “I want your honest opinion.” Hap stands behind her, nodding in agreement. She continues, “It’s one of our most promising contenders for the new spring menu. I’m even thinking of featuring it as an entree.” She stops herself. “Of course, I’m not trying to influence you in any way.”

  Two sets of eyes stare me down while I wrap the linguini around my fork, a technique that Indigo taught me back when I
was in kindergarten. Carefully I chew on the soft, noodly potential entree. Why do I feel like an animal stuck in a cage, with scientists seriously lacking in social skills examining my every move? To make my performance more believable, I close my eyes as I chew. Then I come up with this: “It’s definitely on the right track. I mean, it’s edible, but not incredible—yet.”

  Indigo lets out a sigh of relief but pushes hard for more positive feedback. “So you like it?”

  Hap sneaks a few words in to congratulate Indigo. “You’ve done it again!” With a movie-star twinkle in his eye, he blurts out, “Indeed an accomplishment!”

  Then it’s hushed silence as I take another bite. Still chewing, I offer, “Maybe it’s a little tart?”

  Indigo listens intently, reviewing all the ingredients in her mind. “Got it.” She turns to Hap. “We must rethink our lemon infusion!”

  Hap is so thrilled that Indigo has included him in the collaboration that he does a backflip in his brain. “Absolutely!” He rushes to the kitchen, eager to make up a new batch of Contentment’s very own brand of pomegranate linguini.

  Indigo leans over to me. “A peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich coming right up.” Her organic cotton ankle-length flowing skirt swirls as she heads toward the kitchen. When she’s halfway there, she turns to me with a peculiar look on her face. “Did you hear that? There’s a chirping sound coming from the latest shipment of wild oats.”

  Playing it dumb with a capital D, I respond, “I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Odd, it sounded distinctly like a cricket.”

  Hiding any sign of alarm, I insist, “No way. It’s not even close to cricket season!”