by Anna Hays
Indigo is thankfully more concerned with how to feature pomegranate on her new menu than she is with figuring out my logic, which is not very “logical.” I know exactly who is chirping in the pile of oats. On cue, an urgent message from Misty arrives in my PDA’s in-box.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Please don’t hate me! I’m on my way. I was trying to calm Maxwell’s nerves this whole time. He’s acting even more bizarro. Infinite unusualness abounds! I’ve tried to make mental notes of everything. Maybe there’s a clue somewhere in there for you to pursue.
I quickly text her back.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
She’s here!
A new text message flies into my PDA at the speed of digital lightning.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Where?
My fingers type fast, faster, fastest.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Sweet Sunshine is residing in the oats. She must have popped out when you introduced her to me!
No response. Then I get an urgent message.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
I told my mom that we would be studying for math together until dinner. Are you cool with my minor deception? I hope so, because I’m right outside now.
Misty rushes in through the beaded entrance. At full volume, she announces, “We’ve only got thirty minutes to find Sweet Sunshine!”
A handful of customers at the other tables turn to look at who is behind this thundering declaration. I whisk Misty off to the counter near the bag of oats where Sweet Sunshine is hiding out, smiling at The Tent’s diners and my mom along the way. Indigo whispers to me as I pass by her, “You’re not going to let your case get in the way of your studying, are you?”
Thinking quickly, a required skill for any detective, I say, “We are studying. We’re taking a break.”
“But didn’t Misty just get here?”
“Mom, our collective brains are on math overload. We need a whole grain snack to restore our brain cells so we can properly concentrate.”
Thankfully, Hap calls Indigo back into the kitchen to review tonight’s specials. Misty and I take full advantage of the opportunity to find Sweet Sunshine!
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER
There’s no sign of Sweet Sunshine anywhere. Not even a chirp. Indigo has checked in on us every five minutes, so that hasn’t helped our search either. And now Mrs. Longfellow is on her way over to The Tent to pick up Misty. We’ve accomplished exactly nothing. To add to this unsuccessful mission, neither of us has studied for the impending math quiz.
6:43 P.M.,
OUTSIDE CONTENTMENT (THE TENT)
Misty and I sit on the hand-carved Indian bench and wait for Mrs. Longfellow under the starry night. I look at Misty, defeated. “Killjoy is going to kill us!”
Misty agrees. “A lost cricket is a terrible excuse for not studying. Oh, gee, I did it again! I’m so incredibly sorry, Portia Avatar: Girl Psychoanalytic Detective.” Tears fill her round hazel eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”
This is a chance to pursue the case a little further to determine why Misty gets so overly involved with her subjects, but I decide it’s more important to just be her friend right now. “I promise to keep looking for Sweet Sunshine. Let’s make a pact that we won’t give up until the three-legged cricket is finally found.”
Misty looks up at me, hopeful for the first time in more than twenty-nine minutes. She leaps to her feet. “Sweet Sunshine couldn’t have gotten lost in a better place! With your watchful eye and all the oats, fresh fruit, and raw vegetables she can eat, it’ll be like a bug spa retreat. She won’t ever want to come home!”
Mrs. Longfellow pulls up in her shiny station wagon and doesn’t bother to say hello. She seems to be in a big rush and appears to be very low on patience. She shouts to Misty through the opened passenger-side window, “Get in the car!”
Misty quickly jumps in. As the car starts to pull away into the Palmville night, she shouts, “I’m so pleased you’re my new friend.”
“Thanks, Misty.” Mrs. L. doesn’t even wait long enough for me to wish Misty a good night.
I sit back on the bench and look up at the expansive universe above me and wonder what tomorrow will bring. Today was a grab bag of surprises. I break out laughing when I think about how Webster and I held hands for almost five seconds! I catch myself, straightening out my hair, looking at the passersby from the corner of my eye, making sure no one witnessed my momentary slip.
