by Risa Green
“Hey, Lindsay,” says Chris Bollmer, interrupting me as he approaches. He’s wearing the same black hoodie that he always wears, but he looks different, and after a second or two, I realize that it’s because he’s smiling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile before. “Did you hear about Megan Crowley?” he asks, not even trying to hide the glee in his voice. “I was in the principal’s office when they brought her in. I heard the whole thing. She’s been stealing math tests off of Mrs. Newman’s computer all year long. She knew her password and everything.” He laughs. “You must be pretty happy, huh?” I glance at Lindsay’s gray watery eyes and tear-stained face, and I wonder if he’s looking at the same person that I am.
“No, Chris,” Lindsay barks at him. “I’m not happy, okay? Why don’t you just go drink some more of your haterade and leave me alone.”
Chris’s smile disappears and his face turns dark. “You said we could be friends if Megan ever left school. And now Megan is leaving school, so you should be my friend.”
Lindsay’s words come out loud and harsh, like she’s pressed the Caps Lock button on her voice. “Get this through your head, Chris: I am not your friend. I don’t want to be your friend. Okay?”
Chris gives her a scary glare, the same one he used on Megan when she was teasing them in the cafeteria.
“You don’t want to do this, Lindsay,” he warns.
But Lindsay just throws up her hands, exasperated. “Yes, I do. Look, I get it that you thought we had something in common because of Megan, but now Megan is leaving. So we really don’t have anything else to talk about. Now please, I’m trying to have a conversation here.”
Chris narrows his eyes and stuffs his hands into his pockets, then turns and walks away, muttering something under his breath that I can’t quite hear.
I stare at Lindsay, shocked.
“Don’t you think that was kind of harsh?” I ask.
She looks at me as if to say that I can’t be serious. “It’s not like he takes a hint,” she answers, defensively. “Didn’t you hear him?”
“He’s just trying to be nice to you. You didn’t have to be so mean.”
Lindsay’s eyes fill up again, and she gets a hurt look on her face. “I’m not mean! God, don’t you think I’m feeling bad enough today? Do you really have to take Chris Bollmer’s side?”
I can see that this is going nowhere, and I still haven’t even told her about what happened to Samantha.
“I’m sorry, okay. I just—listen, this isn’t important. I need to tell you something. Samantha didn’t hook up with Aiden on Saturday night. I mean, she did, but, well, in the middle, Trance showed up, and Aiden kicked Samantha out. Anyway, the point is, I was right about that clue. It’s not okay for me to ask things for other people. It backfires on them.” I swallow hard and look down at the floor. “It’s going to backfire on you.”
Lindsay looks confused. “What do you mean, backfire?”
I have a knot in my stomach, and I’m scared to tell her. I know she’s going to freak out. I take a deep breath and exhale. “Okay, follow me here for a second. Samantha said it seemed like what she asked to happen to Trance also happened to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Samantha asked if Aiden would ditch Trance at the concert, hook up with her, and then become her boyfriend.”
“And?”
“And, what happened was that he did ditch Trance and hook up with Samantha, and he did say that he wanted to be her boyfriend. But then afterward, he ditched Samantha to hook up with Trance, and now he’s Trance’s boyfriend again. So you see, Samantha got what she asked for, but then she also got to be on the other end of it too.”
Lindsay’s face turns red as she follows the logic. “So, you’re saying that because I asked for Megan to get kicked out of school, then I’m going to get kicked out of school also?”
I close my eyes and nod.
“Are you kidding me?” she yells, her Caps Lock voice turned on again. “How could you do this to me? This is all your fault!”
“My fault?” I ask, turning on a Caps Lock voice of my own. “How is this my fault? You’re the one who ordered me to get the ball. You’re the one who cried and begged me to ask it for you.”
“You should have stopped me! You knew you didn’t know what the clue meant! You knew it wasn’t right! And you did it anyway! You treated me like a guinea pig. Like one of your stupid science experiments!”
I just stare at her, too stunned to say anything. I can’t even believe that she’s turning this around on me. I knew it was a bad idea, but I told her that. I put my hand on her arm. “Lindsay,” I say calmly, trying to smooth things over.
She shakes my hand off of her. “No! Don’t touch me.” She picks up her bag and runs off, leaving me standing there, alone. The tears are welling up in my eyes again. I can’t believe this. Lindsay and I have been best friends for ten years, and we’ve never been in a fight before. Not once. First detention, then Jesse, and now this. I look up at the sky.
Thanks a lot, Aunt Kiki, I think. Your stupid ball is ruining my life.
I turn around and walk back inside, trying to calm myself down as I make my way to the detention room.
Being not boring is so totally overrated.
Twenty-Six
Lindsay isn’t at school the next day. After homeroom, Samantha and I meet outside of our lockers.
“Being grounded sucks,” she complains. “I’m, like, a full twenty-four hours behind in the news cycle. And I never realized how much I rely on technology as a way of not having to talk to my mother. I swear, that woman is driving me crazy. She keeps asking me if I had sex on Saturday night.”
