The Karma Club

  Mason quickly becomes like someone with an infectious disease around school. No one will even get close to him. Including Heather Campbell, pimple faced and all. Although her complexion is starting to clear up slightly, and I’m assuming it’s because during those days when she called in sick, she went straight to her dermatologist’s office and demanded a stronger prescription. But I still feel pretty confident in our victory, knowing that the Crisco will undoubtedly stay in her pores for at least another three weeks before it is completely eliminated from her system. And even then, it will probably be a good month or two before her skin is back to normal. That is, if the acne doesn’t scar. One can dare to dream.

  So Operation Splitsville comes full circle, and Mason finds himself exactly where he should be . . . alone. I admit, it wasn’t exactly the most direct route to get him there, but hey, who am I to argue with Karma?

  Once again, I can hear the E! News correspondent’s voice in my head as he eloquently reports on the information that’s been filling the hallways. “There are definitely signs of trouble in paradise. Newly established Colonial High couple Mason Brooks and Butter Face Heather Campbell are rumored to be on the verge of a split after evidence surfaced today linking Mr. Brooks to a very controversial cheating scandal. Ms. Campbell has yet to give any official comment on the status of their relationship, but sources close to the couple have stated that it is definitely coming to an end. Rumors of a pending split first surfaced, but were immediately denied, a month ago, when Mr. Brooks was said to be possibly involved with a woman by the name of Catherine Linton. Whether or not these more recent separation reports have anything to do with Brooks’s involvement with Linton have yet to be determined. Catherine Linton, the mystery woman behind the previous rumors, was unavailable for comment.”

  And so the three of us are able to celebrate our final victory. It’s quite a ceremony actually. Jade splurged on some delicious red velvet cupcakes from the gourmet bakery in town, and the three of us sit in a circle on the floor of her room as we simultaneously snap the fifth and final charm onto our bracelets.

  This one in the shape of a heart . . . that has been split in two.

  It holds many meanings actually. Because not only does it represent Mason’s feelings about having lost Heather and his acceptance to Amherst College but it also represents what we had to go through to get here. Each of us with our own, devastating heartbreak. And those heartbreaks were what inspired the four other charms on our wrists. So we agreed that the broken heart was the perfect final addition to our collection.

  After the initial buzz of Mason’s cheating and his consequent breakup with Heather wears off around school and within the club, things fall back into a normal routine. Angie works her regular quarter-time hours at the drugstore, Jade starts getting ready to audition for a new play at school, and Spencer and I spend most afternoons hiding out in his room. Okay, so that part’s not really normal routine, but it sure is good.

  Fortunately, I’m not his tutor anymore. I lied to Mr. Wilson and told him that I was having trouble keeping up with my school-work. So he assigned Spencer to someone else. Because honestly, after two or three tutoring sessions where all we did was make out on his couch, picking up my check from the counseling office started to feel a lot like prostitution. And I guess that would make Mr. Wilson my pimp.

  Okay, gross.

  I’ve almost managed to entirely convince myself that I don’t care about what Spencer wrote on Jenna’s locker. I mean, Jenna’s not exactly the nicest person in the world. I know that’s no excuse for what Spencer did, but I’m sorry, when someone kisses like that, you just end up telling yourself things . . . lots of things. Anything to make sure the kisses don’t stop.

  On Saturday night, I’m lying on Spencer’s bed (with my clothes on, thank you very much) and we’re making out and it feels incredible, when we’re rudely interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing. It’s Angie’s ring tone, but I ignore it and continue on with what I’m doing.

  “Do you want to get that?” Spencer asks me in one of those stifled, in-between-kiss mumbles.

  “No,” I murmur back and pull him closer to me.

  He doesn’t seem to mind this response because he doesn’t argue with me and so things keep going on as planned . . . or I guess I should say as not planned. Because never in a kazillion years did I ever plan on this. It just kind of happened. If you had told me a few months ago that right now, on this Saturday night, I’d be lying on a bed in one of the infamous Cooper mansions with Spencer’s tongue in my mouth while the Loft party that he claims not to have any interest in attending is going on only a few short miles away, I would have told you that you were absolutely crazy. Because people like me don’t make out with people like Spencer.

  The phone rings again, and again it’s Angie. I groan slightly, and Spencer pulls away and sits up on the bed. Then he pulls my cell phone out of my bag and hands it to me. “Whoever’s calling is being pretty persistent, so maybe you should answer it.”

  I shake my head, push Ignore on my phone, and toss it aside. “It’s Angie,” I reply. “She’s always persistent. It’s her MO. I’ll call her back later.”

  But then the phone rings a third time and Spencer gives me this look like “just answer it and get it over with so we can continue where we left off.”

  I sigh and reluctantly pick up the phone and push the Talk button. “Hey, Ange,” I say, trying to sound like I’m just chilling by myself. “What’s up?”

  “Maddy?” There’s something in Angie’s voice that makes me sit up a little bit straighter. It actually sounds a lot like fear. And on Angie, that simply doesn’t fit.

  “Angie, are you okay?”

