The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball

by Risa Green

  “Wow,” he says, taking in my outfit. “You look…different.”

  “Yeah, well, you know me. Full of surprises.” I feel an elbow in my ribs, and I realize that I’ve forgotten all about Samantha. “Oh, Jesse, you know Samantha, right?”

  “Yeah. Hey.” He nods at her, seemingly unfazed by her hotness, and looks right back at me. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  “But what about the line? And the cover?”

  He smiles. “Don’t worry. Just follow me.” He turns back into the crowd, which seems to have grown even denser in the last minute and half, then reaches out behind him to clasp my hand. The tingling sensation I felt when he patted my hand in the museum comes right back.

  “Hold on to her,” he shouts, pointing his chin toward Samantha. “Don’t get separated.” I nod at him as I reach for Samantha’s hand, and the three of us push our way, single file, through the throng of pierced, tattooed, hoodie-wearing Flamingo Kids fans. My feet get stepped on at least fifty times.

  When we finally reach the door, Jesse cuts in front of about twenty people, walking right up to a big, hulking guy sitting on a bar stool. He’s got a shaved head and a ring through his lower lip, and if I saw him on the street, I might cross to the other side. But Jesse leans in and the guy hugs him, slapping him on the back two times.

  “Hey, man, good to see you,” the scary guy says. “How many you got?”

  Jesse holds up two fingers. “Plus two.” The scary guy looks at me and Samantha, and lets his gaze linger on the expanse of bare leg between Samantha’s knee socks and the bottom of her miniskirt. He looks back at Jesse and grins.

  “Nice work, man.”

  Jesse gives him the same crooked smile that he gave to Lloyd when he left us alone in the snack shop at the museum, and whatever it is that’s been moving around nervously inside my stomach all night does a double backflip.

  Samantha leans in and whispers to me. “You’re right,” she says. “He does look cute with his hair like this.”

  I smile at her gratefully. I know it’s silly, but there’s nothing quite like getting a seal of approval from Samantha. I just wish Lindsay were here. Samantha and I called her earlier to reenact the scene with Megan at the mall (although we left out the part about how Lindsay should watch her back), and she barely even laughed. She sounded miserable. The new girlfriend keeps trying to get her to talk about boys. Ugh…

  Scary guy pulls out three bright orange wristbands that say under 21 in thick black lettering, and affixes them to our right hands.

  “Have a nice time, girls,” he says, winking at us. Samantha winks back, and I have to try really hard to not laugh.

  ***

  When we get inside the club, Samantha disappears to go look for Aiden, and Jesse and I go to the bar to get some Cokes. There’s an opening band onstage, and it’s so loud that we both have to scream to hear each other. I sigh to myself. I know I’m trying to live a little, but I would so much rather be at a nice quiet dinner.

  “It’s really cool that you’re here,” Jesse shouts. “I was a little nervous to ask you, ’cause I wasn’t sure if you’d be into something like this.”

  I take a sip of Coke through my straw. “I’m totally into it. I love this stuff.”

  He nods, and his eyes look just the slightest bit amused. But I can’t tell if it’s because he’s pleasantly surprised by me, or because he knows that I’m a lying liar who lies. “So, do you ever go down to the pit?”

  The pit? Am I supposed to know what that is?

  “Um, yeah. I go down to the pit all the time.”

  His face lights up. “Cool. Me too.”

  Across the room I suddenly spot Samantha, standing by herself and looking crushed. “I’m gonna go grab Samantha,” I tell Jesse. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Sure. But don’t be too long, the band’s going on soon and we should get a good spot.”

  I promise him that I’ll be right back, and when I get to Samantha I put my arm on her shoulder. Her eyes are wet and glassy.

  “Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head and stares longingly at the corner of the room. I follow her gaze and there’s Aiden, right at the end of it. He’s trying to steady Trance, who is stumbling in her black heels and holding a beer in her hand.

