Instant Karma

by Marissa Meyer

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Well, I kind of got the idea from Carlos, doing the weekly karaoke thing. What if the store started holding weekly open-mic nights?”

  My brow furrows as I glance through the windows. “Um…”

  “Not here,” says Ari, waving the wad of paper towels at the store. “I know there isn’t space for it. But I thought we could team up with one of the restaurants on the boardwalk. We would, like, act as the sponsor. We could get some swag branded with the store’s logo—maybe guitar picks or bumper stickers or something? And give out coupons for people to come in and get ten percent off their purchase?” She shrugs. “What do you think?”

  I smile. “I think it’s worth a shot. Would you be the host of these open mic nights?”

  She cringes. “I don’t know about hosting. But … you would be really great at that.”

  I smile, because it is a compliment, but inside I’m wondering how many times I would have to host a gig like that before I stopped panicking every time I went onstage. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be great, too.” I finish sweeping the sidewalk. “You should bring it up to Dad, see what he thinks.” I frown. “That reminds me. Remember how I said you could have my old keyboard? I asked my parents, and it turns out they sold it, since it was just collecting dust. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she says. “I’ll check out Brass and Keys one of these days. If I decide to get one at all.”

  Brass and Keys is the local music store, another place that knows Ari by name. Something tells me that any keyboard she would buy there would be way nicer than the one my family picked up at the pawnshop all those years ago, anyway.

  I check my watch. “I should probably get going. If I’m late, I’m sure Quint will never let me live it down.”

  I head back into the store and set the broom back into the storeroom. Jude is pulling brand-new vinyl albums from a cardboard box, each one still wrapped with cellophane.

  I recognize the artist on the cover. Sadashiv, a British pop singer who’s become super famous the last couple of years by modernizing old standards. His popularity probably isn’t hurt by the fact that he’s heart-stoppingly gorgeous. I think he was even voted People magazine’s sexiest man alive last year, even though I’m pretty sure he’s still a teenager.

  Of course, I only know any of this because both Penny and Lucy are obsessed with him, as are a whole lot of girls in my school.

  “Whoa,” I say, staring over Jude’s shoulder. “I didn’t know contemporary artists still put out vinyl records.”

  “Oh yeah,” says Jude, laying out the records so he can put price stickers on them. “It’s the hip thing to do right now. These”—he taps the stack of Sadashiv records—“will be huge sellers.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “When Ari and I told Dad that this guy had a new album coming out, his exact words: ‘Sada-who?’” Jude rolls his eyes. “You’d think with five kids he’d have an easier time staying current.”

  “People like what they like. Hey, I have to get going. Thanks again for your help at the festival yesterday.”

  “See you later, Sis. Good luck today.”

  “Dad?” I call, stepping back into the main area of the store.

  “Right here.”

  He’s at the counter, wearing his reading glasses as he checks something off on a handwritten ledger.

  “I need to go. Can I leave some flyers here?” I pull what’s left of our blue flyers out of my bag and set them on the counter. “Maybe if anyone comes in this morning you can tell them about the cleanup?”

  “Not only will I tell them about the cleanup,” he says, pulling the glasses down to the tip of his nose, “I will threaten to sell them only Vanilla Ice records until they promise to go.”

  “Maybe nothing quite so dramatic?”

  The bell on the door chimes, and I turn around, preparing to say goodbye to Ari.

  But it isn’t Ari coming inside.

  I freeze.

  It’s Maya. Maya Livingstone. She’s wearing an oversize UCLA sweatshirt that falls nearly to her knees, pale pink leggings, and flip-flops, and pulling it off like a model. I’m not sure if I’m jealous or impressed. Mostly, I’m bewildered. What is she doing here?

  “Welcome in!” says Dad. “Take a look around. Let me know if I can help you find anything. And please”—he grabs the top flyer from the stack—“be sure to check out the beach cleanup happening—”

  I put my hand over his. “It’s okay, Dad.” I force myself to smile. “Hi, Maya.”

