The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball (17 page)

Lindsay isn't at school the next day. After homeroom, Samantha and I meet outside of our lockers.

“Being grounded sucks,” she complains. “I'm, like, a full twenty-four hours behind in the news cycle. And I never realized how much I rely on technology as a way of not having to talk to my mother. I swear, that woman is driving me crazy. She keeps asking me if I had sex on Saturday night.”

I'm drinking from a bottle of water, and I almost choke mid-sip as she says it. I can't imagine my mother asking me if I had sex. I can't imagine my mother even
saying
the word sex. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that I can't remember because I did too many drugs.” We both laugh. “Seriously, though, have you talked to Lindsay?” Samantha asks. “What did she say?”

I sigh. “I talked to her after school yesterday. She said it's all my fault and that I should have stopped her, and then she ran away. And I couldn't go after her because I had to go to detention. Which was horrible, by the way. Everyone in there was a repeat offender except for me, and they were all staring at me like I was from another planet. I felt like that song from Sesame Street.
One of these things is not like the other
,” I sing.

“Please don't sing,” Samantha requests, glancing around to see if anyone heard me. “What about after? Did you call her when you got home?”

“No,” I say indignantly. “She
screamed
at me. In a Caps Lock voice.
She
should have called
me
last night.”

“You're so stubborn,” she says, shaking her head. “You told her she was going to get kicked out of school, for God's sake. You know she always takes things out on people when she's upset.”

“I know, but you weren't there. This wasn't like normal. She was really mad at me. She actually thinks this is my fault.”

Samantha lowers her voice. “Well, can you fix it? I mean, can't you ask the ball to undo what it did?”

“I don't know.” I did think of that last night. I sat with the ball in my hand for almost an hour, daring myself to ask it. But I was too scared. What if it backfired again? I kept thinking about what Lindsay had said, about me treating her like a science experiment. “I didn't want to do anything without talking to Lindsay first.”

“Well, then talk to her. Let's go to her house after school today. I'll go with you.”

“I can't. I have to go to the museum with Jesse. Our Art History presentation is due tomorrow, and I couldn't go yesterday because of detention. Plus, he keeps saying that I'm acting weird, and he thinks I'm mad at him…” I let my sentence trail off because I can feel a lump of self-pity forming in my throat, and I don't want to start crying right before first period. “Everything suddenly became a huge mess.”

“All because of the ball,” Samantha says sympathetically.

I nod at her.

“This is why people like me should not venture outside of the box,” I say, recovering my voice. “It's just too unpredictable out there.”

***

At lunch, Samantha and I sit with Jesse again. But it's different today, knowing that Lindsay is mad at me, and that Jesse is annoyed with me. The three of us are more or less silent as we eat. The awkwardness between me and Jesse is back again, and it feels like it did when we were in the car Saturday night, after the concert. When we met up in the cafeteria, there was no kiss on the cheek like yesterday.

A few tables over, Brittany Fox, Madison Duncan, and Chloe Carlyle are huddled together, their faces serious. I wonder if they're even upset about Megan getting kicked out of school. I wonder if right now they're trying to decide which one of them should be boss now that Megan is gone.

“What are you thinking about?” Jesse asks me suddenly.

I look up, surprised by the sound of his voice, and I can tell from the look on his face that he's trying to make things normal between us again. I give him an embarrassed smile, and hook my thumb over in the direction of Megan's groupies.

“I was just wondering which one of them is going to be the new Megan,” I say. Jesse and Samantha turn around in their chairs.

“Twenty bucks says Brittany,” Samantha wagers.

Jesse shakes his head. “I don't know. I'm putting my money on Madison,” he says. “Brittany's the obvious choice, but I like an underdog.”

Samantha laughs, then leans forward conspiratorially. “I heard Megan's denying everything. She says she never touched Mrs. Newman's computer. But apparently, Mrs. Newman has proof. Megan emailed the tests to an account that was supposed to be anonymous, but Mrs. Newman was able to trace it back to her. Incidentally, it was the same account that Megan used to email that picture of Lindsay to everyone.”

Jesse's eyes widen. “How do you know this?” he asks, amazed.

Samantha beams, pleased that she's impressed someone new with her ability to score prime gossip.

“She's an information ninja,” I tell him.

“That's right,” she confirms. “And do you know what else I heard? I heard that Megan is having some kind of allergic reaction to all of the stress, and she's broken out in huge red hives all over her face.”

