The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball (16 page)

“Get out the ball.” Her voice is deep and the words come out almost like a growl. I look over at her, half expecting to see that her irises have turned red, like she's a vampire from
Twilight
.

“What? Lindsay, I don't think you should do anything rash right now. Let's just think about this. We could go to the principal. We could tell your mom. We could tell
my
mom. She would know what to do.” But Lindsay is in no mood for rational.

“Get it,” she demands. Her tone is hard and forceful, like it was the other day with Megan. Like it used to be in third grade, when she was mean and bossy. Obediently, I get the ball down from the top shelf of my closet, and I hold it protectively against my chest.

“I don't think this is a good idea. We don't even know what happened to Sam—”

“Yes, we do,” she yells, interrupting me. “Aiden ditched Trance and hooked up with her, just like she asked. You saw them making out. You saw her get in the car with him.”

“Yes, but I don't know what happened after they left. For all I know, Aiden could have dropped her off on the side of the road, and she could be missing.”

“For all you know, the two of them could still be in his bedroom!”

I purse my lips, unconvinced. There's just something about that clue—“other voices will be disappointed”—that's bothering me. And the fact that Samantha hasn't called me yet isn't making me feel any better about it. Lindsay sits down on my bed and wipes her eyes. “Erin, I have never asked you for anything big in my life. But you are my best friend. Don't you want her to stop doing this to me?”

“I do,” I say. “Of course I do.”

“Then do this for me. Please. I'm begging you. You can't ask it for Samantha to hook up with some guy but then not do this for me.”

I feel my will break as soon as I look into her watery blue eyes. Poor Lindsay. She shouldn't have to go through this. And besides, she's right. Why should everyone else be happy except for her? Why should I get to be on cloud nine about kissing Jesse while seminaked pictures of her are being emailed around the school? I'm her best friend. If I have a way to help her, then I need to help her. Anyway, even if I'm right about that clue, how bad could it be? It's not like things could get much worse for her than they already are.

I sit down next to Lindsay on the bed and put my arm around her back.

“Okay. What do you want me to ask?”

I spot Jesse waving at me from across the cafeteria, and as I make my way toward him, I notice that my entire body is all tingly and nervous, and I realize that I have a huge, stupid smile pasted on my face that I can't seem to get rid of, or even make smaller, no matter how hard I try. But then again, so does he, so I feel a little bit less stupid. But just a little.

“Hi,” he says, giving me a light kiss on the cheek. Of course, my face instantly turns into a furnace, and knowing that I'm turning red only makes me blush that much harder. But hello, I just got kissed
at school
. I look around to see if anyone saw, and I notice that Maya Franklin is staring at me, her mouth hanging open. I smile at her, trying not to gloat. (Okay, maybe I didn't try all that hard.) I'm definitely feeling cooler than I have ever felt in my life. With that one little kiss, I just officially joined the elite ranks of the boyfriended.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask. Jesse is wearing jeans and an orange T-shirt with a picture of a wizard in a cape and a pointy hat catching a football. Below it is a caption that reads, “Fantasy Football.” I swear, he's so cute I can't even stand it.

He grins at me. “Yeah, it's for my girlfriend.”
Oh my God, he just called me his girlfriend
. In my head, I jump up and down. “So where's your posse?” he asks, as we sit down next to each other.

I sigh. “Lindsay is hiding out in the bathroom because she was too embarrassed to come into the cafeteria today.”

Jesse's face turns serious. “I saw that email. Is she okay?”

“Not really. She's pretty upset about it.”

“She shouldn't be,” he says. “Everyone knows that Megan is insecure and that she tries to hide it by being ridiculously mean.”

“Yeah, well, try telling that to Lindsay.”

He nods. “What about Samantha?”

I shake my head. “I don't know. I haven't seen or heard from her since Saturday night. I know she made it home after the concert, because I called her house last night and her mom said that she couldn't talk. But I'm really starting to worry about her. It's not like her to go AWOL.”

Jesse reaches over and takes my hand. “You're a good friend,” he says.

I smile at him as the now-familiar lightning bolts shoot down my legs. “So, last museum trip today,” I say, trying to change the subject. I don't want to talk about Lindsay and Samantha anymore. I'm afraid I might say something that I shouldn't. “Have you thought about which painting we should choose?”

