by Risa Green
“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.”
Twenty-Seven
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.
“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.
Twenty-Eight
There’s a surprisingly large room in the back of the store that is decorated like a cozy lounge area. There’s a couch covered in dark purple velvet with lots of plush, comfy accent pillows, a chocolate-colored wood table with a few chairs around it, and on the floor is a huge, shaggy area rug that makes your feet feel like they’re stepping on cotton balls. Roni explains that the store often hosts psychics, tarot card readers, and palm readers, and sometimes they have speakers and book signings back here, as well.
She tells me to take a seat on the couch, and then she disappears into a tiny office. When she comes out, she’s holding two envelopes, along with a small black lacquer box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. One of the envelopes has my name on it, and the other has my mother’s name. Both of them are in Kiki’s handwriting.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
“Kate’s ashes,” she says, pointing to the box. “Well, half of them, anyway. I kept the other half. They’re for your mother. Kate wanted me to sit down with her and explain everything, but she was so agitated at the funeral, I knew she wouldn’t listen. Then she called me a few times, but all she did was yell and threaten to sue me, and there was just no getting through to her.”
I sigh. “My mom can be kind of difficult that way.”
Roni smiles. “So I’ve heard. Anyway, I’m just going to give them to you, and you can give them to her. It’s not what your aunt wanted, but I can’t hold on to this negative energy anymore. It’s really messing with my chi.”
“And what about this?” I ask, holding up the envelope with my name on it.
“It’s for you,” she says. “Go ahead and read it.”
I carefully open the envelope and take out three pieces of lined sheet paper, all filled with Kiki’s handwriting. I feel a lump form in the back of my throat before I even get past the Dear Erin part.
Dear Erin,
If you’re reading this, well, then, I suppose I’m gone, and you’ve figured out how to use the Pink Crystal Ball that I left you. So congratulations. (About the second part, not about me being gone.) Let me first say that I’m so sorry that I didn’t get a chance to see you and talk to you over the last year. I never had children, but I have no doubt that I loved you the way I w
ould have loved a child of my own. Which is why staying away from you was one of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life. I hope that after you read this you will understand why it was necessary.
Erin, I was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer just over a year ago. I met with several of the area’s top doctors, and all of them agreed that I had six months to a year to live. I tried several treatments recommended by the holistic medical community, but none of them were strong enough to stop the spread of the tumors. I could have undergone chemotherapy and radiation, but the side effects are so unpleasant and debilitating, and there was no guarantee that they would work, or even that they would prolong my life by any significant amount of time. So I declined traditional treatments, and decided that I would rather spend the time I had left living my life to the fullest and dying naturally.
Erin, the reason I didn’t tell you is because I knew that your mother would never have accepted this. Her mind is too rational, too logical, too different from my own. As a doctor, she would have insisted that I explore every medical option available, and I did not want to spend my precious, precious days arguing with her about it. I considered telling you and asking you not to share the information of my illness with her, but I didn’t feel that it was fair to put you in that position. Instead, I made the impossible choice to cut off contact.
Some of the best days of my life, Erin, were spent on my front porch with you, solving puzzles together. But there were so many other things that I wanted to teach you about life, which is why I chose you to receive the Pink Crystal Ball.
You see, I wanted to open your eyes to the world the way that I see it. Full of possibilities and opportunities, and twists and turns, and not all laid out for you in little boxes, the way your mother sees it. Don’t get me wrong: I love your mom. She’s my sister, and a piece of my heart has always and will always belong to her. But I feel like she’s missed out on so much of life because she can never see beyond those little boxes. It would be such a terrible shame if the same thing happened to you.
But you are a logical mind too. I knew that if I left you an explanation and a clear set of instructions for how to use the ball, you would have laughed it off as your crazy aunt Kooky (yes, I know about your father’s nickname for me) just being kooky again. So I wrote the clues for you, knowing that you would not be able to resist a good puzzle, and knowing that as you saw your wishes coming true, you might really start to believe.