I’m drinking from a bottle of water, and I almost choke mid-sip as she says it. I can’t imagine my mother asking me if I had sex. I can’t imagine my mother even saying the word sex. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her that I can’t remember because I did too many drugs.” We both laugh. “Seriously, though, have you talked to Lindsay?” Samantha asks. “What did she say?”
I sigh. “I talked to her after school yesterday. She said it’s all my fault and that I should have stopped her, and then she ran away. And I couldn’t go after her because I had to go to detention. Which was horrible, by the way. Everyone in there was a repeat offender except for me, and they were all staring at me like I was from another planet. I felt like that song from Sesame Street. One of these things is not like the other,” I sing.
“Please don’t sing,” Samantha requests, glancing around to see if anyone heard me. “What about after? Did you call her when you got home?”
“No,” I say indignantly. “She screamed at me. In a Caps Lock voice. She should have called me last night.”
“You’re so stubborn,” she says, shaking her head. “You told her she was going to get kicked out of school, for God’s sake. You know she always takes things out on people when she’s upset.”
“I know, but you weren’t there. This wasn’t like normal. She was really mad at me. She actually thinks this is my fault.”
Samantha lowers her voice. “Well, can you fix it? I mean, can’t you ask the ball to undo what it did?”
“I don’t know.” I did think of that last night. I sat with the ball in my hand for almost an hour, daring myself to ask it. But I was too scared. What if it backfired again? I kept thinking about what Lindsay had said, about me treating her like a science experiment. “I didn’t want to do anything without talking to Lindsay first.”
“Well, then talk to her. Let’s go to her house after school today. I’ll go with you.”
“I can’t. I have to go to the museum with Jesse. Our Art History presentation is due tomorrow, and I couldn’t go yesterday because of detention. Plus, he keeps saying that I’m acting weird, and he thinks I’m mad at him…” I let my sentence trail off because I
can feel a lump of self-pity forming in my throat, and I don’t want to start crying right before first period. “Everything suddenly became a huge mess.”
“All because of the ball,” Samantha says sympathetically.
I nod at her.
“This is why people like me should not venture outside of the box,” I say, recovering my voice. “It’s just too unpredictable out there.”
***
At lunch, Samantha and I sit with Jesse again. But it’s different today, knowing that Lindsay is mad at me, and that Jesse is annoyed with me. The three of us are more or less silent as we eat. The awkwardness between me and Jesse is back again, and it feels like it did when we were in the car Saturday night, after the concert. When we met up in the cafeteria, there was no kiss on the cheek like yesterday.
A few tables over, Brittany Fox, Madison Duncan, and Chloe Carlyle are huddled together, their faces serious. I wonder if they’re even upset about Megan getting kicked out of school. I wonder if right now they’re trying to decide which one of them should be boss now that Megan is gone.
“What are you thinking about?” Jesse asks me suddenly.
I look up, surprised by the sound of his voice, and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s trying to make things normal between us again. I give him an embarrassed smile, and hook my thumb over in the direction of Megan’s groupies.
“I was just wondering which one of them is going to be the new Megan,” I say. Jesse and Samantha turn around in their chairs.
“Twenty bucks says Brittany,” Samantha wagers.
Jesse shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’m putting my money on Madison,” he says. “Brittany’s the obvious choice, but I like an underdog.”
Samantha laughs, then leans forward conspiratorially. “I heard Megan’s denying everything. She says she never touched Mrs. Newman’s computer. But apparently, Mrs. Newman has proof. Megan emailed the tests to an account that was supposed to be anonymous, but Mrs. Newman was able to trace it back to her. Incidentally, it was the same account that Megan used to email that picture of Lindsay to everyone.”
Jesse’s eyes widen. “How do you know this?” he asks, amazed.
Samantha beams, pleased that she’s impressed someone new with her ability to score prime gossip.
“She’s an information ninja,” I tell him.
“That’s right,” she confirms. “And do you know what else I heard? I heard that Megan is having some kind of allergic reaction to all of the stress, and she’s broken out in huge red hives all over her face.”
Jesse shakes his head in wonderment. “Amazing,” he declares. “If only you could apply that gift to something useful.”
“I know,” she laments. “People say that to me all the time.”
***
When lunch is over, Jesse and I steal a moment alone together outside the cafeteria.
“Are we cool?” he asks. “Because I feel like there’s a tension between us or something.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just upset because Lindsay and I got in a fight, and because I got detention, and I still haven’t written my essay for the Italy trip, and we have to work on our presentation, and I’m just so stressed out. But it’s not you, I swear. You’re the only good thing in my life right now.”
He smiles and his eyes crinkle at the corners, just the tiniest bit. It reminds me of my dad’s eyes, and I wonder if my mom’s stomach used to flip over like an omelet every time he looked at her, the way mine does whenever Jesse looks at me.
“Just relax,” he says, resting his hand on the waistband of my jeans, just above my right hip. “Everything will work out.” He leans down and kisses me gently on the forehead. “I have a dentist appointment during last period today, but I’ll pick you up at your house at three-thirty and we’ll go to the museum. And then I was thinking we could get some pizza and work on the presentation. Does that sound good?”
“It sounds amazing.”
