Instant Karma

by Marissa Meyer

  I think I might have my brave face on, too.

  To my surprise, Quint grabs my hand and gives it a hasty squeeze. Then the touch is gone, as quick as it came. He doesn’t look at me as he stands up. “Come on. Let’s get your sea lion to the center.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  I sit in the front passenger seat, giving Ari directions, while Quint, Ezra, and Jude cram into the bench behind us. Rosa was right. We pass hordes of vehicles trying to cram into downtown for the festival. For a long time, we’re the only car heading the other direction.

  “It’s like running from the zombie apocalypse,” muses Jude.

  No one answers and, after a few seconds, Ezra leans forward, settling his chin on the bench between me and Ari. “I like your ride. ’62 Falcon?”

  Ari glances at him in the rearview mirror. “Uh. Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Ever thought of putting a V8 in it? Get some more horsepower?”

  “Uh.” Ari’s brow furrows as she tries to concentrate on driving. “No. Never thought about it.” She shifts to a higher gear, but the movement is awkward, making the car jerk a couple times. I wince, feeling bad for the sea lion in the back.

  “Let me know if you do.” Ezra rubs his fingers along the cream-colored upholstery between me and Ari. “I moonlight at Marcus’s Garage on weekends. Wouldn’t mind spending some time under this hood.”

  I frown and glance at him over my shoulder, unable to tell if he’s talking in euphemisms or not. “So what’s your primary job?” I ask.

  Ezra looks at me, surprised, as if he’d forgotten I was there, too. “What?”

  “You said you moonlight at Marcus’s Garage, which implies it’s your second job. So what’s your first job?”

  He stares at me a second longer, before a slow smile spreads across his face. “Living the easy life, Prudence. It’s a full-time gig.”

  I roll my eyes, and he turns his attention back to Ari. “Didn’t I see you at the bonfire party? With the guitar?”

  “Yeah, that was me,” says Ari.

  “You’re pretty good. I didn’t recognize the songs you were playing.”

  “Oh. I wrote most of them. I mean, some of them. Not all. I think I played some Janis Joplin that night and some Carole King, if I remember … Those definitely weren’t written by me. Obviously.” I glance over at Ari. She’s blushing. My gaze skips back to Ezra, who seems oblivious to how nervous he’s making her. I’ve never given much thought to Ezra Kent’s looks, I guess like I’d never given much thought to Quint’s, either … until recently. I guess Ezra could be called cute, in an unconventional way. He’s thin, pale, and freckled, with red hair that’s just a tinge too dark to be called ginger. He wears it long, to just beneath his ears. He has a troublemaker’s smile.

  This, I notice now for the first time.

  I wonder when Ari started to notice—because I’m suddenly sure that she has.

  I clear my throat. “EZ, are you wearing your seat belt?”

  Ari gasps and swerves over to the shoulder before slamming on the brakes. Quint curses and immediately turns around to make sure the kennel in the back is okay.

  “Sorry! I’m sorry!” says Ari, breathless and wild-eyed. “But you have to be wearing a seat belt!”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down.” Ezra sits back and pulls the seat belt around himself, clicking it in place. “There we are. Locked and loaded.”

  A new silence falls around us as Ari pulls back onto the road. “So, Quint,” says Jude. “How long have you been volunteering at the center?”

  I peer into the car’s side mirror. When Quint leans the right way, I can catch glimpses of his mouth as he speaks.

  “I pretty much grew up there,” he says. “I wasn’t allowed to start officially volunteering until I was fourteen. But I’ve been helping out since I was little.”

  “You work there during the school year, too?”

  “Yep. Spring is our busy season, when we’re taking in animals almost every day. We get shorthanded fast. For the most part the teachers have been pretty cool about it, though.”

  “They say that life is the best teacher,” says Ari.

  “And where do you go to school?” asks Ezra.

  “St. Agnes,” she answers.

  Ezra gives a low whistle. “I’ve always liked a girl in uniform.”

  Ari’s cheeks go crimson again.

  I turn to glare to Ezra. “Do you have no filter?”

