Instant Karma

by Marissa Meyer

  “Oh! Yes. The blindness.”

  He nods and I can tell he’s waiting to see how I’m doing. To see if I’m devastated at this news. But when I don’t break down in sobs, he continues. “And they’re going to try introducing him and Luna.”

  “That! Yes. Right. Of course you came for that.”

  He chuckles. His look is no longer accusatory, and so my thumping pulse is gradually returning to normal. “That’s actually why I was looking for you. They’re getting ready to move Lennon.”

  “Oh, great! Let’s go!”

  I start to brush past him, eager to get out of this office. But I’m only two steps into the break room when Quint catches my arm.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  I look back, dread filling me. “Sure. Of course.”

  “How, um…” His hand falls away and hangs at his side for a second. Then he scratches behind his neck. “After Shauna counts up the donations, how would you like us to let you know? I can call you … or send a text? Or email?”

  I stare at him. “Um. I mean, tomorrow’s Tuesday. So … I’ll be here. You can just … tell me?”

  “Right, except. I counted, and … today is your sixteenth day volunteering. Which, according to our original agreement, means that today is your last day.”

  I lean back, startled. My mouth forms a surprised O, but no sound comes out.

  Freedom, I think. I can have the rest of my summer to do whatever I want.

  Why is it that I feel no joy whatsoever at the thought?

  “And, in case you aren’t sure, I’ll definitely still help with the revised report. For Mr. Chavez. You held up your end of the deal, so I’ll—”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  Quint goes still. “Yeah?”

  “I want to stay. I mean—Lennon needs me.” I gesture in some vague direction toward the first floor. “And I still have so many more ideas for things we can do to raise more money and awareness. We’re just getting started. Aren’t we?”

  His hesitation splits into a smile. “Yeah. We are. I just didn’t know … I wasn’t sure how you felt.”

  “Well. That’s how I feel.” I smack him on the shoulder in a way that might be considered flirtatious. “Come on, Quint. You know me. You know I can’t leave a job half finished.”

  His perfect teeth flash in a perfect grin. “I was sort of counting on it.”

  * * *

  I hold my breath.

  Beside me, I sense that Quint might be holding his, too.

  Rosa opens the door to Luna’s kennel.

  Luna—ever curious and energetic—wastes no time in scooting out through the open door. But she pauses when she spies Lennon lazing in the late-afternoon sun beside the small in-ground pool. The pool that will be theirs to share now, assuming they get along.

  I can’t believe how nervous I am. This is important. I want them to be friends. Best friends. There’s even a silly little part of me that hopes they might be something more. Because if you were going to be shipped off to a zoo to live out the rest of your days surrounded by glass walls and zookeepers, wouldn’t it be lovely to at least be stuck there with your soul mate?

  Luna pushes herself up on her front flippers and waddles hesitantly in Lennon’s direction. Suddenly, his head snaps up and he turns his face toward her. I wonder how well he can see. I don’t think he’s completely blind yet, but it’s clear that he’s already starting to rely on his other senses. He rolls over and pushes up onto his flippers, too.

  There’s a standoff, one facing the other, the pool between them.

  Then Luna lets out a happy bark and pushes forward, sliding into the water. She does a few barrel rolls, before climbing out next to Lennon.

  I press my hands to my mouth, waiting to see his reaction. He cocks his head to one side. He looks confused, maybe even annoyed to have his sanctuary invaded by this stranger.

  But then he lifts one flipper and gives it a shake, just like he greeted me before.

  Then he does a belly flop right on top of Luna.

  I let out a laugh and grab Quint’s arm. His other hand lands on top of mine and squeezes. We meet each other’s eyes, sharing mutual dopey grins.

  The meeting quickly dissolves into hijinks as Luna and Lennon start chasing each other around the pool deck, dipping in and out of the water. There are times when they start to look aggressive, but it never lasts long. They’re playing, testing each other’s limits. Getting to know each other.