Jesse shakes his head in wonderment. “Amazing,” he declares. “If only you could apply that gift to something useful.”

“I know,” she laments. “People say that to me all the time.”

***

When lunch is over, Jesse and I steal a moment alone together outside the cafeteria.

“Are we cool?” he asks. “Because I feel like there's a tension between us or something.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I'm just upset because Lindsay and I got in a fight, and because I got detention, and I still haven't written my essay for the Italy trip, and we have to work on our presentation, and I'm just so stressed out. But it's not you, I swear. You're the only good thing in my life right now.”

He smiles and his eyes crinkle at the corners, just the tiniest bit. It reminds me of my dad's eyes, and I wonder if my mom's stomach used to flip over like an omelet every time he looked at her, the way mine does whenever Jesse looks at me.

“Just relax,” he says, resting his hand on the waistband of my jeans, just above my right hip. “Everything will work out.” He leans down and kisses me gently on the forehead. “I have a dentist appointment during last period today, but I'll pick you up at your house at three-thirty and we'll go to the museum. And then I was thinking we could get some pizza and work on the presentation. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds amazing.”

***

After school, I call Lindsay on her cell phone. She doesn't answer, so I leave a message.

“Lindsay, it's me. Listen, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I know you're freaked out, but please don't be mad at me. I've been thinking, maybe we can ask the ball to undo everything. Maybe it will work. But I don't want to do it without talking to you first. I know you're not a science experiment. You're…you. So please call me, okay?”

When I hang up, I stand in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door and examine myself.

I'm wearing old jeans and an even older T-shirt, and my long, boring brown hair is hanging limply against the sides of my face, causing me to look like a Cocker Spaniel, except that Cocker Spaniels are cute and I'm…I sigh.

Even I know that this is not an acceptable way to go out with one's boyfriend, even if it is just to go to the art museum and Nick's Pizza.

I go into my closet and change into ten or twelve different outfits, finally settling on a pair of black leggings, a white tank top, and a dark gray ripped V-neck boyfriend T-shirt that Samantha left here the last time she slept over. I slip on a pair of silver ballet flats and a long silver necklace to complete the ensemble, then spend five minutes teasing my hair a little at the crown. I put some clear gloss on my lips and rub some blush onto my cheeks, then stand back to take myself in.

Not bad
, I think. Samantha would definitely approve.

The phone rings and I glance at the clock: three seventeen. I look at the caller ID: it's Lindsay. Thank God.

“Hi! Where were you today? We missed you.”

“Erin, it's not Lindsay. It's me, Carol.”

Oh. Why is Lindsay's mom calling me?

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I saw the caller ID and I thought it was her.”

“So she's not with you?” she asks. I can hear an undercurrent of worry in her voice.

“No. Why? What's going on?”

“I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me. I don't know where she is. She left this morning to go to school, but then the school secretary called this afternoon and said that Lindsay didn't show up today. And Erin, she said that Lindsay is in some kind of trouble, and that the principal would like to see both of us first thing tomorrow morning. She wouldn't say why. Do you know anything about this?” Her voice breaks. “I won't be mad at her, whatever it is. I just want to make sure she's okay. Do you know where she is?”

My heart begins to pound wildly. It's happening. It's really happening. I glance at the ball, sitting innocently on my desk. I should have asked it to undo all of this yesterday, before it was too late.

“I don't know what's going on,” I lie. “But I think I might know where she is. But listen, Mrs. Altman, let me go find her, okay? I promise I'll call you as soon as I have her.”

“Are you sure? I could drive you, it would be faster.”

“No. Really, it's better that I do this myself.”

I hang up the phone and look at the clock again. Three twenty-one. Damn. I pick up the phone and dial Jesse's cell phone number. Come on, come on, pick up.

“Hey, this is Jesse. Wait for it…”

Damn.

“Jesse, it's me,” I say after the beep. “Listen, there's been a little emergency and I have to run out for a few minutes, but I'll meet you at the museum. Sorry.” I hang up and quickly stuff the ball into my backpack, then run down the stairs. My mom is at the table, poring over legal books, just as she has every afternoon since my aunt died.

“I'm going to Samantha's,” I tell her. “Don't wait for me for dinner, I have to work on a project. Love you, 'bye!” I'm out the door and on my bike before she even has a chance to look up.

***

By the time I get to Samantha's house, I'm sweating and the hair around my face is damp and frizzy. I stand in front of the massive wooden double doors and ring the doorbell impatiently. After two seconds, I ring it again, and then a third time. Finally, Lucinda opens the door. She's huffing and out of breath.