  “Oh. Hi, Prudence,” she says, blinking at me. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “I don’t, actually. I’m just helping out this morning. Uh … this is my dad.”

  “Welcome, friend of Prudence!”

  She chuckles awkwardly as she makes her way through the rows of records. “Thanks. Um. I know it just came out, like, yesterday, but do you happen to carry the new Sadashiv record?”

  Dad peers at her. “Sada-who?”

  I roll my eyes.

  Maya starts to repeat. “Sada—”

  “Don’t mind him,” I say. Then, bracing myself for what’s sure to be a really uncomfortable encounter, I cup my hands over my mouth and holler, “Hey, Jude! We have a customer who wants the new Sadashiv album.”

  There’s rustling from the back and then Jude appears, record in hand. “See, Dad? I told you these would be—” He sees Maya and goes still. His eyes widen. “Uh. Hot … sellers. Maya! Hi!”

  She smiles, but there’s a bit of a cringe in the look, and I wonder if she’s thinking about what she said about Jude at the bonfire party, and wondering what he may or may not have overheard.

  I brace myself, flexing my fingers. If she says anything even remotely hurtful to Jude, I will call down the full force of the universe and squash her like a bug.

  But then Maya’s gaze falls on the record and she lights up. Rushing forward, she takes it from him, cradling the album in both hands and staring at Sadashiv’s glorious face. Though he’s a British artist, he’s of Indian descent, with curly black hair and eyelashes so thick it looks like he’s wearing perpetual eyeliner. And that’s just the beginning. I’ve heard Penny and Lucy have entire dinnertime conversations about his lips, his cheekbones, even his ears. I mean, seriously? What’s that about?

  “I have been waiting for this for months!” says Maya, pressing the album to her chest. “I’m so happy you have it.”

  “See? Vinyl records!” says Dad, smacking his palm on the counter. “I knew they’d come back around, even with you young kids. I’ve been saying it for years.”

  I’m anxious to get going. I really don’t want to be late for the cleanup. But Jude’s cheeks have flushed and I’m hesitant to leave him. Does he need moral support right now? It’s hard to tell when he can’t take his eyes off Maya long enough to clue me in.

  Jude clears his throat. “Is there, um … anything else I can help you with…?”

  She beams at him, and I can see Jude becoming more flustered by the moment. “Nope, this is all I came in for. Thanks, Jude. I had no idea you worked here. What a cool summer job!”

  He chuckles, still blushing, and says a whole lot of nothing as he rings her up and takes her payment.

  “Well, if anyone needs me,” says Maya, backing away from the counter, still clutching the album to her chest, “I’ll just be at home, listening to this on repeat.”

  “Wait! Take a flyer,” says Dad, shaking one of the blue papers at her. “Beach cleanup party happening today!” He gives me an enthusiastic wink. “Prudence is in charge of it.”

  “Really?” Maya takes the flyer, a little wary. “I actually lost something on the beach, at the start of the summer.”

  I feign ignorance. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It’s…” She hesitates and looks down at the flyer. “You know what? I might actually stop by for this.”

  “Well, don’t be late. Don’t want to miss out on the really good trash,” I say, w
holly unconvinced that she will be stopping by.

  “It was fun to see you, Prudence. Jude.” She waves.

  Jude waves back, all dreamy-eyed, but she already has her back turned to him.

  Ari comes in through the front door, passing Maya in the aisle. Maya pauses and snaps her fingers. “Oh, hey! Aren’t you that girl who was at the bonfire party? With the guitar?”

  Ari gets a surprised look in her eye. “Wow. You’re the second person in two days who’s recognized me from that.”

  Maya grins. “You were amazing! I overheard that song you did … something about … snowflakes on the shore…”

  “‘The Winter Beach Blues’!” says Ari, brightening. “That’s one of my favorites.”

  “I’d never heard it before, but it was so beautiful! Who is it by?”

