The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball (12 page)

“Yeah, Monday's good for me. That's fine.”

“Okay,” he says. There's an uncomfortable silence that seems to last forever, and then, finally, Jesse clears his throat. “Um, have you ever heard of the Flamingo Kids?” he asks. Wait—why does that name sound familiar? Oh, right. Isn't that the band Samantha wants me to go see with her this weekend? I smile. For once, I am so glad that Samantha tried to involve me in one of her cockamamie schemes.

“Of course,” I say, trying to impress him.

“Really?” He sounds as shocked as if I just said that I moonlight as a stripper. I don't know how it keeps happening, but I love playing the role of this mysterious, unpredictable girl to him. It really is fun.

“Uh-huh. They're playing at the Corridor this weekend. I'm going with Samantha,” I add, just to send him over the edge.

“Wow. I had no idea you were into hardcore punk. You are full of surprises, aren't you?”

I swallow. Hardcore punk? Samantha never mentioned anything about hardcore punk. “Yes,” I agree. “I am
full
of them.”

“Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go with me. But since you're already going…”

I stare at the ball.
Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap.
I try to imagine me and Jesse in the front seat of his Cadillac—me snuggled up next to him while he steers with his left hand, his right arm draped around my shoulder—and I sigh. That would have been so much better than getting a ride with Samantha's housekeeper.

“Well, we could meet there,” I offer, trying to salvage some shred of a date.

“Are you sure? I mean, do you think Samantha would care?”

“Samantha? No. Not at all. She'll be fine with it.”

“Okay. Cool. So, I guess I'll see you there.”

“Right. See you there.”

When we hang up, I grab the ball and give it a huge kiss, right on the flat side of the clear plastic.

“Yes!” I say to it, as I jump up and down. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I look up at the ceiling, the way my mom looked up at the roof of her car before. “Thank you, Aunt Kiki. Thank you sooooooo much!”

So, you know, I was thinking about it, and I think you're right. I mean, maybe it would be good for me to go to the concert with you Saturday night.”

Samantha doesn't say anything, and the phone line lets out a soft, crackling sound. I can just picture her—eyes narrowed suspiciously, head tilted to the side.

“Uh-uh,” she finally says. “What happened? Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Nothing happened. I just think you're right. I should experience new things. Live a little. I might even have fun.”

“I'm not retarded, Erin. Tell me what's going on.”

I sigh. “
Okay
. Jesse Cooper asked me to go to the concert with him, and I told him that I was already going with you, and now I'm meeting him there. I mean,
we
are meeting him there.”

Samantha snorts. “You're going out on a date with a guy who has a faux hawk?”

“It was never a faux hawk,” I protest. “And anyway, at least Jesse puts some effort into his hair. Aiden always looks like he just rolled out of bed.”

“That's a
look
,” Samantha informs me. “It probably takes him forty-five minutes and a half a bottle of product to achieve that every morning. But whatever, I'm glad you're coming. It'll be fun.”

“We'll see. Did you know the Flamingo Kids are a hardcore punk band?”

“Yeah. What did you think they were? Easy listening?”

I have to laugh. “I guess I didn't really think about it. But what does one wear to a hardcore punk concert?”

Samantha inhales excitedly. “Oh my God. We are so totally going shopping! Let's meet at the mall on Saturday. I know just where we should go. And afterward, we'll go back to your house, we'll have a little chat with the ball, and then I'll do your hair and your makeup before we go out.”

“I don't know, Samantha. I don't think we need to get fancy or anything—”

“Yes, we do,” she insists, cutting me off. “And besides, if you don't let me make you over, then I'll tell Jesse that you sleep in a Barry Manilow T-shirt.” I roll my eyes to myself. This has disaster written all over it, but it's too late to turn back now. “So do we have a deal?” she asks.

I sigh loudly, to make sure she understands that I am agreeing against my will. “Yes. We have a deal.”

***

If someone were making one of those feel-good teen movies about me and my two best friends—not that anyone would, considering that I have the Most Boring Life Ever, but let's just suspend reality for a moment and pretend that someone even more boring than I am actually did think my life was interesting enough for the big screen—then Samantha and me at Hot Topic right now would definitely satisfy the Teen Movie Dressing Room Montage requirement.

Just try to imagine a series of quick shots of the two of us in increasingly more ridiculous outfits (posing dramatically each time we emerge from the dressing room, of course), set to music by Demi Lovato or Ali & AJ, or, if there were a really clever music supervisor, a David Archuleta cover of a Flamingo Kids song.