“Erin!” she shouts, exasperated. “Why do you ring the bell so much? You know this house is big and my legs are not so long. It takes me time.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Can I talk to Samantha?”

Lucinda cocks an eyebrow at me, just like Samantha does. I wonder if she learned it from Samantha, or if Samantha learned it from her.

“Samantha is in her room. She's grounded, you know.”

I widen my eyes innocently. “Didn't she tell you about the school project?”

Lucinda eyes me suspiciously. “What school pro-yect?” she asks in her thick Portuguese accent.

“We have a research project due in English tomorrow. We're supposed to go to the library today.”

She thinks about this for a minute, then nods. “Anyone else, I would not believe, but I know you and you are a good girl. I bet you don't come home three hours late and scare your mama half to death.” She turns around and calls up toward the staircase. “Samantha! Erin is here to work on the pro-yect!”

I hear footsteps above, and then Samantha emerges at the top of the stairs.

“The project, riiiight,” she says, as she walks down the steps. “Sorry, I thought that was tomorrow. But I can go now. Not a problem. It's not like I have anything else to do, right, Lucinda?”

Lucinda wags her finger at her. “That's not my fault, lady. You're the one who come home three hours late, not me.”

Samantha blows her a kiss. “Later, Lucinda!” she yells as we walk out the front door.

Once we're outside on the front porch, Samantha narrows her eyes at me. “Isn't that my shirt?” she asks.

“Didn't I just get you out of your house?” I shoot back.

“Yes,” she concedes, looking me up and down. “But I want it back. It's cute.” She rubs her hands together excitedly. “So where are we going? I thought you had to meet Jesse at the museum.”

“I do,” I say wistfully. “But first we have to make a stop at Ye Olde Metaphysical Shoppe.”

She raises one eyebrow. “Seriously? Why?” I tell her about the phone call from Erin's mom, and she nods understandingly.

“Come on, get your bike,” I urge.

“Nah,” she says. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a set of keys. “I think I'll drive.”

I stare at her. “You don't have a license,” I remind her.

“Actually, I do. I've had it for three months. I just didn't tell anyone because I didn't want Aiden to stop driving me to school. But that ship has sailed, so…” She pushes a button on her key chain and one of the automatic doors on the three-car garage opens to reveal a red BMW convertible with a white leather interior.

“You're kidding,” I say with disbelief. “You didn't drive
this
because of
Aiden?
”

Samantha shrugs. “What can I say? I was under hotness hypnosis.”

I open the passenger side door and get in, the smell of new leather overpowering my nose. “Well, thank God you snapped out of that.”

You realize you're not going to make it to the museum, right?” Samantha asks. We're inching along the main road in town, one of a long snake of cars waiting to get past the construction on the side of the road, where a crew is feverishly working to repair a burst water main.

“I know. This is a nightmare.” Instinctively, I reach into my bag for my cell phone, groaning as I remember that Mrs. Cavanaugh still has it until Friday. “Can I have your phone? I have to call Jesse. He's going to be so mad at me.”

But Samantha shakes her head. “I'm grounded, remember? No cell phone.”

Oh my God. I feel disconnected, like a baby whose umbilical cord has just been cut. I throw my hands up in the air in frustration. “How did our parents ever get through high school without cell phones?”

“I know. Could you imagine? It's so primitive. I mean, they actually had to, like, make plans and stick to them, or else their friends would think they flaked.” She nudges me, one hand on the wheel, and smirks. “Kind of like what Jesse is going to think about you.”

“Thank you. That helps.” The traffic is making me feel trapped and panicky, and I'm trying to focus on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, the way our P.E. teacher taught us to do when we had our unit on yoga first semester. But the alarms going off in my brain don't seem to be responding to the increased flow of oxygen. “You don't understand,” I tell Samantha. “It's not just about Jesse. Our presentation is
tomorrow
. If I don't work on it tonight, I will never get an A minus, and I have to get an A minus or else my GPA won't be high enough to qualify me for the Italy trip.”

Samantha shrugs. “So then, get yourself an A minus,” she says, like it's nothing.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” I move my hands around like I'm speaking sign language. “I can't get an A minus if I don't work on the presentation.”

“Uh, yes you can.” She glances at my backpack, which is lying on the floor between my feet, and suddenly I understand what she's getting at.

A slow smile spreads across my face. “You are a genius.”

