Jackson, do you have to eat beans and rice on the living-room couch?” Mr. Stewart asked. He had a dish towel in his hand and a scowl on his face. “Can’t you sit at the kitchen table?”
In Rome and Sydney, the Stewart family had stayed in hotels. But in Rio they were staying in a luxury apartment. It was a penthouse suite, which meant it took up the entire top floor. The apartment was one of the biggest Miley had ever seen. It was filled with everything one would ever want: flat-screen TVs, stereo equipment, video-game consoles, a pool table, and a grand piano. The giant outdoor deck had a pool and a hot tub. The kitchen contained a massive, restaurant-size refrigerator filled with sodas and juices. The kitchen was also stocked with all different kinds of fresh fruit: papayas, coconuts, mangoes, and pomegranates. Miley, her brother, and their father each had a beautiful bedroom with a view that overlooked the city.
There was only one problem. Almost everything in the house, including the couches, lounge chairs, carpets, walls, and tables? White, white, white, white, and white. It looked pretty, but it was stressing out Mr. Stewart.
It didn’t help that Jackson was a total slob.
“Do you have to use hot sauce?” Mr. Stewart said with a groan. He watched his son douse his plate of food with a bright scarlet liquid from a bottle labeled BRAZIL’S FAMOUS FIERY TRIPLE-THREAT HOT SAUCE. “That stuff is impossible to get out,” Mr. Stewart said. “Remember, if we stain it, we pay for it. Got it?”
“Yeah, Dad, I got it,” Jackson said through a mouthful of food. “You’ve only told me twenty thousand times. Maybe I should eat outside on the deck.”
“That’s not a bad idea, son,” Mr. Stewart said.
Jackson stood up, holding his plate in his hand. He took a step forward.
“STOPPPPPPP!” Mr. Stewart cried, waving a dish towel in the air. “You’ll never be able to walk across the carpet without dropping something.”
“Dad, my food’s getting cold.” Jackson sighed, putting his plate on the coffee table. “Can I please just eat without you harassing me?”
“Fine,” Mr. Stewart said, relenting. “But tomorrow I’m buying you a bib.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and took a big bite of food.
After her swim in the ocean, Miley decided to ask permission to go to Adriano’s family’s party.
Miley found Roxy in the apartment building’s gym. Roxy was still wearing her white outfit, practicing her capoeira moves in front of a mirror.
“Sure, I’ll take you to the party,” Roxy said when Miley asked. Roxy kept her eyes on her reflection. “Any fool who tries something will have to deal with a soon-to-be capoeira mestre!” She raised her arms into a karate chop–like pose.
Miley found Jackson watching TV in the living room.
“Barbecue? Awesome,” Jackson said. “I can eat something without Dad breathing down my neck. And he’s a soccer player? Do you think he’s any good? Maybe I can get in on a pickup game. I’ve got to work on my skills.”
Miley rolled her eyes and went to find her dad. Two down, one to go.
When Miley walked into the kitchen, her dad was scrubbing the white tile counter. He jumped at the idea of getting Jackson out of the house. He sounded excited to hear about Adriano’s uncle, the professional musician, too.
“Count me in!” Mr. Stewart exclaimed. “It’s a perfect excuse to bring my guitar.”
Miley’s head filled with a terrifying image: her dad joining the band onstage and crooning an old ballad.
“Dad, uh—” Miley started to protest.
Then she realized that her dad could have said no, he didn’t want to go to the party. Or that he didn’t want her to go to the party.
“What, bud?” Mr. Stewart asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Miley said. “Just tonight will be fun.”
“Wait till you hear the cool samba shakers I picked up today,” Mr. Stewart said. “You can really shake out a tune with these things. I’ll bring them to the party, too.”
Miley cringed. She didn’t know what a samba shaker was, but the words sounded as if they could mean potential humiliation. Just walk away, she thought. Be happy you’re going to the party.
Now it was time to figure out what to wear. How does a girl dress for a Brazilian-barbecue-samba party anyway? Miley wondered.