The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball Read Online Free Page B

and I can feel my eyes stinging. “That was totally inappropriate. Do me a favor? When you’re in the car, don’t say anything like that to my father, okay?”
    Lindsay nods apologetically. “I got it,” she says. She pulls her fingers across her lips as if to zip them, then throws away the imaginary key. “Not a problem. I’m sorry.”
    I know that she really is sorry, and when she reaches out to hug me, I hug her back, holding on for longer than I mean to. I sniffle into Lindsay’s shoulder, and she pats me gently on the back.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know you really loved her.”
    I wipe my eyes as I finally pull away from her. I notice that Samantha is looking at me now, in the same hesitating way that Lindsay did.
    â€œNow what?” I ask.
    â€œWell, um, do you think it would also be inappropriate if I asked your dad not to play his Barry Manilow CD in the car?”
    We all laugh—even me.
    â€œAre you sure you’re okay?” Lindsay asks one more time before heading down the stairs.
    â€œI’m fine,” I lie, trying to reassure her. Samantha cocks an eyebrow at me in disbelief. “I’m fine ,” I say again. “Now go on, go, my dad’s waiting.”
    The two of them disappear down the staircase, and as soon as they’re gone, I run into my room, fling myself onto the bed, and silently sob into my pillow.

Five
    I can’t sleep at all. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is my aunt: her skeleton lit up from inside her body, her hair standing on end, like something out of an old Tom and Jerry cartoon. I toss and turn for a few hours, listening to the rain beating down on the roof above me and watching the clock change from eleven to twelve, and then from twelve to one in the morning. All the while, my brain is racing. Why did Aunt Kiki and my mother stop talking? And why didn’t she ever call me? How come I don’t know more about her life, other than the bad, silly messes she always found herself in?
    I sit up and throw the covers off of me. This is useless. I’m never going to be able to sleep.
    The light is on in the kitchen. When I walk in, I find my mother at the counter, sipping a cup of herbal tea.
    â€œHi,” I say.
    â€œHey,” she says back. “Can’t sleep?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œMe neither. Want a cup of tea? Or I could heat up some milk for you.”
    I look at the floor. “Could I have some tea milk?” I ask sheepishly.
    When I was little, like four or five, I used to have these crazy scary nightmares—like Friday the 13th kind of stuff (even though I had never seen it or watched anything like it)—and my mom would give me a drink she called tea milk to calm me down. It’s half tea, half milk, and a ton of sugar. Now that I think about it, it’s basically the same thing as those chai lattes that I get from the Coffee Bean. Only, a chai latte costs four bucks and sounds a lot cooler than tea milk.
    â€œI haven’t made that for you in years.” Mom reaches out her hand to smooth my hair down. “I would love to make you some tea milk.”
    I watch her as she goes about the process. From the back, she looks a lot like my aunt. Same height, same build, same hair color. I can feel the tears welling up again, and I reach across the counter to pull a tissue out of the box. When I sniffle, my mom turns.
    â€œOh, sweetie, I know this is hard.” She hesitates. “You know…I can never decide if it’s better for the family for a loved one to go suddenly or for it to be long and slow. Because when it’s long and slow, you get to tell them all the things you need to say, but then you have to watch them suffer. And when it’s sudden, there’s no suffering, but then you don’t—” Her voice breaks, and she starts to cry again before she can finish her sentence. She takes a deep breath and