  “Maybe you were right about the ball,” she says, not taking her eyes off of them. “Maybe it really doesn’t work for anyone but you. I mean, he didn’t even look at me. I got myself all dressed up for him, and he didn’t even look at me. He just asked me to get a wet paper towel. For her.”

  I glance back over at Trance. Aiden is trying to take the beer from her, but she’s pushing him away, yelling at him.

  “He’s an idiot,” I tell her. “There are a million guys in here who would kill for you to just say hi to them.”

  Finally, Samantha turns to look at me. She’s smiling and her eyes are bright again, as if the hurt she was feeling never even happened. I sometimes wish I could trade places with her, just to understand how it is that she makes everything look so easy. She grabs my hand.

  “Come on. Let’s go find Jesse. You’re on a date, remember?”

  ***

  Jesse leads us down toward the front of the club, and we elbow our way through all of the people crowding around the stage until we’re almost at the very front. Everyone is pushed up against each other, so close that I feel like I need to turn my face upward and gasp just to be able to get some air. Somehow, Jesse manages to bend his arm and reach into his pocket, from which he pulls two small neon orange cones.

  “You brought earplugs, right?” he asks us.

  Samantha and I look at each other. Earplugs? I do a quick inventory of the people around me, and there are bright orange dots everywhere. I smack myself on the forehead.

  “Shoot. I think I left them in the car.”

  Jesse gives me that same, semiamused smile again, and digs four more orange cones out of his pocket.

  “Here,” he says, handing them to us. “I always bring extra, just in case.”

  I push them in just as the lights go down and the place erupts into deafening screams. A few seconds later, there’s a horrible thrashing sound coming from the stage. I push the earplugs in a little harder, wishing that they were the noise-canceling headphones that my dad likes to take on airplanes. As the lights go back on, I see four guys dressed a lot like everyone in the audience, jumping around on the stage, singing and playing electric guitars and drums. Jesse’s whole body is bouncing to the beat, and he’s mouthing the words to the song. He sees me looking at him and he grins at me. But part of me wishes the song would just end so I can hear myself think…

  The music comes to a screeching halt.

  “We are the Flamingo Kids!” screams the lead singer.

  Everyone in the audience screams back at him. It’s a wall of noise, madness. I look over at Samantha, and she screams too, raising her fist up in the air. The lead singer holds the mic close up to his mouth and yells into it again.

  “We love our fans! And we really love all of you brave souls down here in the mosh pit!” He points to all of us standing just below the stage, and I can feel the color draining out of my face as I realize that this is what Jesse meant when he asked if I like to go down into the pit. “Just be careful, please! We don’t want anyone getting trampled tonight!” With that, he runs over to the drummer and jumps up into the air. “One, two, one two three four…” The drummer taps his drumsticks together and the amplifiers explode once more, causing everyone to start thrashing themselves against each other, their hoodied heads moving in time to the music.

  Um…did he just say trampled?

  I start to feel panicky as someone steps on my foot and someone else elbows me in the back. Oh my God, I think. I can just see the headline: girl with highest gpa dies in mosh pit: didn’t
even like punk music.

  ***

  The music, by the way, is horrible. Not that I would ever admit this out loud (in fact, I would deny it even if under threat of having my fingernails pulled out with a pair of pliers), but I would take Barry Manilow over this any day of the week. Jesse keeps stealing glances at me, though, presumably to see if I’m enjoying myself, so I just keep smiling and dancing. (Well, not dancing exactly, but moving as much as one can possibly move when one is sharing six inches of floor space with sixty other people…and basically trying to appear as if I am actually here for the music, and not, in fact, because I want to impress a cute guy.)

  After a few more songs, Jesse taps me on the shoulder. I stop my pretend head-banging to see what he wants. His mouth is moving, but with the noise and the earplugs, I can’t hear the words. It looks like he’s saying “do you love me?” but that can’t possibly be right. I mean, it is only our first date.

  “What?” I shout.

  “Do. You. Trust. Me?”