  He looks back at me. “What do you mean?”

  I shake my head.

  The conversation circles back to the rescue center. Quint seems surprised when Jude and Ari start peppering him with questions about the animals and the care they receive and what we do as volunteers. I can feel him shooting amused looks at me, but I keep staring out the window, watching the palm trees flash by.

  It’s true that I’ve hardly told them about the center and my time volunteering. Honestly, there hasn’t been much to tell. Planning the cleanup has by far been the most exciting thing I’ve done—and now, rescuing this sea lion, of course. Other than that, it’s been almost four straight weeks of scrubbing and blending, blending and scrubbing.

  But now I can feel them growing curious, just like those people on the beach. When you come face-to-face with one of these creatures, you become invested. You want to help.

  I want to help. More than anything, I want to help this poor animal in the back of Ari’s car.

  Ari dares to drive five miles per hour over the speed limit, which is practically drag racing for her. The center isn’t far, but it feels like it takes us a month to get there. My heart is in my throat. The sea lion is silent, and that silence is nerve-wracking.

  Finally we pull into the gravel lot in front of the center. Rosa and Dr. Jindal are waiting, and the next few minutes are a blur of activity. My friends and I fade into the background as the kennel is lifted from the back of the car and rushed into the center. I know they’ll take him straight to the exam room. We follow hesitantly, doing our best to stay out of the way, lingering in the narrow corridor as the sea lion—still alive, if barely—is administered fluids. As its eyes and wounds are inspected. As Quint prepares a formula of protein and electrolytes. The delicious fish smoothies will come later.

  I notice Jude’s nose wrinkling, and it takes me a moment to remember this is the first time he and Ari have been here. The first time they’ve been hit with the overwhelming stench of fish. Funny, over the past few weeks, I’ve almost gotten used to it. I never could have predicted that on my first day here.

  When it’s clear there’s nothing I can do to help, I offer to give them a tour. We stand all together in the yard, admiring the harbor seals sunbathing on the warm concrete. The sea lions chasing one another in and out of the water. The elephant seals swishing their fins against their backs, throwing imaginary sand onto themselves, an instinctual mechanism for keeping themselves cool in the wild.

  Everyone is smitten. Well, Ezra has been here before, but Jude and Ari are impressed. Ari coos in delight at how adorable they all are. But when she crouches down next to one of the closed gates to start talking to a harbor seal named Kelpie, I feel terrible that I have to put my hand on her shoulder and coax her away.

  “We’re not really supposed to interact with them,” I say sadly, remembering when Quint explained this to me on one of my first days.

  Ari gives me a baffled look. The same look, I’m sure, that I gave Quint at the time.

  “They try to discourage us from bonding with the animals as much as possible,” I explain. “And to keep them from bonding with us. We’re not supposed to talk to them or play with them or interact with them at all, other than what we have to do to take care of them.”

  “But they’re so cute,” says Ari, peering back down at Kelpie. “How can you stand it?”

  Honestly, I hadn’t much cared before now. Quint told me not to bond with them, so I didn’t. No biggie. “It’s easier if you think of them as wild animals,” I say. “They aren’
t pets. The goal is to release them back to the ocean, and if they’ve been domesticated, it could be more difficult for them to survive out there. Plus, we don’t want them to be too comfortable around people. If they approach a human out on the beach or something, who knows what could happen?”

  I can see understanding in their faces, but they’re still clouded with disappointment. I don’t blame them. Why would anyone spend so much time here if they can’t even interact with the animals?

  I think of the sea lion back in that exam room, the one I’m already thinking of as my sea lion, and I can tell that it will be so much more difficult not to bond with it. Heck, I’m already attached.

  But at the same time, I desperately want it to be okay. To get strong. To get to go back home.

  “That’s too bad,” says Ari, stepping away from the enclosure where some of the sea lions have started to pile up on top of one another. “I guess I’d kind of been picturing you here … I don’t know. Cuddling with them or something.”

  I laugh. “Not quite.”

  Then I remember—

  “Actually,” I say, my heart lifting, “let me introduce you to Luna.”

