The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball by Risa Green Page A

essay?” Samantha asks.
    My eyes narrow. I should have known that this was too good to be true. Lindsay maybe…but Samantha? Helping me with an essay? I am such an idiot.
    â€œOkay, fine. I knew it was weird. So why are you really here?”
    â€œWhere’s the ball?” Lindsay asks.
    â€œWhat ball? What are you—” And then I realize that she’s talking about the Pink Crystal Ball. And just like that, I know that there is no way that I am going to be working on my Italy essay tonight.

Thirteen
Absolute knowledge is not unlimited; let the planets be your guide to the number.
There are 16 ways to die, but four of them you will never see.
The future belongs to you alone. Other voices will be disappointed.
One rotation is as far as you can see. Only uncertainty lies beyond.
You will know all when no more is known; then it is time to choose another.
    â€œIt still doesn’t make any sense,” I finally say, after staring at the list for the hundredth time. “Nothing is going to change that.”
    â€œWell, it has to mean something,” Lindsay answers. She and Samantha are sharing my desk chair, doing a Google search for “Pink Crystal Ball.”
    â€œThere must be a reason why your aunt gave it to you,” Samantha adds.
    â€œYou know,” Lindsay interjects, “this ball is a perfect example of ‘low’ magic because you use it to bring about changes to the self instead of the world in general. It’s also called practical magic. It’s so funny, I was just reading about this the other day.”
    Samantha snorts. “I’d say it’s more like plastic magic in this case.”
    The two of them laugh at Samantha’s little pun, but I am not amused.
    â€œListen, I know you guys want to believe that this thing is magic, but it’s not. It’s just a gimmicky toy.”
    â€œOh really,” Lindsay says. “Then how do you explain what happened with Spencer Ridgely today?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say, beginning to feel insulted, “but is it really so hard to believe that Spencer Ridgely would notice me without some sort of magical intervention?”
    Samantha and Lindsay both turn around and give me identical, who-are-you-kidding looks. “Uh, yeah,” they both say at exactly the same time. Then they laugh.
    I have to laugh myself.
    â€œCome on, Erin,” Lindsay adds, “It’s also what he said. It can’t be a coincidence that he called you ‘smexy.’”
    â€œYes it can,” I argue. “‘Smexy’ is a popular word. Lots of people are using it. He just as easily could have said that I was hot or smokin’ and you wouldn’t have thought anything of it.” But I’m grinning as I say it, and laugh again in spite of myself.
    â€œHe didn’t, though,” Samantha reminds me, serious again. “He said you were smexy . And by the way, the word is not all that popular yet. I just happen to be on the cutting edge of the lexicon. You didn’t know what it was, remember?”
    â€œOkay, okay,” I grumble. “Fine. It was magic. You win.” Samantha flashes me a victory smile and turns back to the computer. “Even though it wasn’t,” I add, under my breath.
    â€œI heard that,” they both say—again at the same exact time.
    A second later, Lindsay sits straight up in my desk chair. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Did you read that?”
    Samantha nods excitedly. “Erin, come here. You have to see this.”
    I roll my eyes at them. “What? Let me guess, a magic Ouija board?”
    â€œNo, seriously, come here. Look what Lindsay found.” I get up and go to the desk, then lean over Lindsay’s shoulder to read what’s on the screen.
    The origins of the Pink Crystal Ball toy are based in the Spiritualist community of the 1940s, which popularized the use of séances to communicate with