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

her from that eyedropper and you were so patient.” He pauses again to get control of himself. “We’re really going to miss you. You were a very special lady.”
    He stands up and hugs the guy behind him, sobbing into his shoulder. Huh . I definitely was not expecting a kitten story from the Hells Angels guy. That’ll teach me to judge a book by its cover.
    I listen to a few more people talk to my aunt—
    â€œKate, I hope they have tofurkey bacon in heaven, I know how much you loved it…”
    â€œKate, thank you for showing me that meditation can give me a better high than mushrooms, or even LSD…”
    â€œKate, if you ever want to send a sign that you’re with me, just blow out three candles, and that way I’ll know it’s you…”
    â€”but then I tune them out and focus instead on trying not to let my empty stomach grumble too loudly.
    Finally, when everyone has taken their turn and sat back down in the circle, the lady in the robe stands and moves back to the middle.
    â€œJourney on now, my sister Kate. We will follow when we can. May you be born again at the same time and in the same place as those you knew and loved in this life. May you know them again and love them again.”
    She lights a candle resting on a tall pillar, and then she picks up the urn and walks slowly out of the room. When she’s gone, everyone else stands up and follows her, except for me and my parents. We just look at each other, not quite knowing what to say.
    â€œEven for Aunt Kooky, that was pretty out there,” Dad finally mutters.
    My mom takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “She’s dead, Peter. Must you keep calling her that?” Then she straightens out her jacket and dusts off the back of her skirt. “I’m going to get my sister’s ashes,” she says with resolve. “I’ll meet you at the car in twenty minutes.” She walks out of the room, leaving my dad and me there by ourselves. I look at my watch. It’s almost 3:00.
    â€œI’m starving,” I say to him. “Do you think there’s food out there?”
    â€œTofu, maybe,” he says, sulking a little after getting yelled at by my mom. “But I don’t know if there’s any food.”

Seven
    As soon as we step into the dining room, my father is surrounded by a group of people who want to hear stories about my aunt Kate from before they knew her. I somehow manage to slip by unnoticed. I wander over to the buffet table to see if there’s anything I can scarf down quickly before my mother comes back and drags us to the car by our hair. I do a quick scan of the table: carrot sticks, celery sticks, some fruit, aha! Bagels and cream—no wait, that’s tofu cream cheese. Whatever. I’m so hungry right now I would eat a tofu horse if that’s all there was.
    I scrape some of the faux cream cheese onto my plate, and as I reach for a bagel, I notice the picture hanging on the wall above the table. It’s a poster of a Thomas Hirschhorn sculpture titled Camo-Outgrowth , my aunt’s favorite work of art. The piece is made up of about fifty or sixty globes, sticking out horizontally from the wall, each one partially covered in camouflage. It’s always hung there, but with the furniture all moved around, it looks strangely out of place. I stare at the poster, and for the first time today my throat tightens and my eyes begin to sting. I remember when Aunt Kiki bought it, right after the piece had been installed at the county art museum. She’d said it was “haunting her.” So she went back and bought the poster, and every time I came to visit her she had come up with another explanation for what it was supposed to mean. I must have spent a good twenty hours of my life talking about that poster with her. In fact, it was the sole reason why I decided to take AP Art History this year.
    Someone taps my shoulder,