  Ari immediately starts to shrink back into her shell, nervously toeing the wooden floorboards. “Um…”

  “That one is an Araceli Escalante original,” I pipe up.

  Maya looks baffled. “Araceli Escalante?” She glances at Jude, then at Dad. “Do you carry any of her albums?”

  We all laugh, and I take Ari’s elbow. “This is Ari,” I say. “She’s a songwriter. That song was one of her own.”

  “Oh!” Maya claps a hand to her cheek. “That’s so cool! I wish I could play an instrument. Or sing. Or write … anything. I’m so jealous.”

  And now she’s officially flustered both of my best friends.

  I peer at her, feeling a little disconcerted myself.

  She’s acting so normal. So nice.

  Not that she usually acts like a supreme snob or anything, but I can’t ignore the things she said about Jude. How she completely wrote him off. How she suggested that he was somehow beneath her. I struggle to recall her exact words from that evening, but it’s all a blur. Still, I know I didn’t just imagine it.

  “Well, if you ever record anything,” Maya adds, “I’d love to have a copy.”

  She waves at us all again, and then she leaves, creating a strange vacuum in her absence, like all the air is being sucked out of the store. The Maya Livingstone effect.

  I stretch out my fingers, a little disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to use my power against her this time. Which probably makes me a horrible, resentful person.

  What did she say on the beach? I rack my brain to remember specifics, but all I can remember for sure is Katie making that inane comment about how D&D is some devil-worshipping game, and how Maya shot her down.

  But there was more to it than that. There had to be.

  Did she call him a nerd? Or was that Janine?

  Someone said he was creepy. And oh! Obsessed. Someone definitely insinuated that Jude was obsessed with Maya. But was that her, or one of her friends?

  But she definitely said that she wasn’t interested in him, and she said it within earshot of Jude! That’s not okay. That’s downright heartless! And … and …

  Honest.

  I suppose.

  She was being honest. And if she really didn’t know that Jude was there and able to hear her …

  “I like her,” says Dad, interrupting my uncomfortable train of thought. He claps his hands as if he’d just completed a day’s worth of work. “You kids sure do have nice friends.”

  I give myself a shake before my brain can charge down another bottomless rabbit hole. “I really, really need to get going,” I say.

  “Yes, go!” commands my dad. “Make this world a better place! And if you run into any tourists, send them our way, yeah? The crowds are starting to come in for the season, and we could use the business.”

  I nod, but I’m not really listening to him. My attention has darted to Jude. “Are you okay?”

  He looks dazed and thoughtful as he leans back against the counter. “I don’t look anything like Sadashiv.”

  I try not to laugh at this blatantly obvious statement, because Jude really does look weirdly upset by this piece of information. I give him a sympathetic look.

  “Jude, he’s supposedly the sexiest man alive. Maybe try not to be so hard on yourself.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Quint is giving me a sassy look as I race down the beach toward where he’s already set up a couple of tables and carried down a bunch of boxes of supplies. He makes a big show of checking a nonexistent watch.

  “Prudence Barnett, you are late,” he says. “You know, my time is valuable, too. Whatever happened to believing in punctuality?”

  I scowl at him. “Very cute. My one tardiness hardly excuses an entire year’s worth of yours.”

  “Maybe. But it’s a start.”

  I slap my hands together, scanning the stacks of boxes. “What do we need to do?”

  “Help me set up the tent.” He’s brought a large white pop-up tent and stakes to help secure it in the sand. It takes us a few minutes to get it propped up. Quint even made a banner that he ties to the back posts of the tent, reading FREEDOM FOR US, FREEDOM FOR OUR WILDLIFE. Underneath, in smaller letters, it says: “Learn more about the Fortuna Beach Sea Animal Rescue Center!”

  We finish setting up the supplies—reusable trash bags, grabbers, gloves—with minutes to spare. I look around, hoping to see a huge crowd of people heading our way, ready to kick off this epic beach-cleanup party.

