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

the dead. Robert Clayton was the son of a renowned clairvoyant in Baltimore, whose weekly séances drew crowds from all over the eastern seaboard. Observing the popularity of his mother’s services and how the children in the audience would often imitate his mother afterward, Robert came up with the idea to create a toy that could predict the future. After a few unsuccessful attempts (including a Magic Bowling Ball, a Magic Fortune Cookie, and the unfortunately named Magic Pig Ball), Clayton hit on the idea of creating a plastic version of a crystal ball, which he aptly named the Plastic Crystal Ball. His toy manufacturer, however, suggested that Clayton fill the ball with a pink liquid to better appeal to a female demographic, and the name of the toy was changed to the Pink Crystal Ball. The design turned out to be a monstrous hit, inspiring legions of would-be psychics for generations to come.
    In 1952, the year the Pink Crystal Ball was first sold to the public, Clayton brought one home to show his clairvoyant mother, who by this time was on her death bed. Legend has it that his mother took the toy into her hands and immediately fell into a psychic trance from which she never awoke. Moments after Clayton removed the ball from her hands, his mother died. It is believed that while holding the toy in her last moments, Clayton’s mother endowed it with truly mystical, fortune-telling properties.
    The toy was thought to have been destroyed in a fire at Clayton’s home in the late 1960s, but some claim that Clayton never had possession of it for more than a few months. Instead, many believe that the toy has been passed around the world, working its magic only for those who have been chosen to receive it.
    Lindsay and Samantha both turn around to watch me as I finish reading. Their eyes are wide, and I can tell that they believe every word of it.
    â€œIt’s an urban legend,” I say with a shrug. “Like the one about those guys in Mexico who steal people’s kidneys and then leave them sitting in a bathtub filled with ice. Look it up on Snopes,” I suggest. “I’m sure it’s there.”
    Samantha shakes her head. “It’s not. I already checked.”
    â€œWell, whatever. It’s not real. First of all, there is no such thing as a clairvoyant. Those people in the ’40s who held séances were all scam artists. It’s a known fact.”
    Lindsay gets up out of the desk chair. “Let me see the ball.”
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    â€œJust let me see it,” she insists.
    â€œOkay.” I retrieve the cardboard box from the top shelf of my closet, then take the ball out and hand it to her. She turns it over, examining the inscription scratched into the base.
    â€œRC 52,” she says, tapping her chin. “RC 52,” she repeats. She looks back at the screen to reread the paragraph.
    â€œOh my God,” she says suddenly. “RC 52! Of course! Robert Clayton, 1952! This is the one, you guys. This is the mystical Pink Crystal Ball!” She picks it up again and gently shakes it. “Are you Robert Clayton’s ball?” she asks. She looks down at the window, then looks up at me, triumphantly. “‘Your future is obscured. You must ask again.’” She smiles like someone who just solved a Rubik’s Cube for the first time.
    â€œWhy are you smiling?” I ask. “If it was really mystical, it should have said yes.”
    Lindsay shakes her head, still smiling. “No. It doesn’t work for me. And it didn’t work for Samantha either. It’s like the website said: it only works its magic for those who have been chosen to receive it. Don’t you see? Your aunt chose you to receive it, so it only works for you. That’s why she left you the ball. That’s why it was so important to her!”
    I think about this for a minute. I think about the scroll with all of those names, and my aunt’s