***
After school, I call Lindsay on her cell phone. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message.
“Lindsay, it’s me. Listen, I’m really sorry about yesterday. I know you’re freaked out, but please don’t be mad at me. I’ve been thinking, maybe we can ask the ball to undo everything. Maybe it will work. But I don’t want to do it without talking to you first. I know you’re not a science experiment. You’re…you. So please call me, okay?”
When I hang up, I stand in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door and examine myself.
I’m wearing old jeans and an even older T-shirt, and my long, boring brown hair is hanging limply against the sides of my face, causing me to look like a Cocker Spaniel, except that Cocker Spaniels are cute and I’m…I sigh.
Even I know that this is not an acceptable way to go out with one’s boyfriend, even if it is just to go to the art museum and Nick’s Pizza.
I go into my closet and change into ten or twelve different outfits, finally settling on a pair of black leggings, a white tank top, and a dark gray ripped V-neck boyfriend T-shirt that Samantha left here the last time she slept over. I slip on a pair of silver ballet flats and a long silver necklace to complete the ensemble, then spend five minutes teasing my hair a little at the crown. I put some clear gloss on my lips and rub some blush onto my cheeks, then stand back to take myself in.
Not bad, I think. Samantha would definitely approve.
The phone rings and I glance at the clock: three seventeen. I look at the caller ID: it’s Lindsay. Thank God.
“Hi! Where were you today? We missed you.”
“Erin, it’s not Lindsay. It’s me, Carol.”
Oh. Why is Lindsay’s mom calling me?
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I saw the caller ID and I thought it was her.”
“So she’s not with you?” she asks. I can hear an undercurrent of worry in her voice.
“No. Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me. I don’t know where she is. She left this morning to go to school, but then the school secretary called this afternoon and said that Lindsay didn’t show up today. And Erin, she said that Lindsay is in some kind of trouble, and that the principal would like to see both of us first thing tomorrow morning. She wouldn’t say why. Do you know anything about this?” Her voice breaks. “I won’t be mad at her, whatever it is. I just want to make sure she’s okay. Do you know where she is?”
My heart begins to pound wildly. It’s happening. It’s really happening. I glance at the ball, sitting innocently on my desk. I should have asked it to undo all of this yesterday, before it was too late.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I lie. “But I think I might know where she is. But listen, Mrs. Altman, let me go find her, okay? I promise I’ll call you as soon as I have her.”
“Are you sure? I could drive you, it would be faster.”
“No. Really, it’s better that I do this myself.”
I hang up the phone and look at the clock again. Three twenty-one. Damn. I pick up the phone and dial Jesse’s cell phone number. Come on, come on, pick up.
“Hey, this is Jesse. Wait for it…”
Damn.
“Jesse, it’s me,” I say after the beep. “Listen, there’s been a little emergency and I have to run out for a few minutes, but I’ll meet you at the museum. Sorry.” I hang up and quickly stuff the ball into my backpack, then run down the stairs. My mom is at the table, poring over legal books, just as she has every afternoon since my aunt died.
“I’m going to Samantha’s,” I tell her. “Don’t wait for me for dinner, I have to work on a project. Love you, ’bye!” I’m out the door and on my bike before she even has a chance to look up.
***
By the time I get to Samantha’s house, I’m sweating and the hair around my face is damp and frizzy. I stand in
front of the massive wooden double doors and ring the doorbell impatiently. After two seconds, I ring it again, and then a third time. Finally, Lucinda opens the door. She’s huffing and out of breath.
“Erin!” she shouts, exasperated. “Why do you ring the bell so much? You know this house is big and my legs are not so long. It takes me time.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Can I talk to Samantha?”
Lucinda cocks an eyebrow at me, just like Samantha does. I wonder if she learned it from Samantha, or if Samantha learned it from her.
“Samantha is in her room. She’s grounded, you know.”
I widen my eyes innocently. “Didn’t she tell you about the school project?”
Lucinda eyes me suspiciously. “What school pro-yect?” she asks in her thick Portuguese accent.
“We have a research project due in English tomorrow. We’re supposed to go to the library today.”
She thinks about this for a minute, then nods. “Anyone else, I would not believe, but I know you and you are a good girl. I bet you don’t come home three hours late and scare your mama half to death.” She turns around and calls up toward the staircase. “Samantha! Erin is here to work on the pro-yect!”
I hear footsteps above, and then Samantha emerges at the top of the stairs.
“The project, riiiight,” she says, as she walks down the steps. “Sorry, I thought that was tomorrow. But I can go now. Not a problem. It’s not like I have anything else to do, right, Lucinda?”
Lucinda wags her finger at her. “That’s not my fault, lady. You’re the one who come home three hours late, not me.”
Samantha blows her a kiss. “Later, Lucinda!” she yells as we walk out the front door.
Once we’re outside on the front porch, Samantha narrows her eyes at me. “Isn’t that my shirt?” she asks.
“Didn’t I just get you out of your house?” I shoot back.
“Yes,” she concedes, looking me up and down. “But I want it back. It’s cute.” She rubs her hands together excitedly. “So where are we going? I thought you had to meet Jesse at the museum.”