  I lead them back inside, to one of the enclosures. It’s been set up specifically for Luna, the sea lion that had been brought in for the second time on the first day I came to the center. Unlike animals in other pens, she’s been given a handful of toys. A couple of balls, a dog’s squeaky toy, a length of rope. “This is Luna,” I say. “She’s super playful, and so smart. And unlike the others, we’re encouraged to play with her. They want to get her used to the presence of people as much as possible.”

  “What for?” asks Ezra, leaning over the wall. He picks up the rope and tosses it toward Luna. It lands a few inches from her nose. But it seems like she’s maybe just waking up from a nap, and she doesn’t go for it. She just looks at the rope, yawns, then blinks at Ezra, unimpressed. “Playful, huh?”

  “She’s just tired,” I say. “Luna has a cognitive disorder. She’s never going to be able to feed herself out in the wild, so we can’t send her back. She’s going to be given to a zoo or something instead.”

  “Will she bite?” asks Ari.

  “I haven’t seen her bite anyone yet,” I say, “but volunteers do get bitten here pretty regularly, so you never know.” Opening the gate, I step inside and pick up the ball. I roll it toward Luna. She stares at it for a second, then rolls onto her tummy and takes the ball into her jaw. She chews on it for a second, before flicking it back toward me. I stop it with my toe, pick it up, and toss it again. This time she rears up on her flippers and bounces it right back to me.

  I grin. I don’t know if one of the other volunteers has been working with her to learn tricks, but it’s the first time I’ve played catch with a sea lion, and the moment, as simple as it might seem, is magical.

  “Prudence?”

  I catch the ball on another rebound and turn. Quint has joined us, his eyes twinkling to see me in the pen with Luna. “Having a good time?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “We figured it out,” says Ezra, draping his elbows casually over the wall. “The key to getting Prudence to loosen up is to be a seal.”

  I tense. “She’s a sea lion,” I say a little darkly.

  Jude glances at me, then at Ezra. He opens his mouth, and I can sense him getting ready to come to my defense, but, to my surprise, Quint speaks first.

  “Don’t be an ass, EZ.”

  Ezra looks honestly confused. “Am I being an ass?”

  “Sort of. Prudence is cool. Anyway, I came to give you guys an update.”

  Ezra looks from Quint to me. I happen to catch his eye as he’s giving me a thoughtful, appraising look. I swallow and let myself out of Luna’s enclosure. “Is it going to be okay?”

  Quint knows immediately who I’m talking about. Before he can answer, Luna barks, annoyed that I’m abandoning our game.

  “Sorry,” I tell her, tossing her the ball. “I’ll be back later, all right?” I face Quint, bracing myself for whatever news he has to give us. “Well?”

  “It’s a he,” he says, “and we think he’s going to be okay.”

  My heart lifts, and I know I’m not the only one. We’re all committed to this animal now, and a surge of joy passes through our whole group. Even Ezra hisses excitedly, “Yes.”

  Quint’s hands come up, a warning. “Nothing is guaranteed. There’s usually a twenty-four-hour period when we consider them in critical condition. He could take a turn for the worse still. But Opal is optimistic.”

  I exhale what might be the first full exhale I’ve released in a long while.

  “So,” he continues, looking at me. “We need a name for his paperwork. Have you thought of one?”

  “No,” I say with a bit of a relieved laugh. “I’ve been trying not to think about it until I knew for sure.” I bite my cheek. I know this isn’t a big deal. They name so many animals at this place that by the end of the busy season they’ll name them just about anything. Quint said he once called a sea turtle “Pickle” because he’d had a sandwich for lunch that day.

  But it’s a big deal to me.

  I think about my sea lion and the way he’d looked up at me on the beach. Even though I know he was hurting, he’d peered at me with something almost like trust. And I hear John Lennon’s voice in my head. Why in the world are we here? Surely not to live in pain and fear …

  “How about Lennon?” I suggest. “Like, John Lennon?”