Jesse pauses. “I don't know…but I think the time period should definitely be modern. Something post–World War II, for sure. Maybe even something from this decade. I think it'll really round out our presentation.” As he's talking he looks up, as if he's just noticed something, and I turn around to see what it is that's caught his eye.

It's Samantha.

She's wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt with extra-long sleeves that almost entirely cover her hands, and a pair of huge dark sunglasses that dwarf the rest of her face. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was in mourning. Something is different about her, though. I try to figure out what it is, and then I realize: she looks short. Well, as short as a five-foot, eight-inch person can look. I look down at her feet and notice that she's wearing black flats. Yup. That's what it is. Samantha never wears flats. She says they make her calves looks stubby. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. If Samantha is wearing flats, then something must be really wrong.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Didn't you get any of my messages? I've been so worried about you.”

She plops dramatically into the chair next to me, and rests her chin on her hands.

“I'm sorry. I got grounded. They took away my cell phone and my laptop. I wasn't allowed to leave my room the whole day yesterday.”

“Grounded? For what?”

Samantha pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head and rolls her eyes. “I didn't get home Saturday night until three in the morning. My mom wouldn't have even noticed, but Lucinda ratted me out.”

“Who's Lucinda?” Jesse asks.

“Her housekeeper,” I tell him. “She's lived with them since before Samantha was born.”

“She always says she loves me like I'm her own child,” Samantha grumbles. “Some love. I mean, it's not like I just showed up three hours late. I called her. I called her and I told her that I got a ride and that she didn't need to pick me up. I told her to just go to bed. But she was sitting in the living room with the lights off when I got home, all angry and tapping her foot and cursing at me in Portuguese. And then the next morning she told my parents.”

“What were you doing until three in the morning?” I ask, mystified.

She sighs, pulling her sunglasses back down over her eyes. “It's a nightmare. I don't even want to talk about it.”

“Are you kidding? You have to tell me what happened!” I lower my voice. “I need to know.”

“Okay, fine. I went home with Aiden, you know that. So anyway, we got to his house, and he goes in through the front door so that his parents know that he's home, and he tells me to go around the side of the house to the basement window. So I wait there for him for, like, ten minutes while he kisses his mom good night or something stupid like that, and then he opens the window and tells me to climb through. Climb through! In platform boots!”

Jesse and I sneak a glance at each other and he flashes an amused smile. With my eyes, I tell him,
welcome to my world
.

“So anyway, his
bedroom
is down there, which I totally did not know. I mean, I thought it was, like, a rec room or something, with a couch. But the next thing I know we're in his bed, fooling around, and he's telling me how hot I am and how sexy I am, and how he wants to be with me and go out with me, blah, blah, blah, and then suddenly, Trance is crawling through the window, screaming at him that he's a bastard.”

Oh my God. That really
is
a nightmare. “So what happened?”

She hesitates. “You can't tell anyone.”

“Who am I going to tell? I only talk to you and Lindsay!”

“Not you. Him.” She points at Jesse.

“I won't tell anyone,” he says, holding up two fingers. “I swear.” She looks at me for verification.

“He won't,” I insist. “He's very trustworthy.”

Samantha chews on a dark purple fingernail as she considers it. “I need you to tell me something embarrassing,” she says finally.

Jesse looks confused. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Tell me something embarrassing about yourself. So I have leverage, in case you ever think about going informant on me.”

Jesse looks at me, flabbergasted. “Is she serious?”

“Unfortunately, she is.”

Jesse rolls his eyes upward, trying to think of something. “Okay…how about this: I listen to Barry Manilow sometimes. I actually think ‘Copacabana' is kind of a good song. Is that embarrassing enough for you?”

Samantha and I both stare at him, fish-eyed, and Samantha giggles. “Oh my God, you two are made for each other.”

Jesse looks at me for an explanation, but I wave my hand at him. “Forget it,” I say quickly, before Samantha can explain. I turn back to her. “Can you finish the story now, please?”

“Okay. Where was I?”

“Trance was crawling through the window, calling Aiden a bastard…”

“Oh, right. Anyway, so Aiden starts yelling at me to get the hell out of his room, like it had all been my idea. Like I had jumped him against his will. And I'm, like, are you kidding me? Did you not just have your hand down my—?” She looks guiltily at Jesse. “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about offending me,” he says.

I can't stand it anymore. I blurt out my own ending. “And then Trance told him to go to hell and she left, right?” I ask anxiously. “And he apologized to you, and told you that he wanted you to be his girlfriend?”