  There’s silence on the line, and I feel a tingle of apprehension run up my spine. I repeat myself, this time much more persistently. Spencer senses the concern in my tone and mouths, “What’s wrong?” I shake my head in response and turn away from him.

  Then finally Angie replies, “No, not really.”

  “What happened?”

  I hear her take a long, deep breath before she says, “I’m at the police station.”

  “What? Why?” Immediately I think of the Karma Club. We’ve been exposed. Busted. It’s all over. Someone must know that we swapped Heather’s prescription or dropped the underwear into Jason’s shopping bag. And now we’re totally dead.

  But instead Angie says, “The drugstore was robbed tonight, and I was held up at gunpoint.”

  SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

  I nearly drop the phone and scramble to keep it up to my ear. “Whaaat?” I sputter. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a little freaked out,” she replies quietly. “Would you mind coming down here and keeping me company?” She’s definitely calmer than I would have been in her situation.

  “Yes,” I say, already leaning over the side of Spencer’s bed to grab my shoes. “I’m coming right now.”

  “Is everything okay?” Spencer asks after I hang up the phone.

  If it weren’t for the fact that I’m totally freaking out at the moment, I might have found his concern endearing. I mean, up until now it’s only been about kissing with us—really great kissing, obviously—but the subject of a relationship has yet to surface. Which I’m fine with, honestly. I don’t need that kind of complication in my life right now. I just need to get accepted to a decent college, graduate, and move on. I don’t have time for a boyfriend anyway. But the way Spencer is looking at me right now, it’s definitely starting to resemble the way a boyfriend would look at you. Like he’s worried about me. As soon as I see it in his eyes, I realize how much I’ve missed that look. And how much I’ve missed having a guy in my life who cares about me enough to look at me like that.

  I toss my phone into my bag and stand up. “It’s Angie. The drugstore that she works at was robbed tonight and she was held up at gunpoint. I’m going down to the police station to be with her.”

  “That’s terrible! Do you want me to
go with you?”

  “No!” I instinctively shout and then feel guilty for reacting so harshly. Especially when he’s being so nice to me. “Sorry,” I say, more softly. “But I still haven’t told my friends about us, and if you show up, then, well, that’s a lot of explaining to do. And I don’t want to overload her right now.”

  Spencer nods. “You’re right. At least let me drive you.”

  I agree to that because it’s not like he’s going to come inside. He’ll just drop me off in front and drive away. Plus, it’s probably best that I don’t drive right now.

  When Spencer pulls up to the police station, I face him and offer a sincere “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Before I can turn to leave, he puts his hand on my leg and says, “I had fun tonight. I mean, before the phone call.”

  “Me too,” I say hurriedly. Just as I’m reaching for the door handle, I catch sight of Jade walking from the parking lot to the front of the station. “Crap!” I yell, ducking down in my seat.

  “What?” Spencer asks, looking out of the window.

  “Jade! She’s walking into the building. Can you see her?”

  Spencer squints past me. “Yeah, she’s almost at the front door.”

  “Well, tell me when she’s inside the building.”

  My head is now practically buried in my lap, and I’m really wishing that I had taken more yoga classes after that spiritual retreat with my mom. I don’t think my body was quite meant to bend this way.

  “Actually, she just stopped in front, and now she’s taking out her phone,” Spencer reports from the driver seat. “Yep, she’s talking on her phone now.”

  I groan loudly. This is definitely not the most comfortable position I’ve ever been in, and I’m not sure how much longer I can stay here before my legs shrivel up and fall off. They’re already starting to cramp. “Is she gone yet?”

  Spencer shakes his head. “Nope, still on that cell phone.”

  “Jeez, Jade!” I think quickly and then say, “Okay, pull around the side of the building, I’ll get out there.”

  Spencer laughs and puts the car in gear. “Whatever you say, Maddy.”

  It isn’t until five minutes later, when I’m limping through the front doors of the police station with Jade, trying to shake out the stiffness in my legs, that I realize I’ve left my car at Spencer’s house. It’s not like I can ask Jade to drop me off there on the way home. So I lie and tell her my parents dropped me off, hoping that later, after she drives me home, I can call Spencer and have him come pick me up. Then he can take me back to his house so I can drive back to my house in my own car. God, secret love affairs can be so complicated.

  We find Angie sitting on a very uncomfortable-looking wooden bench near the entrance, and I run to her and throw my arms around her neck.

  “Thanks for coming,” she says weakly.

  “Of course!” Jade says.

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” I urge.

  Angie takes a deep breath and launches into this story about how Mr. Miller was out making his nightly bank deposit and she was just walking over to the front door to lock it up when Mason’s mother showed up and begged to be let in so she could buy bandages and gauze. Yes, Mason’s mother! So Angie let her in, and Mrs. Brooks quickly grabbed what she needed, paid for it, and left. But then about thirty seconds after the door closed behind her, three men entered the store waving guns around and told Angie to put the register’s money in a sack that they flung at her and then lie facedown on the ground.