Samantha sighs, like she's heard it a million times before. “I know. And someday, the world will know too.”

I unzip my backpack and take out the ball, giving it a quick shake. I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and then stare at the window.

“Will I get an A minus on my AP Art History presentation tomorrow, even if I don't work on it tonight?” I press my lips together as I wait for the answer to make its way through the pink, sparkly liquid.

It is inevitable
.

I kiss the ball, making a loud
mwah
sound. Samantha looks at me, giving me her famous one-eyebrow raise.

“Looks like all is forgiven,” she says.

“Maybe.” I wag my finger at the ball, imitating Lucinda. “But screw up one more time, lady, and I'm going to put you in a yuicer!”

We both giggle, and finally the traffic begins to break up in front of us, like a giant hairball getting pulled, slowly, out of a clogged drain.

***

Samantha and I enter Ye Olde Metaphysical Shoppe to the sound of a tinkling bell. The place is (not surprisingly) deserted. The walls are lined with dark bookshelves bursting with spiritual and self-help books, and spread out around the store are display tables crowded with (real) crystal balls, stacks of tarot cards, candles and incense sticks, aromatherapy fragrances, potions, primitive wooden masks, statues, and dolls…including one that looks just like the Megan Crowley voodoo doll that Lindsay bought. In the back of the store, close to the counter, are shelves lined with dozens of different kinds of crystals and stones and jewelry, each claiming to heal various physical and spiritual ailments.

I shake my head. I feel like I have now taken up permanent residence in Weirdville.

“Hello?” I call. “Is anyone here?” I try to peek behind the counter, into the back room, but there's a long, beaded curtain blocking the view. I look at Samantha and shrug. “Maybe they're in the bathroom,” I suggest.

We walk around the store, taking everything in.

“Listen to this,” I say, grinning as I read a label under a stone called eudialyte. “‘Promotes energies of sound waves to help with clairaudient abilities; a tuning fork of transmissions. Activates the fourth chakra, dispels jealousy.'”

Samantha joins me. “Oooh, look at this one,” she says, picking up a light blue crystal. “It's kyanite. It opens the brow and throat chakras.” She stands back and holds her arms out and away from her body, then closes her eyes and tilts her head back, balancing the crystal in the middle of her forehead. “Tell me, do my chakras look open to you?” I laugh as she places the crystal back on the shelf. “I just want to know one thing,” she says. “Where do they keep the eye of newt?”

“Eye of newt is locked behind the counter,” says a familiar voice behind us. We whirl around, and there, in front of me, is Roni, my aunt Kiki's best friend. “You can imagine how hard it is to come by, and we don't want anyone trying to steal it,” she adds with a smile.

“Where did you—? How did—?” I'm so surprised to see her that I can't even complete a full sentence.

Samantha stares at me, her face crinkled with confusion.“Do you two
know
each other?” she asks.

I nod, still not quite recovered enough from the shock of it to speak.

“I'm Veronica,” Roni says, holding out her hand to Samantha.

Finally, my voice lands back in my throat. “
You're
Veronica? I thought you said your name was Roni.”

“My friends call me Roni. But at the store, I go by Veronica. It sounds more…you know,
metaphysical
.”

I can't tell if she's making fun of me or not, the way she emphasizes that last word. I can't believe any of this.
I've
been making fun of Veronica to Lindsay for almost a year, and the whole time she was best friends with my very own aunt.

“So you know Lindsay,” I say. “Did you know she's my best friend?”

Veronica/Roni nods. “Not at first, but as Lindsay came in more and more and as she opened up to me about her life, I figured it out. Lindsay had no idea, of course, but Kate was thrilled about it. She used to pump me for information about you all the time. Kate, that is.”

“She did?” I feel a sadness creep over me when she mentions Kiki's name. If she wanted to know about me so badly, why didn't she just call me?

“Wait a minute,” Samantha interjects. “I'm sorry to break up your little reunion, but we came here looking for Lindsay. Have you seen her?”

Veronica/Roni points toward the curtain behind the counter just as Lindsay steps out from behind it.

“I'm here.” Lindsay's face is bright red, and she looks down at the floor.

“Oh my God,” I say, so relieved to see her that I almost start to cry.

“I'm sorry,” she says, hurrying forward and giving me a hug. “I didn't mean what I said yesterday. I was just so upset.”

“I know,” I say, squeezing her in return. “It's okay. But your mom is worried sick about you. You have to tell her you're okay.”