Samantha and Jesse both look at me like I'm crazy.

“No,” Samantha says. “He told me to get out and never speak to him again, and he got down on his hands and knees and begged Trance to forgive him. And then I walked two miles in those stupid boots, until my feet were, like, one giant blister, and when I couldn't take the pain anymore I sat down on a bus bench and called a taxi.”

My shoulders droop and I hunch over in my seat. Oh. Well, I guess that explains the flats, at least.

Jesse clears his throat and stands up. “I'm…um, gonna get a bottle of water,” he stammers. “Do you want anything?”

“No thanks.” I try to smile, but I feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. He tilts his head and looks at me like he's trying to figure out what's wrong, and as his eyes search mine, I manage to eke out a small fake grin.

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced. “I'll be right back.”

When he's gone, Samantha lowers her voice to a whisper.

“You can spare me the ‘I told you so,' but I think you were right about that clue,” she admits. “It must be some sort of defense mechanism, so nobody can force you to ask it things against your will. Remember how it said that other voices will be disappointed? I think it means that if you ask a question for someone else, it's going to backfire on them. I mean, think about it: it's almost like the ball did to me exactly what I had wished on Trance. Like, I asked it if he would ditch her to hook up with me and become my boyfriend, and it worked. But then he ditched me to hook up with her, and now he's her boyfriend again.”

I close my eyes as I try to process this. “So, you're saying that if someone tries to make me use the ball for them, then whatever they wish on someone else is also going to happen to them?”

Samantha nods. “That's what it seemed like to me.”

My heart jumps into my throat, and I push my chair back so hard that the metal legs make a loud, screeching noise on the cafeteria floor.

“I've gotta go,” I say frantically. “I've got to go find Lindsay.”

“Why?” she asks. “What's going on? Erin!”

I ignore her as I speed-walk toward the door of the cafeteria, but before I'm even halfway across the room, I see the principal, the vice principal, and Mrs. Newman, the geometry teacher, standing in the doorway, scanning the room with serious, stern looks on their faces.

I freeze.
Oh no
, I think.
Oh no
.

Samantha catches up to me and grabs the back of my shirt. “What is going on?” she asks. “Why are you acting so weird?”

I don't answer her. I just keep my eyes on the three adults in the doorway. Suddenly, Mrs. Newman points across the room, and I watch as they walk determinedly through the cafeteria. Samantha has seen them too by now, as has most everyone else, and the volume level suddenly drops. We watch as they stride to the far corner of the room, heading straight for Megan Crowley.

“Oh my God,” Samantha whispers. “You didn't.”

I blink, hard, trying not to cry as I nod to her that I did.

I can't find Lindsay before the bell rings, and when I walk into physics the whole room is buzzing about how Megan Crowley was escorted out of the cafeteria by the principal, the vice principal, and Mrs. Newman. I quietly sit down at my desk, trying to eavesdrop on what people are saying about it.

“I heard it was drugs,” says Lizzie McNeal. “Someone told me that she's been growing pot in her basement for two years.”

“No, I heard she was running a gambling ring out of the garage where they keep the driver's ed cars,” says Cole Miller. “High stakes poker. Twenty bucks a hand. And I heard that Brittany Fox, Madison Duncan, and Chloe Carlyle were the dealers. And that they wore bikinis.”

“That's stupid,” argues Matt Shipley. “She got busted giving a blow job to a basketball player in the boys' locker room. I heard she does it every day after third period.”

“Well, either way, she's outta here,” Lizzie replies. “She'll definitely be suspended. Maybe even expelled.”

Just then Mrs. Cavanaugh walks in, and everyone scatters to their desks.

“Good afternoon. Take out your homework and pass it forward, please.” She picks up a piece of chalk and turns to the blackboard. “Today we are going to start a new unit on wave-particle duality. Based on your reading over the weekend, can anyone tell me what wave-particle duality is?”

Mrs. Cavanaugh's voice sounds like it's light years away from me. All I can hear is Samantha.
It's almost like the ball did to me exactly what I had wished on Trance
.

Oh my God. I have to warn Lindsay. I have to.

