Emily dropped the Wonderball. It made a dull thud as it hit the carpet. The two girls stared at each other, both of them pale and wide-eyed.

Lona was the first to speak: “I thought you said the answer had to be a number. If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking, I swear.”

Lona studied her friend’s face for a moment and then decided she wasn’t lying. “Well, it must be defective or something. This doesn’t make sense. We were just joking around.”

“But it knew how many boys you had kissed,” Emily whispered, afraid to raise her voice for some reason.

“Coincidence.”

“But what if it’s true.”

“Again, we were just joking around. Oh, this is silly. We’re too old for this. It’s just a stupid toy.”

Lona stopped talking about it and began talking about the new boy in school instead. But Emily didn’t forget.

Later that night, she held the Wonderball in trembling hands and asked, “Am I going to die this year?”

Emily waited a long time for the answer. Finally, it appeared: It depends.