“I just talked to her. She told me that the principal's office called. They said I'm in trouble. It's the ball backfiring on me, isn't it? Do you think they're going to kick me out for cutting school today?”

Samantha makes a snorting sound. “No way. I cut school all the time. All they do is call your parents and then your mom promises to buy a new scoreboard for the football field or whatever, and that's it. It's really not a big deal.” We all look at her, not really sure what to say, and then she blinks, realizing what just came out of her mouth. “But, I mean, I know other people who cut, and the worst that happens to them is a few days of detention. If you're going to get kicked out, it has to be for something more serious than that.”

“Lindsay told me what happened,” interrupts Veronica/Roni. “With the ball.”

“Okay. So can we fix it?” I ask eagerly.

“I think so,” Roni says. Lindsay and I both close our eyes and let out a sigh of relief. “But you might have to use more than one question. How many do you have left?”

“Have left?” I look over at Lindsay to see if she knows what Roni is talking about, but she makes a don't-look-at-me face.

“You didn't figure out the clue?” Roni asks, surprised.

“I figured out all of the clues. Sort of. The only thing I didn't get was the part about the number. I just don't understand what that means.”

“It means you only get eight yes answers,” Roni explains. “‘Let the planets be your guide to the number.' There are eight planets. Gosh, and Kate thought that one was the most obvious.”

Of course. I groan. “How could I not have gotten that?”

“It's kind of ironic, isn't it?” Samantha asks, grinning. “I mean, for someone who's supposed to be so good at math, that's the one clue you miss?”

Lindsay shoots Samantha a look, and the grin disappears from Samantha's face.

“So how many have you asked?” Lindsay wants to know.

“I don't know. I didn't realize there was a limit. I wasn't keeping track.” I hold up my fingers and start listing the questions that have come true. “Let's see, first there was Spencer Ridgely, then there was the one about my English paper…”

“Your boobs,” Samantha adds.

“My boobs,” I repeat, avoiding Roni's eyes as I stick a third finger up in the air.

“What was next?” Lindsay asks. “Samantha's question about Aiden?”

“Ummm, actually, there was one I didn't tell you guys about. There was one about Jesse asking me out on a date.”

Samantha's mouth drops open.

“The concert? That was the ball?” I nod sheepishly, and Samantha gives me an I-can't-believe-you-didn't-tell-me-that look.

“Okay,” Lindsay says impatiently. “Let's not get off track here. So there was Jesse, then Aiden,” she says, holding up five fingers.

“Then Jesse again,” Samantha reminds me. “Something about a kiss and a hot body?”

I blush as Veronica/Roni looks over at me, her eyebrows raised.

“That's six,” Lindsay counts. “And then the one I asked about Megan. That's seven.” She exhales. “Whew. We still have one left.”

I look guiltily at Samantha, and she moves her eyes in Lindsay's direction, letting me know that I'd better say something.

“Um, actually, there might have been one more,” I say.

Lindsay's face crumples. “What? What one more?”

“Well, you see, I was supposed to go to the museum with Jesse today, but I blew him off to come here instead. Only, my AP Art History presentation is due tomorrow, and since I didn't go to the museum I won't be able to get a good grade on it, and if I don't get a good grade then I can't go on the Italy trip…so when we were in the car I asked the ball if I would get an A minus on my presentation tomorrow.”
The Italy trip
, I think, regretfully.
I didn't even get to ask it about the Italy trip
.

Lindsay blinks several times.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I had no idea it was the last question. I never would have asked it if I had known.”

Lindsay shakes her head. “I know,” she croaks. “It's not your fault. It's just that now there's no way to fix this. I'm going to get kicked out of school no matter what. And I don't even know what I did.”

Roni puts her hands on her hips and looks at me. “Do you know what?”

I narrow my eyes at her. This is all her fault. If she had just talked to me when I called her and answered my questions, none of this ever would have happened.

“No,” I say, my voice rising in anger. “I do not know what. But I'll tell you what I do know. I know that my best friend's life is a mess because of me. I know that the first boyfriend I've ever had is going to break up with me because I completely blew him off. I know that I've missed out on the chance to ask the ball the only question that I even cared about. Plus, my mother is a total wreck, and my aunt stopped speaking to me for a year and then left me a stupid ball that's completely ruined my entire life. But aside from that, no, Roni, or Veronica, or whatever your name is…I do not know
what
.”

Roni nods sympathetically, and her eyes get glassy. “I think you're ready,” she whispers.