I bend down and take a pencil out of my backpack, and pick up my phone at the same time, pushing it up my sleeve. Mrs. Cavanaugh glances at me, and I make a big show of switching pencils and putting the old one away. When she turns back around to write on the board, I slide the phone out from my sleeve and rest it on my upper thigh, then lean over the desk, just like Samantha showed me in the cafeteria. I pretend to be taking notes with my right hand, and with my left hand I push the buttons on the phone.

911. U have 2 leave school. Now. Will explain l8r.

I glance up at the board, but Mrs. Cavanaugh isn't standing there anymore. My eyes dart from side to side, looking for her, and I realize that everyone is staring at me. Slowly, I turn my head to my left.

“Give me the phone, please,” Mrs. Cavanaugh says quietly.

I swallow, and my skin gets as hot as if I've just spent a summer's day at the beach with no sunscreen. Without saying anything, I hand Mrs. Cavanaugh my phone. She glances at the text message that I haven't finished sending yet, then slips my phone into the pocket of her sweater. “I'll see you in detention after school.”

***

When class is over, I wait for everyone to leave, and then I go up to Mrs. Cavanaugh's desk. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I don't feel like I'm going to cry this time. I feel hardened, somehow, like a criminal with prior convictions.

“Yes?” she asks. Her tone is cool, like she's angry with me.

“Um, I just wanted to apologize for what happened today. I know I told you that it wouldn't happen again, but this really was an emergency, I swear. Not that that's an excuse or anything. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry.”

Mrs. Cavanaugh purses her lips and looks down her nose at me. “No, it's not an excuse. I'm disappointed in you, Erin. I gave you the benefit of the doubt last time, and you took advantage of me.”

“I know,” I say. “I know, and I'm really sorry.” I hesitate, scared to ask her what I came for. But I have to. “Um, about detention today. I know I have to do it, but is there any way that I could do it tomorrow instead? Or Wednesday? It's just, I have this presentation for AP Art History that's due Wednesday morning, and I'm supposed to go to the museum after school today with my partner to work on it, and it counts for, like, thirty percent of our grade.”

Mrs. Cavanaugh appears unmoved by my predicament. “Detention isn't meant to be convenient, Erin. Your homework is not my problem. It's yours. And you should have thought about it before you violated the rules. I'll see you after school
today
. End of discussion. And you can have your phone back at the end of the week.”

Of course. Because things weren't already bad enough.

***

I find Jesse in the hallway before last period.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “I've been calling you all afternoon.”

“Mrs. Cavanaugh took my phone,” I tell him. “And even worse than that is she gave me detention. For today.”

Jesse's face drops. “But you can't today. Did you tell her we need to go to the museum?”

“She didn't care. She said detention isn't meant to be convenient.”

Jesse looks up at the ceiling. I can tell he's annoyed with me. “Why were you texting in class? That's so stupid.”

“I know. But I swear, it was an emergency. I have to find Lindsay. Have you seen her anywhere?”

“No. But what's going on? You were acting weird at lunch, and then you ran off without even saying good-bye when I went up to get water. Are you mad at me about something?”

I can feel my eyes welling up with tears. I want to just fall into his arms and tell him everything, but I can't. First of all, he wouldn't even believe me, and second of all, it would take hours to explain this mess. Hours that I do not have right now.

“No. I'm not mad at you at all. You have to believe me, this has nothing to do with you. I just really have to find Lindsay.” I start walking backward, still talking to him as I go. “We'll go to the museum tomorrow, I promise. And if I have to stay up until midnight working on the presentation myself, I will. I have to go.” I turn around and run down the hallway before he can get a word in, trying to hold back my tears.

***

I finally find her in the parking lot after school.

“Oh my God,” Lindsay whispers to me. “Did you hear? She got escorted out of the cafeteria. She cheated on a test or something. I heard she's going to be expelled.” Her face is ghostly white, and she looks like she's been crying.

“Lindsay, I have to tell you something. It's important.”

She looks past me like she doesn't even hear me, and I notice that her hands are shaking. “I thought it would feel good,” she says. “I thought I would be happy. But I'm not. I feel horrible.” Her voice catches, and her eyes fill up with tears. The blue of her irises seems duller, almost gray. “I've totally ruined her life. For real.”

