The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball Read Online Free

Rational. Black and white. Stubborn as hell. Actually, come to think of it, my aunt Kiki is stubborn as hell too. I guess it runs in the family.
    â€œYeah, hold on a second,” I say to the woman on the phone. I open the door to my room. “Mom,” I yell. “Phone’s for you.” I deliberately leave out the part about Kiki because I don’t want to get into a whole explanation when I have none.
    â€œI’ll be right there,” my mom yells back.
    When she picks up the phone, I hang up and stand at the top of the stairs, hoping to eavesdrop a little on the conversation.
    â€œYes?” I hear her say. And then she says it again, but this time her voice is tight and tense. “Is something wrong?” she asks.
    By this time, Lindsay and Samantha have come out to join me in the hallway and they nod as I put a finger to my lips.
    â€œWhat?” Her voice is filled with alarm. Suddenly, I’m nervous. Lindsay looks at me and I shrug. I can only imagine what Kiki did this time. I just hope she didn’t get busted for smoking peyote again, because the judge warned her that he wouldn’t be so lenient if he ever saw her in his courtroom again.
    Then my mom starts to cry.
    Now I’m officially freaked out. Mom never cries. Ever. She’s a pediatrician. She sees sad, sick kids every single day, so she’s trained herself not to get emotional about anything.
    Example: when I graduated from preschool, our class sang “The Circle Game” by Joni Mitchell. If you don’t know the song, the chorus goes like this: The seasons they go round and round /something, something, up and down/We’re something, something, something, time / We can’t return, we can only look behind . Okay, so maybe I don’t remember all of the words, but my point is, imagine a group of five year-olds singing some sentimental song to their sappy parents while wearing tiny little mortar board hats. I’m telling you: Mom had the only dry eye in the house.
    â€œOkay,” she whispers. “Thank you.” I hear a beeping noise as she hangs up the phone, and then a heavy thud.

Four
    When I get downstairs, I find my mom lying in a crumpled heap on the kitchen floor.
    â€œMom! Mom, are you okay?” I check to see if she’s breathing, which she is, and just as I shout for someone to call 9-1-1, she lifts up her hand.
    â€œNo, don’t. I’m fine. I mean, I’m not fine, I’m just…you don’t need to call an ambulance.” I’m not sure if she hit her head when she fell, so I check for signs of a concussion, just the way she taught me.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” I ask her. “Are you nauseous?”
    She pushes herself into a sitting position, then waves me away. “I didn’t hit my head. I just, I just, oh my God! Kate!” She starts to sob, right there on the floor.
    â€œWhat happened? What did that woman say?” But my mom just shakes her head. Now I’m the one who’s starting to feel nauseous. I’ve never seen my mother act this way. “Mom, come on. Tell me what happened.”
    â€œShe’s gone.” The words stick in her throat.
    â€œWhat?” My heart is pounding, working overtime as my brain tries to comprehend what she’s telling me.
    â€œThey found her outside in a field, with a metal umbrella. The lightning…” she lets her sentence trail off, but I don’t need for her to finish it. I get it. My aunt was struck by lightning, and now she’s dead.
    In freshman science we learned that in just the few milliseconds that a lightning strike lasts, it delivers four hundred kilovolts of electricity. In other words, if it hits you, nine times out of ten, your heart is going to stop immediately. And if you do somehow manage to survive, you’ll have deep burns at the point of contact, as well as a host of medical problems ranging from respiratory distress to brain