Portia's Exclusive and Confidential Rules on True Friendship by Anna Hays

strikes me as different from the others. It doesn’t appear to be as old-fashioned. The image invites me to wonder where it is and why its writer has traveled so far away from home. I’ve never seen an ocean so crystal blue. The sandy beach, in contrast, is a pure white. Tall green ferns sway in the breeze. There’s not a person, animal, or building in sight. It’s a desert island! What sparks my curiosity most about this image is the message printed in a bright, sunshine yellow color on the upper right corner. It reads, “Imagine.”
    I turn over the card with great anticipation. Whispering the message to myself, I read the note.
    Aloha, Vera.
    Your glorious gift is beyond description.
    Fondly, Patch
    My whole body shakes as I spell out the letters. P-A-T-C-H. It’s him! This is a postcard from my nowhere-to-be-found father!
    All I see is the postcard. Everything else around me is a total blur. My heart beats faster as I check the address,and there it is, Trash and Treasures, 278 Main Street, Palmville, CA. That means Vera knew Patch! They even had a correspondence!
    IMPORTANT QUESTIONS: Why would Vera pretend not to know my father? Why would she let me run around in circles trying to find him when she clearly possesses key information about him?
    IMPORTANT FACT: No real friend would do that to another friend.
    I feel a tap on my shoulder, which shakes me from the mild state of shock in which I find myself. I look up, and it’s Webster. “Ms. Avatar.”
    I gasp. “Webster! It wasn’t supposed to be you!”
    â€œAre you certain about that?”
    â€œYes, absolutely!”
    He scratches his head. “I was wondering something.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œIt’s a personal question. Do you mind?”
    I look around for Misty to appear and rescue mefrom this really uncomfortable boy/girl exchange. “Is it the same question you were going to ask me a few days ago?”
    â€œUh, I was wondering…”
    The first bell rings, signaling that we have two minutes to get to Mr. Scuzzy’s class. I grab my knapsack and stand up so quickly that I lose my grip on Sweet Sunshine’s glass home. Webster tries to help me prevent the jar from hitting the ground and shattering into a thousand pieces. As we struggle to keep the jar from falling, the cover loosens and out jumps a very anxious Sweet Sunshine.
    She immediately crawls around the back of my shirt! With a book bag on my back and a glass jar now in my right hand, I take my left hand and try desperately to catch Sweet Sunshine, causing my books to spill from the bag, flying into the air. Webster leaps to the rescue, carefully collecting the books one at a time for me.
    I spot Sweet Sunshine crawling down my sleeve now. “Sweet Sunshine, you’re still with me. Please remain calm. I’ve got you!” I delicately catch the orphaned cricket and place her inside the jar. Webster stands there, witnessingmy goofy cricket dance. He’s got my books piled neatly on the steps. And he’s retrieved the postcard from Patch, my new groundbreaking piece of material evidence for the case.
    I am so overjoyed to have rescued Sweet Sunshine for the second time in twenty-four hours that my hands spring forward, grabbing Webster and giving him a major-motion-picture hug. He backs away with an “I’ve just seen a ghost” expression on his face, stumbling down the path to the main entrance of school. I look down at my shoes, and there, under my left foot, is the essay I wrote for Mr. Scuzzy on second chances. It’s torn down the center, with Webster’s footprints on it, and now it’s got mine on it too.
    W.H. and I are bonded together through our footprints on my punishment essay. I make a quick mental note of this potentially poignant fact, then race the second bell before I start accumulating even more middle school demerits.
    As I rush to class I smile, knowing that I have concrete