next to me on the bench.
11
I arrived at Rios Buena Suerta in time to start shoveling plaster into black plastic bags for disposal. Portia’s way of handling the task alone was to hang the bag from a doorknob, slide the shovel in the top opening, and dump it. I was certain the task would go faster if I held the bag while she scooped.
“Pull the plastic away.” Portia’s frustration came out in her voice.
“I’m trying.” I slid the bag’s opening farther under the shovel. “There. Now go ahead and tip it.”
A fog of dust rose as the debris landed. I pulled the neck of the bag up… and a pile of plaster landed on the floor.
“It was easier before you got here.” Portia stamped the shovel on the floorboards. “Do your own pile. My system was working just fine.”
“It’ll go faster if we help each other,” I insisted. “Why don’t you hold the bag and I’ll shovel?”
Portia held up her stunted hand. “You’re brilliant. How’s that going to work?”
“Watch this.” I forced a corner of a fresh bag over the doorknob and showed her how to hold the rest of the bag wide with both arms.
“Like I said, you’re brilliant.” She scooped up a load of debris.
“What are you doing? I’m supposed to be shoveling.” Dust rose as she dumped it in. “Looks like you’re an expert bag-handler. Stay right there.” Another scoop landed in the bag.
I tested out my new anger management techniques.
“You know, Portia. You act like you know it all when it comes to this renovation project. But Professor Braddock put me in charge and I’d like you to stop acting like you’re the leader.”
“Professor Braddock?” she asked in a mocking tone. “Don’t you mean Uncle Denton?”
The bag fell out of my hands and I straightened, hands jammed on my hips. “You make it sound like you don’t believe he’s my uncle. Is there something you’d like to confess?” I waited for her to tell me she’d snooped through my notebook and written Hello Patricia Amble just to agitate me.
Instead, a look of surprise flashed across her face. “I meant that of course he put you in charge, being your uncle and all.” Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Are you saying he’s not really your uncle?”
Her sincerity took me off guard. Maybe she hadn’t been the one to rip out my signature page. “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” I stammered. “Of course he’s my uncle. I mean, why would he tell everyone I was his niece if I wasn’t really his niece?”
She stared at me squinty-eyed. “Good question.”
“Oh, come on, Portia, he’s my uncle. I just thought you were trying to say he wasn’t. You know, trying to imply that I’m not really Alisha Braddock.” Backtracking didn’t seem to be doing the trick.
She shook her head, a disgusted expression on her face. “Then who are you?”
I waved my hands through the air, like an umpire calling it safe. “Come on. I’m me. I really am Alisha Braddock, the professor’s niece. Who else would I be?”
She put a hand on her hip. “I’m dying to find out.”
I gave a sigh of exasperation and ruffled my hair. “So, I take it you weren’t the one who left that note in my binder.”
“What note?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Just forget about it, okay?”
“It’s a pretty tough conversation to forget about.”
I tied up the top of the bag, avoiding her eyes.
She touched my hand. “Are you in trouble or something?” I jerked upright, tears threatening to flow. “Of course not. Why would you even suggest it?”
Portia rolled her eyes. “The girl doth protesteth too much. You want to talk about it?”
I wavered, lured by the temptation of stepping out of the lie and into the light. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re being ridiculous.”
She turned her back to me and pushed the remaining mess into a central pile. “If you ever change your mind, give a holler. We might have more in common than you think.”
As we worked another hour in silence, I couldn’t help but wonder. If Portia hadn’t written that note, who had? And besides informing my so-called bodyguard, what did Denton plan to do about this threat to my security?
Downstairs, Koby and Celia had their own cleanup system in place. Celia acted as bag lady while Koby did the dirty work. They stopped at our arrival.
Koby leaned on the shovel like a cane. “Time to go already?”
Portia looked at her dust-covered wristwatch. “Yep. We’ve got an hour to get to class.”
Koby wiped a hand across his cheek, leaving a smear of white. “How do you think the other team is doing?”
We helped Celia out the door and down the steps, each of us sending bold glances toward the competition’s row of houses.
“I don’t see anyone over there,” Portia said, locking the door and stashing the key. “I’d sure like to know how far they’ve gotten. Who wants to come with me?”
I shook my head. “Not on your life. After the way we chased Simon out of here the other day, I don’t think they’d appreciate us snooping.”
Portia got a mischievous look on her face. “Come with me, Alisha. They owe us a peek.”
“No way.” I put my foot down on spying. It only brought trouble.
She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the street. “We’ll meet you at the station,” she called to the others.
I pulled back in token resistance, still following as she went up the steps of the opposition. She gave a quiet knock at the front door.
“Nice time to be neighborly,” I said under my breath. “Nobody’s here, anyway.” Portia shielded her face against the glare and looked through the window. “Wow.”
At her exclamation, I crowded next to her at the window, looking inside.
Portia gave a low whistle. “It doesn’t look like they’ve done anything.”
“How do they expect to finish on time?” I asked. “They’re behind us already-and we’ll barely make it at the rate we’re going.” Thank goodness Portia’s schedule and determination kept Team B on track.
“I wonder what’s up with Gwen. She carries a 4.0 GPA. This isn’t like her.” Portia moved to the next window for a peek inside. “Sure takes the fun out of winning if there isn’t anyone hot on your heels.”
I followed. “The professor did a pretty poor job of putting the teams together. All the best workers are on our team.”
Portia dropped her hands. “You changed your tune since that first day. What happened to ‘half of us don’t have legs and the other half don’t have arms’?”
I looked to the boards that covered the porch. Mold grew between the splitting seams. “I guess I learned my lesson about judging everybody by operational body parts.”
Portia pointed to her temple. “We’ve got it where it counts… up here. We’re going to win because we’re working smarter.”
I peered through the window. “I’d say it’s probably more that we’re working harder. At least we’re working.”
A squeak of the porch steps sounded behind us.
“Can I help you ladies with something?”
We whirled. I gave a startled scream. Portia landed in a defensive karate pose.
“Simon,” I exclaimed, relaxing and laughing it off. “You scared us.”
His birthmark was a faded purple along one side of his face. Dark plum last week, lavender today. Was it my imagination, or had it changed color like a mood ring?
“Now who’s spying?” he asked.