I take a long pause and silently ask the glittery bursts of energy overhead to work together with me tomorrow when I sit in Killjoy’s class facing a letter-size sheet of white paper covered with triangular shapes and unfamiliar combinations of numerals. I ask the moon that is on its way to utter fullness to please keep Sweet Sunshine safe tonight and let tomorrow be the day when Misty and I finally find her. I make a promise with our neighboring planets to remind Amy C. that our friendship is exactly the same today as it was yesterday and the day before, too. Then I make a special request to the entire Milky Way galaxy to please let Frederick forgive me for spending so much time away from home and for not playing fetch or rubbing his belly or sneaking him a spoonful of his favorite canned cat food.
9:35 P.M.,
MY BEDROOM
Frederick sleeps in the far corner of my room again, closing his eyes, pretending that my dirty laundry pile is more comfortable than my fluffy purple down comforter. I sit up, propped by an extra stash of round velvet toss pillows, staring at my open math textbook. Sample formulas and equations on worksheets are spread out everywhere. Miraculously, I manage to get through two practice quizzes and feel 55.6 percent ready for tomorrow, which will in all likelihood be the day that Killjoy will bestow the quiz upon our math class.
Like I do most every night, I wash my face with mind-expanding mango and kiwi blend and then slip under the covers. As I prepare for sleep, I find myself creating my own theorem.
Portia Avatar’s Theorem
There is exactly one mother, one cat, and one daughter, the sum of which equals the current makeup of the Avatar home. If one father, whose name is Patch, only knew how important his presence in this current incomplete formula would be and how it would lead to maximum happiness, then he would with 100 percent certainty grab the next plane, hop the next train, or catch the next bus to Palmville, USA.
Chapter 9
8:48 A.M., MEDIA AND TECHNOLOGY
FOR THE MILLENNIUM CLASS,
PALMVILLE MIDDLE SCHOOL
Media for the Millennium is in progress. The discussion this morning is on media and our absorbent minds. Mr. Scuzzy, who wears his usual black T-shirt and faded jeans accompanied by a pair of original Converse All Stars, is midway through a description of what the brain looks like when it discovers something new. I feel a tap on my shoulder halfway through Scuzzy’s next sentence about programming our internal circuitry. Then a note drops onto my lap.
Maxwell hasn’t touched his food in twenty-four hours, but he’s getting bigger!
It doesn’t make sense. He needs another visit from a professional (aka you!).
Any news on my Sweet Sunshine?
Your newest best friend,
Misty
Mr. Scuzzy appears from out of nowhere, looking down at me with a disappointed look on his face. All I can manage is a very weak, “Hi, Mr. S. Nice weather, isn’t it?”
“It’s fire season and unseasonably hot.”
“I see your point.”
Staring at Misty’s handwritten note, which she wrote on bright purple stationery (did she have to be obvious about it?), he gestures for me to hand over the evidence. Because he’s a teacher on the cool side, he doesn’t read the note out loud. But because he’s a teacher, he requests my pr
esence (and Misty’s, too) after school.
When the bell rings, Amy brushes by me. She whispers to me like she’s telling me a really big secret, “Check your book bag.” On my way out the door, I reach into the outer pocket of my bag and discover another handwritten note. This one was scribbled quickly on a torn piece of graph paper.
Well, I guess we’ll be rescheduling our boutique visit for tomorrow. BTW, from one close friend to another: malaria, yellow fever, the plague? I told you, P. Stay away from new girl. Stay far away! Do you even know what you’re getting into?
9:03 A.M., STUDY HALL,
PALMVILLE MIDDLE SCHOOL
Safely inside study hall with twenty-three minutes of “study” time ahead of me, I jot down a few more notes about the early and yet significant developments of this mystifying case, starring Miss Longfellow, before preparing for the imminent math quiz.
RECENT FACTS SURROUNDING MISTY’S CASE:
1. Misty continues to think about her animal friends 24/7.
2. Misty is an amateur at passing notes.
2:35 P.M., MATH CLASS,
PALMVILLE MIDDLE SCHOOL
IMPORTANT NEWS: No math quiz today!
