The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball by Risa Green Read Free Book Online Page B

stuff.”
    â€œOh, please,” Samantha says. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to believe in anything to play with a Pink Crystal Ball. It’s just for fun. Come on, ask it a question. You know you want to. Ask it if Spencer Ridgely thinks you’re smexy.”
    I roll my eyes at her. “Spencer Ridgely is, like, the hottest guy in the whole school. Possibly even the whole world. And he’s a senior. He doesn’t even know who I am.”
    â€œNot the point,” Lindsay says, jumping on Samantha’s bandwagon. “Come on, just do it. It’s not that hard. Repeat after me. ‘Does Spencer Ridgely think I’m smexy?’”
    â€œWhat is ‘smexy’?” I ask, immediately wishing I hadn’t.
    Samantha rolls her eyes at me this time. “It means smart and sexy, stupid. God, you need to hang out in some classes that aren’t AP. Maybe you’ll actually learn something useful. Now would you stop stalling and just ask the question already?”
    â€œFine,” I say, succumbing to their peer pressure. I pick up the ball and shake it. “Does Spencer Ridgely think I’m smexy?” I ask, not even trying to hide my annoyance. I peer into the plastic on the flat side of the ball. It takes a second for the message to come up.
    Yes, your fate is sealed.
    â€œWell?” Lindsay asks.
    I frown. “It says, ‘Yes, your fate is sealed.’”
    She claps her hands excitedly and Samantha laughs.
    â€œGive me that thing,” Lindsay demands. “I want to try it again.” I hand it to her, and this time she shakes it extra hard. “Is Megan Crowley’s boyfriend going to cheat on her with a slutty girl from St. Joseph’s and give her a raging case of syphilis?” Her lips twist in a frown. “‘Your future is obscured. You must try again.’ This thing sucks,” she says, tossing it back onto the bed. “Where did you get it, anyway?”
    â€œMy aunt left it to me. Her friend gave it to me at the memorial service yesterday. It came with these.” I show her the paper and the scroll.
    â€œI thought crazy aunts were supposed to leave people gobs of money that nobody knew they had,” Lindsay says, half to herself.
    â€œHey, that would be a great T-shirt,” Samantha interjects. “‘My crazy aunt died and all I got was a fake crystal ball.’”
    Even I have to laugh at that one. To be honest, it feels good. It hurts less to think of Kiki as just some “crazy aunt” who didn’t have a grip on reality. Before the laughter fades, Lindsay says that she can’t stay. She just stopped by to see how I was doing. She promised her mom that she would help her move some stuff out of the garage.
    Poor Lindsay , I think. Ever since her parents got divorced, she’s become the man of the house. She takes out the trash, hangs pictures, helps with moving heavy stuff. I always tell her that, one day, she’s going to make some guy a fantastic husband.
    â€œHave fun,” I say.
    â€œOh, don’t worry, I will. This is Mr. Lindsay Altman, signing off.” She gives us a salute and then bounces out of my room and down the stairs.
    â€œI should go too,” Samantha says. “My mom is having a dinner party tonight for some really important clients of my dad’s, and I need to be home so that I can totally ruin it.”
    â€œHa! Nice attitude.”
    She shrugs. “Hey, it’s quid pro quo in my house. She makes me miserable, I return the favor. Not all of us are lucky enough to live in a sitcom family like you.” She pauses suddenly, as if she might have said too much, then quickly smiles. “Cue laugh track here.” She grabs her black Prada backpack and disappears out the door.
    Alone again, I take the paper out of the envelope again and stare at it, trying to make some sense of the words. What does that mean, “There are