“This is so much fun!” Samantha squeals, bursting through the door in her final getup: a tight-fitting black tank top, a pink and black pleated miniskirt, and black knee-high crew socks with three pink stripes at the top. She looks like a very, very naughty Catholic school girl, which I'm kind of guessing is the whole point. “I feel like we're in a movie,” she adds.

I laugh. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

She turns around to admire herself in the mirror. “This is it for sure. What do you think?”

“I think you will definitely get noticed.”

She smiles. Apparently, that was the correct answer. “What about you? Is that what you're getting?”

I move next to her to get in front of the mirror. I'm wearing an orange T-shirt, a black and white plaid pleated miniskirt with a black studded belt, and a black sleeveless hoodie over the T-shirt.

“I don't know,” I tell her, eyeing myself critically. “I feel like I'm dressed up for Halloween.”

Samantha rolls her eyes and puts her arm around my shoulder. “That's good. You're not supposed to feel like yourself when you get dressed up.”

“I know, but you look hot, and I just look stupid.”

“No, you don't. You look like a punk rocker. You look like one of those girls.” She points to a poster on the window of the store, showing three teenage girls with dyed hair wearing outfits similar to mine. According to the poster, they're in a band called Care Bears on Fire.

I hear a
ding
coming from my bag, and then another one coming from Samantha's.

“Lindsay,” we both say at the same time, reaching for our phones.

OMG. The G/F & I r wearing same dress. Going 2 die…

“Here,” Samantha says, snapping a picture of me with her phone. “This should make her feel better.” She hands me the phone, then sticks out her chest, kicks up one leg behind her, and pretends to blow a kiss. “Take one of me too.” I take the picture then type in a message, reading it out loud to Samantha as I write it.

“Wish you were here! Love and kisses from sunny Hot Topic!” I hit the send button and Samantha and I both crack up. A weird guy with six piercings in his face glances at us, annoyed.

“Seriously,” she says. “I think you should get that. You look legit.” She lifts up my hair and squints at me in the mirror. “With the right hair and makeup, it'll be killer.”

I eye her skeptically. “Are you sure?”

Samantha puts her hands on her hips and gives me her most reassuring look. “Trust me,” she says. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

***

We're in line at TCBY in the food court when I hear the unmistakable screech of Megan Crowley.

“Oh my gawd, you guys, he was
not!
”

Samantha nudges me without turning around. “On your left. Three o'clock.”

Slowly, I turn my head to the left, and I accidentally lock eyes with Madison Duncan, who immediately leans over to Megan and whispers something in her ear.

“Uh-oh,” I say, turning back to Samantha. “They saw us.”

Samantha's eyes sparkle and a devilish smile spreads across her face. “Don't worry, I've got this.”

Within seconds, Megan, Madison, Chloe, and Brittany are behind us, vultures that have just come upon a carcass in the middle of the desert.

“Well, well, well, look who's here. Where's your stinky friend?” Megan asks.

Samantha looks at me, mystified. “Do you know what she's talking about?” she asks. “Because I have no idea what she's talking about.”

I shrug and shake my head. “I don't know what she's talking about.”

Megan gives us both a bitchy, sarcastic fake smile and then looks us up and down, stopping her gaze on our Hot Topic shopping bags.

“Hot Topic?” she asks, laughing. “I didn't know you were skater girls.”

“Yeah,” Chloe echoes. “There's a bunch of skater boys outside in the parking lot, you should go check them out. Maybe you'll find a boyfriend.” Madison and Brittany giggle behind her as I roll my eyes, trying to think of a good comeback. But before I can say anything, Samantha tilts her head to the side and puts one finger on her chin, as if she just remembered something.

“Hey, Chloe, how are those lambs?” Samantha asks in a mocking tone. “I heard they were screaming, like, really loud. And gallantly too.”

Chloe's mouth drops open. She looks stunned, but then her expression quickly gives way to one of anger. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at Brittany, who looks down at the floor.

“I can't believe you told
her
about that,” Chloe whines.

Brittany clasps her hands to her chest with fake indignation. “What? I didn't tell her. The only person I told was Megan. I swear.”

“Yeah, well, I told you not to tell
anyone
.”

Megan puts her hand up and closes her eyes, and Chloe falls silent. When she opens her eyes again, they're black with anger, and her tone is seething.

“I don't know what you think you're doing, but you should tell Fart Girl that she'd better watch her back.”

The email I got from Chris Bollmer flashes in my head and I can't help myself. I have to say something. “Maybe you should watch your own back,” I warn her.

“I think my back is covered,” she says, pointing at the three girls standing around her. “Come on. Let's get out of here. Losers.”

As soon as they're gone, Samantha and I both burst out laughing.