When the bell rings at the end of Miss Killjoy’s class, Webster scratches his head, completely stumped by his miscalculation. I come up to him to say hi, but he’s too busy inputting number combinations into his supersonic calculator to notice that I exist. It’s as if we’ve never held hands!
FACT: Boys are seriously unpredictable.
3:35 P.M.,
MR. SCUZZY’S CLASSROOM (DETENTION),
PALMVILLE MIDDLE SCHOOL
Mr. Scuzzy circles around me and Misty, who sit like cowgirls in an old Western, tied to a tree with a flaming fire just below our feet. I can feel small beads of sweat form around my forehead. It is unseasonably hot! Maybe the fires just outside town have something to do with that fact. I decide to clasp my hands together and place them on top of the desk, pulling out all the “I am really a good girl who never gets into trouble” stops. Mr. S. falls for my performance, because he spends only three minutes on a mini-lecture about respecting others and the value of paying attention in class. He finally steps up to the front of the room and leans against his desk, folding his arms across his chest. He looks first at Misty and then at me. He proclaims, “I’m going to give you ladies a challenge.”
I hold my tongue, knowing that it’s after school, which means the in-classroom rule about speaking up without raising your hand is even more strictly enforced. I keep my mouth shut, but my hand shoots up. Mr. Scuzzy motions for me to speak. I begin, “I’m all about challenges, Mr. S.”
Misty leaps up. “Me too!” She looks at me for approval, but I ignore her, for fear of another after-school lecture from Mr. Scuzzy.
Mr. Scuzzy explains the challenge. “I’d like you both to write a short essay about second chances. It’s your second chance to make up for today, and you may even earn bonus points, if you wow me.”
When Mr. S. gives us the final okay to leave, I am ultra polite. I collect my belongings and slowly make my way out the door. As soon as the door is closed behind me, I race outside to freedom. Misty jogs up beside me. “Isn’t Mr. Scuzzy so handsome? And we might even get extra points! That is just totally awesome of him!”
“Misty, Mr. S. just gave us extra work to do on top of all our other homework. And there’s still the random pop quiz coming any day now in Miss Killjoy’s class.”
“That is so correct! What was I thinking? You are so wise, P. Avatar. Can we go find Sweet Sunshine now?”
FACT: I am annoyed with Misty’s overeager personality right now!
QUESTIONS: Maybe Amy’s warnings were right. Maybe new girl is trouble with a capital T. Or could it be that Misty tries too hard? Is she just new at this whole friendship thing and so doesn’t know how to act like a normal kid who has been practicing the art of friendship since before kindergarten?
I decide to be professional, stick my emotions in my back pocket, and stay on track with the case. Trying to remain cool, even though my internal thermometer is about to burst, I insist, “I need to make one stop first. Vera is counting on my help with the new shipment of lamp shades.”
Misty sits down on the sidewalk, with her hands clasped over her head. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
“No Misty, Vera Alloway is truly waiting for me!”
“Who is Vera? Can I meet her? I won’t be a bother.”
“It’ll just be for a minute.”
Misty brightens like the morning sun. Her practical leather ready-for-rain-and-shine sandals are now solidly on the ground. “You actually mean you’re going to continue speaking to me even after I severely got you in trouble?”
I remind her, “It’s for the case, Misty.”
Embarrassed, she meekly responds, “Of course, the case. For sure, it’s for the case.”
Finally picking up on the fact that I’m not feeling immensely talkative, Misty slows down the speed of her chatter. Silence passes between us until we get to the entrance of Trash and Treasures.
Chapter 10
4:01 P.M.,
TRASH AND TREASURES
I open the front door to Trash and Treasures and make my way past the overflowing shelves and racks of torn mink coats, pointy party shoes, worn-out suede jackets, saggy sofas, and chipped flower vases. Misty walks around with her head turning in all directions at once, soaking up the unusualness of Vera’s magnificent interior junk festival.
