As Craig and Linda lifted their suitcases from the trunk of the car, their father said, "This year, stay out of the water!"

"No more Nessie hunting!" added their mother. "You nearly drowned last year."

Sweet breezes blew the mist from Loch Ness, and the scent of wildflowers wafted across the yard. Linda remembered--the day she first saw Nessie had smelled like this.

A curly haired girl, about twelve years old, stepped out of the shed beside Mrs. Carmichael's Bed and Breakfast. She said, "I'm Anna. Did I hear you mention Nessie? My dad's here looking for Nessie. He wants to tape record her noises with his hydrophone."

"Your dad is too old to be looking for Nessie," said Craig's dad.

"I agree," said Anna. "Parents can be so immature!"

Linda looked at the girl. She was pretty. She wore makeup. She was everything Linda hoped to be.

"We saw Nessie last year. She sang to us," said Linda, hoping to impress Anna.

Anna batted her eyelashes at Craig. "Did you see Nessie, too?"

"Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't," said Craig. Linda's brother was thirteen and thought he knew everything now that he was a teenager. He stuck his hands into his pockets and did his best to pretend he was ignoring Anna.

Mrs. Carmichael came out to greet them, holding a plate of warm gingerbread cookies. Craig grabbed one and mumbled, "Thank you," with his mouth full.

"Welcome back to Loch Ness," said Mrs. Carmichael. As Linda took a cookie, Mrs. Carmichael turned to Anna. "One of my favorite families," she explained, holding the plate just out of Anna's reach. "I don't bake cookies for just anybody." She was clearly teasing. Then she moved the plate towards Anna. "You're family now, too. Have a cookie."

"You'll ruin their appetites," said Craig and Linda's mother.

"There's plenty to do here. Don't worry, they'll work up an appetite," said Mrs. Carmichael.

"I've told them to stay out of the water," said Craig and Linda's mother. "No more Nessie hunting."

"There's lots of other things to do at Loch Ness," said their dad. "They can go to Urquhart Castle and look for ghosts."

"Not ghosts!" exclaimed their mother. The aroma of warm gingerbread drew her closer to the plate. She took a cookie and bit the gingerbread man's head off. "These are good," she said, taking another. Mrs. Carmichael chuckled delightedly. Their dad took one, too.

"I don't care about ghosts," said Anna, still holding her cookie, uneaten. "Portia is coming to sing at Urquhart Castle." She performed a mock swoon, making her long curly hair sway gracefully. "Don't you just love Portia!"

Linda saw that Anna was looking at her, expecting a response. Linda didn't know what to say. If she said she loved Portia, Anna would expect her to know Portia's songs. But if she admitted she didn't know Portia, Anna would think she was a baby, and never be friends with her.

"I've never heard of Portia," said their dad, "but she's got to be better than Nessie. She won't be luring my children out into the loch."

"Portia is just the best singer!" said Anna. "She's so wise. She knows all about life and love and everything. You've got to hear her."

"Have you got any of her music with you?" asked Linda, fingering a braid and wondering how her hair would look loose like Anna's.