The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball Read Free

full-fledged villainess/varsity cheerleader (which, I think an argument could be made, is really the same thing). And when you take into account the fact that Megan has never forgiven Lindsay for the pee incident, well…if you have ever watched any teen movies at all, then you know that this is not a good combination.
    To make a long story even longer, what happened was that, in eighth grade, Lindsay accidentally passed gas in the girl’s locker room after gym class, and she had the unfortunate luck of being right next to Megan when it happened. Instead of ignoring the perfectly human function the way any polite person would do, you guessed it, Megan made a whole big deal about how disgusting and gross Lindsay was, and she began calling her Fart Girl. And the name stuck. So now, even though it’s been two entire years since it happened, whenever Lindsay walks into a room, Megan inevitably comments, “Watch out everybody, it’s Fart Girl.” Ha, ha…not.
    But the worst part is, lately, Megan’s been getting even meaner. A few months ago, Lindsay found a can of beans sitting on her desk when she walked into homeroom, and just last week, there was a huge picture of Supergirl taped onto Lindsay’s locker, but with a big F written on her chest in thick, black Sharpie and wavy lines coming up from her butt…as if to depict, you know, a wafting odor. And everyone is so afraid of becoming Megan’s next victim that people who used to be friends with Lindsay just stay away from her now. Even boys have been avoiding her. Samantha and I are the only stalwarts. Lindsay and I have been best friends since preschool, and I’m not about to abandon her because of an idiot like Megan Crowley. And Samantha…well, Samantha just doesn’t care. She thinks that everyone at our school is a loser anyway.
    But it’s a shame, because Lindsay is really cool and funny—not to mention super-cute. (Just don’t ever call her that to her face, because she’ll launch into a diatribe about how “cute” is not exactly a compliment, unless you’re a puppy or a newborn baby.) She’s short (though she prefers the term “petite”), but she’s got a great body and she already wears a size 34C (okay, I’m jealous). She has thick, perfectly straight chestnut-colored hair with natural red highlights that never frizzes, not even in the middle of August, and she’s got crazy blue eyes that are so blue that strangers sometimes stop her to ask if they’re real or if she’s wearing colored contact lenses. And that dimple, of course. You could bury treasure in that dimple, it’s so deep.
    If Megan had just been absent that day in eighth grade, or standing on the other side of the locker room, I know Lindsay would be way popular now. Although, the truth is, I’m not really complaining. I know it’s selfish, but I kind of like that Samantha and I have her to ourselves.
    ***
    A long, thin finger of lightning cracks open the sky and, for a moment, my room lights up like it’s the middle of the day in August. I realize that I’m going to have to ask my mom to give them a ride home. I can’t let them go out on bikes in this kind of weather.
    â€œOh, I totally forgot!” Lindsay suddenly announces. “Speaking of Megan Crowley, wait until you guys see what I bought.” She goes over to her backpack which she dumped next to my door and pulls out a brown paper bag. “I know this is going to work. I just know it. It’s the top seller for eradicating evil.”
    Samantha and I roll our eyes at each other. That’s the other thing about Lindsay: ever since this feud with Megan started, she’s gotten progressively more new agey on us. First it was protective healing crystals and sacred essential oils, and then it was tarot cards and runes, and God only knows what she’s discovered this time. She found this place in town