The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball by Risa Green

Doughboy. (Although, I wouldn’t mind keeping the lips. And, of course, the boobs.) Unfortunately, however, I am surrounded by nothing but closed lockers and unflattering overhead lighting. And since I was late for school as a result of my impromptu appointment with Dr. Mom this morning, the hallway is also completely devoid of people. Except for me. And Jesse Cooper.
    â€œErin?” he asks tentatively, as he gets closer. “Oh…hey?” It still sounds like a question.
    â€œHey,” I say back to him, as casually as possible. In all of my excitement about the fact that I could actually fit into a bra, I decided I should flaunt it for the few hours that it’s going to last. So I went deep into my closet and pulled out every single item of clothing that I own (also a contributing factor to my lateness), and settled on the tightest, lowest-cut top that I could find: a bright red V-neck sweater. At home it made me feel like a 1950s Hollywood starlet. But now that I am here in an empty high school hallway, face to face with Jesse Cooper, I’m feeling less Marilyn Monroe and more Trashy Ho.
    â€œWe need to go to the museum again,” he says. “Do you think you could go today? After school?” I notice that he’s trying to keep his eyes from looking anywhere but at my sweater, and I wonder if this is what it’s like all the time for girls who have boobs. I can see how it might get annoying on a daily basis. But as a first timer, I’m kind of enjoying it.
    â€œToday?” I ask. “Hmm, yeah, I don’t think I can go today.”
    This is a total lie. I could easily go today, but I don’t want him to think that I have no social life (even though I don’t). I mean, he shouldn’t assume that I just sit around at home every afternoon (even though I do), or that I’m available whenever it’s convenient for him (even though I am). Also, I am a little anxious about how long this puffy-coat of an allergic reaction is going to last (Mom says longer than twenty-four hours and she’s taking me to the hospital). “What about the day after tomorrow?” I ask.
    He thinks for a minute. “Could you go tomorrow? My band has practice the day after…” He doesn’t finish.
    I raise my eyebrows at him. His band? I didn’t know he was in a band. I didn’t even know he played an instrument. When did that happen? “Yeah…I mean, I guess I could move some stuff around. That’s fine.”
    â€œCool. Well, I’d better get back to class.”
    â€œYeah, okay. See you tomorrow.”
    â€œRight. See you tomorrow.” I’m about to start walking again, but he hesitates.
    â€œHey, what, um, what happened to you, anyway? Your face is like…” I can tell that he is searching for a word that won’t offend me, and I feel bad watching him struggle. If Samantha were in this situation, she would just stand there and let him suffer.
    â€œI had an allergic reaction to some Chinese food,” I explain. “But my mom said I should be back to normal in a few hours.”
    He nods, then glances at my sweater again.
    â€œThat’s good. I mean, not that you look bad or anything,” he says, his cheeks flushing red. “You just, you know, you look better the other way.”

Fifteen
    I find Lindsay and Samantha in the hallway as soon as class is over. Lindsay is in her usual school attire: a long sweater, skinny jeans, Converse slip-ons (no laces). Then there’s the ever-present “healing crystal” on a red leather string that she got from Veronica at the Metaphysical Shoppe. Samantha, meanwhile, is decked out in a gray loose-fitting belted dress over black jeans and green suede high-heeled shoe boots.
    â€œThere’s something you need to see,” I whisper. I grab them both by the arm and lead them around the corner, to where the tenth grade lockers are located.
    â€œUm, hello,