  “And the worst part”—Angie slouches back against the wall—“is that they were wearing these stupid masks, so I’m of absolutely no help to the police. All I can tell them is that the guys who robbed me were about six feet tall and that one of them smelled like hamburgers.”

  “Well, that’s a start!” I say, trying to sound upbeat.

  Angie cracks a meager smile. “Sorry to drag you down here. Were you doing anything important?”

  I turn my head so I don’t have to lie directly to her face and say, “No, just studying.”

  Jade shoots me an odd look. “On a Saturday?”

  I squirm slightly in my seat and mumble, “Yeah, big test on Monday.” And I’m thankful when the interrogation ends there.

  Apparently, Angie’s brush with death isn’t the only bad thing destined to happen. On Monday evening when I get home from Spencer’s house, my parents are seated at the kitchen counter waiting for me with grim expressions on their faces.

  “Who died?” I joke as I open the fridge and start rummaging around for a snack. My dad ominously taps his finger against a white envelope in front of him as he gives me this expectant look. Like I’m supposed to know exactly what’s in the envelope and immediately respond to it.

  “What’s that?” I ask, completely uninterested as I locate a package of string cheese and close the refrigerator door.

  “Why don’t you tell us?” my dad replies, and I know right then that the news is not good.

  My first thought is that it’s a rejection from a college. But I know it’s only March, and college letters don’t come until April. I unwrap the cheese, peel a long strand from the stick, and dangle it into my mouth. “How am I supposed to know what it is if I’m seeing it for the first time?”

  My dad slides the envelope toward me across the counter, and when I look down, I immediately notice that it’s addressed to him and that it’s already been opened, so now I know two things: (1) whatever is inside is bad, and (2) whatever is inside has already been viewed by my parents and therefore probably discussed at great length before it was brought to my attention.

  I set my stick of string cheese down on the counter and carefully pull out the contents of the envelope. It’s a single sheet of paper, and the first thing I see on it is a picture of me. Yes, me! I’m sitting behind the wheel in my car, apparently driving, because one hand is on the wheel and the other hand is . . . oh, crap.

  The other hand is on my cell phone. And the cell phone is on my ear.

  Okay, this is not good. But what kind of creepy stalker has been taking pictures of me while I’m driving and sending them to my parents?

  Then I notice the writing above the picture. At the top of the page it reads, “Notice of Traffic Violation.” And my heart sinks in my chest.

  “I don’t understand,” I manage to get out after I look up and see my father staring at me, his eyes demanding an explanation but at the same time telling me that no explanation is going to get me out of this without severe punishment.

  “It’s a ticket from a traffic light camera,” my mom explains without even a hint of compassion. “And your father’s name is on it because the car is registered to him.”

  I think I’m just gonna play dumb at this point. Mostly because I have no idea what she’s talking about. “A what?”

  “There’s a camera at the intersection of Main and Third, which is where this photo was taken a month ago,” my dad says.

  “You mean they took a picture of me driving?” I try to sound appalled. As if remarking on the injustice and violation of my privacy might actually gain me some sympathy points.

  “Not only driving,” my mom supplements, “but running a red light.”

  “And talking on your cell phone,” my dad adds, hammering the nail in even deeper. “Which would explain why you would be careless enough to run a red light in the first place. Because you weren’t focused.”

  Then it all comes flooding back to me. It was right after I stumbled upon the evidence that Mason had cheated on his SATs and I was driving over to Angie’s house to tell her and Jade the good news. That strange flash of light wasn’t a celebrity being photographed by the paparazzi. It was me being photographed by a red light camera!

  “But that light was yellow!” I argue, remembering how I plunged my foot down on the accelerator to make it through the light.

  My dad takes the ticket from my hand and taps it with the back of his hand. “Ap
parently it wasn’t.”

  I’m not sure what he’s most upset about—the fact that I ran a red light or the fact that I was talking on my cell phone while I was driving. I really don’t want to ask that question, because I know it will only turn into an explosion followed by one of those speeches that starts with “There are many things that bother us about this situation, Maddy . . .” So I keep my mouth shut.

  “Your mother and I have discussed your punishment options, and apart from the fact that you will pay both fines on this ticket out of your own pocket, we’ve decided that the only appropriate thing to do is either take away your cell phone for two weeks or take away your car, because you seem to have misused the two privileges equally,” my dad tells me.

  I’m just starting to contemplate which one I would rather live without for the next two weeks, weighing the pros and cons of both in my head, when suddenly I realize this is not a choice that’s being offered to me. The decision has already been made.

  “For the next fourteen days, you will not be allowed to drive your car,” my dad finishes.

  “What?” I scream. I probably would have chosen the cell phone if I had to make a decision, because I can always borrow Jade’s or Angie’s at school and then there’s a landline here at the house. But taking away my car? That leaves me completely helpless and vulnerable. Not to mention immobile. How am I supposed to get to and from school?

  And when I express this very question to my parents, my dad calmly replies, “You can take the bus.”

  I feel my eyes well up with tears. “I cannot take the bus. Only losers and freshmen take the bus!”

  “Well, then you can get Jade or Angie to drive you,” my mom says.