  Quint considers it. His lips twitch at the corners. “I’ve heard far worse.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Since Jude and Ari helped me with the festival, it seems only fair that I get up early the next morning to help them open the record store before I have to go prep for the beach cleanup. Jude is not a morning person. He’s been complaining all summer about how getting to the store by 8:00 a.m. so he can check the stock, organize the bins, and clean any fingerprints off the front glass windows might be Dad’s way of punishing him for not keeping up with his guitar lessons years ago.

  Dad, however, is chipper as ever as he unlocks the door and lets us in. Dad’s first order of business, just like at home, is to pick a record to play over the sound system. “Any requests?”

  Jude yawns and crams the last few bites of a toaster waffle into his mouth.

  I consider asking for the Beatles, but I know that makes me sound like a broken record (get it?), so I just shrug and tell Dad to put on whatever he wants. A minute later, Jim Morrison’s sultry voice croons from the speakers.

  “All right, my little helper,” says Dad, dancing through the store aisles. “You’re on broom duty. And make sure you get the sidewalk out in front, too. People drag a shocking amount of sand up here from the beach. Jude, want to open up those boxes that came yesterday? Should be some new stock.”

  “Want to switch?” I ask. Jude grumbles, shakes his head, and disappears into the back room.

  I find the broom and start sweeping. Ari arrives a few minutes later with a tray of mochas from Java Jive. She even brought one for Dad, who presses both hands to his heart when she goes to hand it to him.

  “Hiring you was the best decision I have ever made,” he says, taking the coffee. “Now get to work.”

  “Aye-aye,” she chirps. She gets the glass cleaner and some paper towels from the supply closet and follows me outside onto the front stoop.

  Dad’s right. I hadn’t really noticed before, but there is a ton of sand out here. We’re more than a block off the beach. How does that even happen?

  “How is our little sea lion friend?” Ari asks as she squirts some of the cleaner onto the glass-paneled door.

  “Good, as far as I know. I’ll go check on him later, but he seemed to be doing all right when I left yesterday. Plus, I called the Chronicle last night to give them the scoop on the sea animal that washed ashore during the big festival, with a nice tie-in to today’s cleanup party and animal release, of course.”

  Ari
laughs. “Of course you did.”

  “I’m not saying I’m glad that Lennon washed ashore, but I’ll take all the publicity we can get.”

  Ari steps back to check the door for leftover smudges before moving on to the huge picture window. “Your plan to rescue the rescue center seems to be going pretty good.”

  “We’re just getting started. But, yeah, things seem to be on track.”

  Ari hums thoughtfully. “Maybe you could use some of your magic to help out this place, too.” She lowers her voice, even though I know we can’t be heard inside, especially with the Doors reminiscing about Love Street. “Don’t tell your dad I said this—I really do love working here—but we could use some good publicity. Or maybe a facelift, or something?”

  I stop sweeping so I can take in the front of the store. I’ve been here so many times over the years, I no longer stop to look. But Ari is right. The yellow paint is chipping on the stucco wall, the neon VENTURES VINYL sign has had a couple of letters burned out for who knows how long, and from the outside, the store just looks … well, a little dated. But not in a cool vintage way. Just in an old, tired way.

  The one saving grace is the window display that Jude made a week ago, with a bunch of red-white-and-blue-themed album covers set up for the holiday. Then he took some records that were scratched or broken, painted fireworks on them, and hung them from the ceiling with ribbon. I don’t give my brother enough credit for this sort of thing, but he can actually be pretty creative. His artistry definitely expands beyond sketches of mythical monsters.

  How would the store look with a fresh coat of sea-blue paint, I wonder. And maybe a bright orange door that welcomes you inside. Oooh, we could have a grand re-opening party!

  I flinch, and do my best to stop the thoughts before I get carried away. I have my hands full saving one business right now. I can’t handle two.

  “Maybe you and Jude should talk to Dad,” I say. “If you have ideas for ways to boost business, I’m sure he’d be open to hearing them.”

  Ari turns to me, suddenly looking a little shy, but also excited. “Actually, I did have a thought, but … I don’t know. It might be weird. And I have no idea whether it’s a good idea or not.”