Portia's Exclusive and Confidential Rules on True Friendship (5 page)

5:38
P.M.,
C
ONTENTMENT
(T
HE
T
ENT
)

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.

I immediately respond to Amy's message.

A response from Amy arrives in a matter of seconds.

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

Then I get another message from Amy.

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!”

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.

I quickly text her back.

A new text message flies into my PDA at the speed of digital lightning.

My fingers type fast, faster, fastest.

No response. Then I get an urgent message.

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!

F
IFTEEN
M
INUTES
L
ATER

T
here'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.,
O
UTSIDE
C
ONTENTMENT
(T
HE
T
ENT
)

M
isty 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.,
M
Y
B
EDROOM

F
rederick 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.