  Instead, what I notice when I finally take the time to scan the beach is slightly disturbing.

  I see blue papers.

  A lot of them.

  “I’m noticing a flaw in our grand plan,” I say, nudging Quint with my elbow. “Why does it seem like half the trash out here today is…”

  “Our flyers.” He nods, frowning at the irony. “I noticed that, too.”

  “People are jerks.”

  “At least we’re out here cleaning it up, and we’ll get a lot of plastics and junk off the beach, too. It’s still a win.”

  I pull the zipper of my hoodie up to my neck. The wind is sort of brutal today. I hope we won’t lose our workforce before the big release happens. Fortuna Beach is sunny and warm three hundred and twenty days out of the year, which means we’re all wimps on the other forty-five days. People scurry for cover at the slightest hint of rain, and even an unexpected cold front can turn Main Street into a ghost town.

  My nerves begin to ratchet up when five, ten minutes past the start time, it’s still just me and Quint. We keep our conversation light. We busy ourselves tidying the stacks of tote bags.

  But I know he’s thinking it, too.

  What if this is a gigantic flop? What if no one comes?

  And then, at fifteen minutes past the hour … they come. At first, just a sprinkling of curious beachgoers. But then they keep coming. People I know, but also a lot that I don’t.

  Sure, the crowd is nothing compared with yesterday’s festival, but it keeps growing. And, best of all, people actually seem kind of excited to be here helping out.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  People are here. They’re learning about the center and its patients. They’re helping.

  With any luck, they’ll be donating some cash, too.

  Quint and I try to greet everyone, telling them about the center while we hand out bags and latex gloves. People begin to spread out across the shore, scouring the beach for garbage and debris left over from yesterday’s festival. I’m pleased to see a lot of families there with children, who seem just as enthusiastic to pick up garbage as they are to collect shells and rocks.

  We’ve set out a large donation jar on the table at the front of the tent, and as the minutes go by, I find myself constantly checking on it. I notice with glee that it’s started to gather an assortment of green bills and change. I wish I could estimate how much money is inside, but it’s impossible to tell. Are those singles or twenties? I’ll have to wait in suspense to find out when we count it up after the event.

  “All set for the big release celebration?” I ask Quint as I open another box of gloves.

  “The patients are getting prepped back at
the center as we speak,” says Quint. “They’re going to bring them down in an hour.”

  “Perfect.”

  “I have to admit it, Prudence, combining the cleanup with an animal release was brilliant. Everyone keeps asking when the release is going to happen. I guess they put a story in the paper about it this morning?”

  I shrug. “I might have called the Chronicle to tell them about finding Lennon yesterday, and used the opportunity to promote this event.”

  He gives me a sidelong glance, beaming. “You do have a knack for this sort thing, don’t you?”

  I shrug again. “We have to work with our strengths, and I figure, no one can resist those cute little faces.”

  “I know I can’t.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, and it seems like he holds my gaze a second longer than necessary before turning away and pulling another stack of tote bags from a cardboard box.

  Warmth spreads through my body. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grinning, because I know he didn’t really mean anything by it.

  I busy myself scanning the crowd, looking for people I know. Ari and Jude both said they would try to come down after their shifts, but I don’t really think they’ll make it. I do recognize a handful of people from school. Not friends, but acquaintances, or just people I’ve seen in the halls. I also spot my eighth-grade English teacher and one of the librarians from the public library and even Carlos, who I’ve never seen outside of Encanto before.

  Around eleven o’clock there’s what could almost be considered a rush. Quint and I hand out tote bags left and right, directing people where to throw their garbage and recyclables when their totes are full, and encouraging them to venture farther up the beach to where the earlier volunteers haven’t gotten to yet.

  “This is beyond a doubt the best beach party I have ever been to!”

  I glance up, startled. My parents are walking toward the tent, grinning. Dad is holding Ellie’s hand, and Penny is there, too, clutching something in both of her fists.