“Lindsay, listen. I talked to Samantha. She figured—”

“Hey, Lindsay,” says Chris Bollmer, interrupting me as he approaches. He's wearing the same black hoodie that he always wears, but he looks different, and after a second or two, I realize that it's because he's smiling. I don't think I've ever seen him smile before. “Did you hear about Megan Crowley?” he asks, not even trying to hide the glee in his voice. “I was in the principal's office when they brought her in. I heard the whole thing. She's been stealing math tests off of Mrs. Newman's computer all year long. She knew her password and everything.” He laughs. “You must be pretty happy, huh?” I glance at Lindsay's gray watery eyes and tear-stained face, and I wonder if he's looking at the same person that I am.

“No, Chris,” Lindsay barks at him. “I'm not happy, okay? Why don't you just go drink some more of your haterade and leave me alone.”

Chris's smile disappears and his face turns dark. “You said we could be friends if Megan ever left school. And now Megan is leaving school, so you should be my friend.”

Lindsay's words come out loud and harsh, like she's pressed the Caps Lock button on her voice. “Get this through your head, Chris: I am not your friend. I don't want to be your friend. Okay?”

Chris gives her a scary glare, the same one he used on Megan when she was teasing them in the cafeteria.

“You don't want to do this, Lindsay,” he warns.

But Lindsay just throws up her hands, exasperated. “Yes, I do. Look, I get it that you thought we had something in common because of Megan, but now Megan is leaving. So we really don't have anything else to talk about. Now please, I'm trying to have a conversation here.”

Chris narrows his eyes and stuffs his hands into his pockets, then turns and walks away, muttering something under his breath that I can't quite hear.

I stare at Lindsay, shocked.

“Don't you think that was kind of harsh?” I ask.

She looks at me as if to say that I can't be serious. “It's not like he takes a hint,” she answers, defensively. “Didn't you hear him?”

“He's just trying to be nice to you. You didn't have to be so mean.”

Lindsay's eyes fill up again, and she gets a hurt look on her face. “I'm not mean! God, don't you think I'm feeling bad enough today? Do you really have to take Chris Bollmer's side?”

I can see that this is going nowhere, and I still haven't even told her about what happened to Samantha.

“I'm sorry, okay. I just—listen, this isn't important. I need to tell you something. Samantha didn't hook up with Aiden on Saturday night. I mean, she did, but, well, in the middle, Trance showed up, and Aiden kicked Samantha out. Anyway, the point is, I was right about that clue. It's not okay for me to ask things for other people. It backfires on them.” I swallow hard and look down at the floor. “It's going to backfire on you.”

Lindsay looks confused. “What do you mean, backfire?”

I have a knot in my stomach, and I'm scared to tell her. I know she's going to freak out. I take a deep breath and exhale. “Okay, follow me here for a second. Samantha said it seemed like what she asked to happen to Trance also happened to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Samantha asked if Aiden would ditch Trance at the concert, hook up with her, and then become her boyfriend.”

“And?”

“And, what happened was that he
did
ditch Trance and hook up with Samantha, and he
did
say that he wanted to be her boyfriend. But then afterward, he ditched Samantha to hook up with Trance, and now he's Trance's boyfriend again. So you see, Samantha got what she asked for, but then she also got to be on the other end of it too.”

Lindsay's face turns red as she follows the logic. “So, you're saying that because I asked for Megan to get kicked out of school, then I'm going to get kicked out of school also?”

I close my eyes and nod.

“Are you kidding me?” she yells, her Caps Lock voice turned on again. “How could you do this to me? This is all
your
fault!”

“
My
fault?” I ask, turning on a Caps Lock voice of my own. “How is this
my
fault? You're the one who ordered me to get the ball. You're the one who cried and begged me to ask it for you.”

“You should have stopped me! You knew you didn't know what the clue meant! You knew it wasn't right! And you did it anyway! You treated me like a guinea pig. Like one of your stupid science experiments!”

I just stare at her, too stunned to say anything. I can't even believe that she's turning this around on me. I knew it was a bad idea, but I
told
her that. I put my hand on her arm. “Lindsay,” I say calmly, trying to smooth things over.

She shakes my hand off of her. “No! Don't touch me.” She picks up her bag and runs off, leaving me standing there, alone. The tears are welling up in my eyes again. I can't believe this. Lindsay and I have been best friends for ten years, and we've never been in a fight before. Not once. First detention, then Jesse, and now this. I look up at the sky.

Thanks a lot, Aunt Kiki
, I think.
Your stupid ball is ruining my life
.

I turn around and walk back inside, trying to calm myself down as I make my way to the detention room.

Being not boring is so totally overrated.