  Ohhhh. Do I trust him? That makes more sense. Actually, that doesn’t really make sense at all. Why would he ask me that now? Why would he ask me that here?

  But it’s too loud for questions, so I just nod. He smiles, then bends down. I feel his hands around my calves, but I can’t see what he’s doing because there are too many people swarming around us, filling the space that his body had previously occupied. The next thing I know, I feel myself being lifted up off of the ground. Jesse is hoisting me up by my legs, and then some random guy with a hoop stuck through his eyebrow grabs hold of my shoulders, and the two of them raise me up so that I’m lying down above them, parallel to the ceiling.

  “What are you doing?” I scream. “Put me down!” I scream it at them over and over, but they can’t hear me because everyone else is screaming too.

  Someone else is holding my legs now. I turn my head from side to side, still yelling desperately, when I spot Samantha and Jesse. They’re looking up at me, smiling, as if they could care less that I’m thrashing around like a scared caged animal. I watch, helpless, as Samantha reaches into her purse and pulls out her cell phone.

  “Stop moving!” Jesse yells.

  He balls his hands into fists and crosses his arms in front of his chest, indicating that I should do the same. From the serious look on his face, I understand that he’s trying to help me. I realize suddenly that no matter how much I scream, I’m not getting out of this. I swallow hard and lie still, crossing my arms just like he did. Jesse nods reassuringly.

  “Just relax!” he shouts. “Trust the crowd!”

  I peek at the swirl of body piercings and tattoo sleeves and crazy hairdos. I’m supposed to trust them? Terrified, I try to shake my head at him, but I’m momentarily blinded by the flash from Samantha’s camera phone. I blink and blink, and when my eyes clear, Samantha and Jesse are no longer in my line of vision, and I’m slowly making my way above the mosh pit, as hand after hand grabs onto my legs, my butt, my back, my head. I breathe deeply, trying not to think about what would happen if they dropped me.

  Just relax, I repeat to myself. Trust the crowd.

  I close my eyes and concentrate on relaxing, and the first thing that comes to mind is my aunt Kiki. She would have loved this. Actually, she probably did this. Probably more than once. And in spite of the terror, I can’t help smiling as I picture her lying on her back, screaming with joy as people pass her along, relishing the idea that total strangers would care enough to keep her safe. And just like that, my shoulders unstiffen, my neck untenses, and I go with it.

  I open my eyes and look out, and it’s like being in the treetops, except that all of the trees are actually people’s heads. I turn my head to the other side, toward the stage. I have a perfect view. The guitar player is on his knees, his head bowed down, and I can see the sweat dripping off of his shaggy bangs as he plays. The lead singer is jumping around like a maniac, his eyes closed, and I wonder how it is that he doesn’t bump into anything.

  I look up at the ceiling and I exhale. I have never felt so alive.

  When I reach the edge of the crowd, a guy with short spiky hair and tattoos covering his entire neck gently lowers me to the ground. He raises his hand up, palm open, and I high five him.

  “That was rad,” he says.

  I beam at him, and as he disappears back into the crowd, Jesse and Samantha appear by my side.

  “Oh my God, that was so awesome!” Samantha squeals. “I can’t believe you did that!”

  Jesse laughs. “You are officially the coolest girl I have ever met.” He looks me right in the eye, but I look away, not wanting him to see how flattered I am by such a designation. Especially since just a week ago I was Just a Boring Girl from AP Art History Class with Whom Jesse Is Being Forced to Work. “Hey, would you guys want to meet the band?” he asks. “’Cause RJ, the guy at the door, he slipped me four backstage passes when we came in.”

  Samantha cocks one eyebrow. “Did you say four backstage passes?”

  “Yeah.”

  Samantha looks at me, her eyes shining. I know exactly what she’s thinking.

  “We’ll be right back,” she says to Jesse. “Don’t move.”

  “I really don’t think you should do this,” I caution—but it’s too late; Samantha has seized my arm and plunged me back into the crowd. “He was such a jerk to you before!” I yell. “What makes you think he’s going to be any nicer?”