Misty then gasps in astonishment as she scoops up something incredibly special. It’s a hat! It was sitting there all by itself, balancing between two racks of donated Halloween costumes. It’s got “girl detective” written all over it. She hands me this precious new discovery. I place it on my head. It fits perfectly. I declare, “This will be the hat that guides me through the rest of the case!”
DESCRIPTION OF HAT: A plaid newsboy hat in all shades of pink with white, red, yellow, and a touch of brown.
QUESTION: How did Misty know that I was looking for a new hat for the case?
FRIENDSHIP RULE #2: True friends surprise you when you least expect it.
Where is a mirror in this junk palace? I weed through piles of dated encyclopedias and used paperback dictionaries. I don’t find a single mirror, but I discover the lamp shade shipment untouched. I’ve got to find Vera to ask about the price tag of this stupendous chapeau and see if I can postpone my assistance with the lamp shades for another day. “Paging Vera Alloway? If you can hear me, please give me a sign.”
Nothing.
I go back to my hunt for a mirror. As I weave through this highly disorganized dust palace, I turn around, and there’s Vera holding an antique hand mirror with a tarnished silver frame and handle. She casually comments, “Nice hat.”
OBSERVATION: Vera always knows what I’m thinking. She is a mind reader.
She continues, “It’s yours,” and hands me the mirror, which looks like its previous owner was a pampered princess out of a colorful fairy tale.
I take a long look at the hat. “I love it! It’s just what I need for my new case.”
Then Misty pops up from behind a rolling rack of Hawaiian shirts. “Hi, Vera Alloway. I’m Misty Longfellow!”
Vera extends her hand for a hearty shake. “So you’re the mysterious new girl in town.”
Misty is all smiles. “Portia told you about me?”
Vera rests her arm on the saddle of a lopsided gold-plated carousel horse and asks Misty, “How’s progress on the case?”
Misty confesses, “It’s all my fault. Now we’ve got to find Sweet Sunshine, and then there’s Maxwell, who is definitely not doing well at all.”
I step in. “Vera, do you mind if I hold off on helping you with the lamp shades today? The case has sprouted a new micro-mystery in the form of a three-legged cricket.”
Vera lets out a belly laugh that fills the cluttered room. She looks me in the eye, almost as if she’s an eye doctor about to check if I need gl
asses or not. “The lamp shades can wait; sounds like the cricket can’t!”
Vera notices Misty admiring a few faded postcards. “Take them. They’re yours.”
Misty leaps up like a cheerleader. “A gift?”
“Enjoy!” Then Vera calls me aside with some advice. “Stay on track. Follow all leads and remember to listen. That’s how you’ll solve this one.”
I want to explain to Vera that the case is not about creatures in peril anymore, but instead it’s about Misty herself. I whisper, “Everything has changed.”
Vera is now ushering me out the door, with Misty close behind me. She smiles. “Nothing ever stays the same. That’s one of the biggest rules that the universe has to offer us.”
Chapter 11
5:56 P.M.,
CONTENTMENT (THE TENT)
Misty and I dump our book bags at “my” table. Misty takes out the old postcards she’s just received from Vera and begins to examine them. Indigo joins us, carrying a book entitled The Peculiar Pomegranate.
NOTE: Even though Indigo has been cooking food and inventing recipes for all of her adult life, she never stops studying the art of food creation.
QUESTION: I wonder if I’ll be an eternal student of something I love and follow in her determined-to-learn-something-new-every-day footsteps.
Hap nervously approaches Indigo with a plate of misshapen pomegranates. Indigo slowly and meticulously examines each piece of fruit. Finally she says, “These are great picks, Hap. I think we’ll be able to work with all of them. Just keep them here for now. I need to taste a few before we start cooking. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen in a few minutes.”
Hap looks relieved and grins. “Right, Indigo. I’ll be there! Waiting.”