“Did you see her face?” she screams. She has tears in the corners of her eyes and she dabs at them gently with her index fingers so as not to mess up her eye makeup. “And I love how Megan's got her back covered. Covered by three morons who couldn't keep a secret to save their lives.” Samantha shakes her head, sadly. “I really wish Lindsay had been here for that.”

“We'll call her. We'll tell her the whole thing.” I hesitate before asking the question that's on my mind, but I need to ask it. “What do you think she meant, that Lindsay had better watch her back?”

Samantha waves the question away with her hand, as if it's meaningless. “She didn't mean anything by it. She was just trying to save face. Oh my God, that was priceless.”

I laugh with her, but on the inside, my heart feels heavy. I'm not so convinced that Megan was just bluffing. In fact, it sounded to me like Megan was dead serious.

***

When we get back to my house, my mom is sitting at the kitchen table, with books and papers and legal pads spread out all around her.

“Hi, Dr. Channing,” Samantha says when we walk in.

My mom looks up at us and smiles wearily. “Oh, hi girls. Did you have fun at the mall?”

“Yes,” Samantha says, earnestly. “We spent hours in the bookstore, didn't we, Erin?”

I roll my eyes and ignore her. “What are you doing?” I ask my mom.

She sighs. “I'm teaching myself estate law. But it's slightly more complicated than I was anticipating.”

“Let me guess, you couldn't find a lawyer who thought he could get Kiki's ashes back for you?”

“I couldn't find a lawyer who was even willing to try. But I'm not giving up. I will fight these people until the day I die if I have to. I will take them to court and represent myself.”

Samantha looks at her, wide-eyed. “Well…good luck,” she says.

“Thank you, Samantha. I need all the luck I can get right now.”

***

“Your mom is crazy,” Samantha whispers once we're upstairs in my room, safely out of earshot.

“She's not crazy. She's just upset. Don't you know that everyone grieves differently? Some people cry, some people eat, some people bury themselves in their work. And some people obsess and teach themselves to litigate.”

Samantha makes a
she's crazy
face and moves her index finger in a circular motion near her head. “Does she know about the ball?”

“Noooo,” I say. “Now
that
would make her crazy.”

“Where is it, anyway? I want to ask it about Aiden.”

I go into my closet and reach up to the top shelf, where I hide the ball and the papers and my notes.

“Here,” I say. Samantha rubs her hands together.

“Come on. Let's do this.”

I hesitate. “Let me show you the clues first,” I say, picking up the letter that Kiki wrote. I sit down on the bed next to Samantha and explain to her what I've figured out. “I haven't figured out the first one yet, and this last one—‘then it is time to choose another'—that must have to do with choosing the next person to give the ball to. But this one…” I put my finger on the third clue and tap the paper. “This is the one that makes me nervous.”

Samantha reads it out loud. “‘The future belongs to you alone. Other voices will be disappointed.'” She shrugs. “What's the problem?”

“I'm not sure. But don't you think it sounds ominous?”

“No. I think it sounds
obvious
.
Obviously
, you're the only one who can ask it a question. ‘Other voices will be disappointed' means that the ball only recognizes your voice, or something. If anyone else asks it a question, it won't work. We already knew that.”

“Right. And that's exactly why it makes me nervous. It's redundant. It already says that the future is for me alone, so why add the second part?”

Samantha rolls her eyes at me. “Come on, she thought it was important. She wanted to make sure that you really, really got it.”

“I don't know. It just seems like a trick. Like, she wants me to think that that's all it means, but it really means something else. Crossword clues do that all the time.”

“You're overthinking it,” Samantha assures me. “This isn't a multiple choice test where they're trying to confuse you. Now come on. Let's do this.”

I sigh. “Okay. But just for the record, this is against my better judgment.”

“So noted. Now. Ask it if Aiden will ditch Trance at the concert to hang out with me. No, wait. Scratch that. Ask if it Aiden will ditch Trance at the concert to
hook
up
with me, and then become my boyfriend.” She glances at my boobs. “You can't be too specific with this thing.”

I take a deep breath, then shake the ball. “Okay. Will Aiden ditch Trance at the Flamingo Kids concert tonight and hook up with Samantha, and then become her boyfriend?”

Samantha grabs the ball out of my hands and waits, breathlessly, for the answer.

‘“Your karma shall make it so,'” she reads. “That means yes, right?”

I nod, laughing.

“Oh my God! It said yes!” She jumps up and down excitedly, clutching the ball in her hands, then hands it back to me. “Here, you have to ask it something too. Ask it if Jesse is going to kiss you!”