  Samantha’s eyes are laserlike in their focus as she drags me to the other side of the club, toward Aiden and Trance. “Don’t you see?” she shouts back. “This is it! This is the ball’s doing. It has to be.”

  “But what if he says no?” I shout to her. I can’t help it. Even after Jesse, even after everything, I’m still skeptical. It’s just how my mind works.

  Samantha looks at me solemnly. “He won’t,” she mouths.

  We approach Aiden and Trance, who are sitting on a ledge along the side wall of the club. Aiden is furiously playing air guitar, mouthing the words to the song that the band is playing, and Trance has her arms crossed in front of her. She looks pissed off.

  “Hey, Aiden!” Samantha yells to him. He doesn’t hear her, so she taps him on the shoulder. When he sees that it’s Samantha who has interrupted his guitar solo, he rolls his eyes. I suddenly wish I had a pair of gardening shears to cut off that stupid messy hair of his.

  “I’m not giving you a ride home, so don’t even ask,” he yells over the music.

  “I didn’t come over here to ask you for a ride,” Samantha shouts. She leans in toward him and cups her hand over her mouth, talking directly into his ear. His eyes widen, and he nods, then puts up one finger as he turns away from her to talk to Trance. Samantha grabs my arm excitedly and jumps up and down behind his back.

  I watch as Aiden puts his hand on Trance’s leg and leans into her ear to explain the situation. From the look on Trance’s face, I can already tell that this is not going over well. Aiden points at me and Samantha, and Trance suddenly leaps up from where she’s sitting and starts screaming at him. I can’t really hear what she’s saying, but I can see her gesticulating toward Samantha, and it’s pretty obvious what’s going on.

  She gives Aiden the finger, then grabs her bag and storms off.

  My heart sinks. Of course Aiden is going to run off after her, and poor Samantha is going to be devastated. But to my surprise, he just stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and watches her walk away, then turns back to Samantha and shrugs.

  “Screw her,” he says, more to himself than to either of us. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Twenty-Two

  The lead singer of the Flamingo Kids—I think Jesse said his name is Eric—is prancing around the stage, screaming into the mic (I wouldn’t call it singing, exactly), less than ten feet from where we’re standing in the wings, our backstage passes hanging from our necks. This is by f
ar the coolest night of my entire life. I can’t believe I almost didn’t even come. I can’t believe I thought I would prefer Barry Manilow to this.

  Eric glances over in our direction, then quickly looks back again, as if to make sure that he’d really seen what he thought he’d seen. Which is, of course, Samantha: a vision in Hot Topic and knee-high boots. He crosses the stage and looks over a third time, and I notice that this time he catches her eye, causing the left side of his mouth to turn up into a little one-quarter grin before he turns back out to the crowd. I think Aiden must have noticed, too, because he immediately puts his arm around Samantha’s waist and whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle.

  As soon as the show is over, the other guys in the band leave the stage on the opposite side, but Eric makes a beeline for us. Well, not for us. For her. And now he’s standing here, bare-chested and sweaty, his damp brown hair falling over one eye, his dark brown eyes dilated and wide with adrenaline. He has great swirling tattoos covering almost his entire torso, and across his chest it says “Pink Flamingos” in heavy Gothic letters. His body is long and lean, muscled but not bulky. He looks sinewy and hard. He looks like the kind of guy who would get you grounded until you’re thirty.

  A guy with an earpiece rushes over and hands him a towel and a cup of ice water. He downs the water in one long gulp, without ever taking his eyes off of Samantha. Instinctively, Aiden pulls her closer.

  “I’m Eric,” he says, completely ignoring Aiden, and me and Jesse for that matter.

  “Samantha,” she says, ignoring Aiden as well.

  Eric nods. “Well, Samantha. What’d you think of the show?”

  Samantha sticks her tongue in her cheek and looks him right in the eye, unblinking. “It was pretty good, but I would have ended on a better-known song. You should always leave your audience wanting more.”