  While they may or may not be pinniped soul mates, they do seem to be fast friends. I wilt with relief, knowing that Lennon is going to be just fine. It all feels rather meant-to-be.

  “All right,” says Rosa, clapping her hands. “I’ll call that a success. Now let’s let them get acquainted, shall we?”

  The volunteers scatter, but Quint and I linger behind.

  Quint starts to shift away, and only then do I realize his hand is still on top of mine. And then it’s gone.

  I pull my hand away, too, because … well, it would be weird not to. No matter how much I might be wishing otherwise.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think that might have been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Even better than the release party?”

  “Does it make me a bad person if I say yes?”

  “Shauna! What are you wearing?”

  Quint and I swivel our attention toward the next pool. Morgan’s outburst was filled with such consternation, I half expect to see Shauna in a bedazzled leotard and fishnet stockings. But no—she’s dressed the same as any of us, in her yellow T-shirt and faded blue jeans.

  Oh, and cowboy boots.

  Judging from Morgan’s stare, it’s the boots that led to the outburst.

  Shauna tsks as she tosses a bucket of fish into a pool, to a chorus of happy barks from the seals. “Don’t you start with your nonsense, Morgan.”

  Aghast, Morgan spreads her arms wide, balancing on the crutches beneath each arm. “They look real. Tell me they’re not real.” She hobbles forward a couple of steps, though she and Shauna are separated by a chain-link fence.

  “I’ll tell you what I choose to put on my feet is none of your business.” Shauna hangs the empty bucket from the crook of her elbow and puts her hands on her hips. “I know you have big opinions on this stuff, Morgan, but you need to learn to respect other people’s choices, too. These boots were a treat to myself, and I happen to like them.”

  “You work at an animal rescue center!” Morgan swings one crutch around, indicating the courtyard full of wildlife. Her voice has risen now, drawing the attention from other volunteers. I have that feeling like we should turn away from the drama, but find it impossible. Then Morgan points at one of the seals with the broom handle. “Would you wear one of them? How about a nice seal-fur coat, if you happened to ‘like’ it?”

  Shauna makes a sound so full of disgust, I can tell she doesn’t think this comment is even worthy of a response. But for me, the conversation is starting to make sense. I look at the boots again.

  They’re snakeskin. They probably weren’t cheap, either.

  Shauna turns her back on Morgan and starts to head toward the building.

  “You either love animals or you don’t!” Morgan shouts after her. “They’re all deserving of life! You don’t get to pick and choose!”

  At the door, Shauna spins around, her wrinkled cheeks tinged red. “They’re vintage,” she says. “I bought them at Toni’s Consignment.” She counts off on her fingers. “That’s recycling, supporting a local business, and making sure that the sacrifice of these animals has a purpose, rather than them ending up in a landfill.”

  “No, that’s contributing to a culture that values fashion and vanity more than the sanctity of life.”

  Shauna throws her arms up in the air. “You know, you young people have mighty high opinions, but by the time you get to be my age, you’ll have learned a thing or two about not being so qui
ck to judge others.” She lets out a frustrated harrumph and yells, “Back to work, people!” Then pivots and marches into the building. The screen door slams shut behind her.

  “Hypocrite,” Morgan mutters, sneering. She snatches a clipboard off a nearby table and though I can see she’s trying to get work done, she’s writing so hard I can hear the harsh scribbling of the pen across the paper, as if the paper had done something to offend her. I’m surprised she doesn’t puncture a hole through it.

  After a few seconds, without looking up, Morgan tosses one hand into the air. “You heard her. Back to work!”

  Quint and I look at each other, our shoulders taut. After a few seconds, he seems to gather himself. He trudges toward Morgan as if approaching a wild animal.

  I can see her cast more clearly now. The doodles are mostly sketches of farm animals interspersed with vegan slogans in all caps. Things like FRIENDS, NOT FOOD. And MAKE LOVE, NOT SAUSAGES. While I still barely know Morgan, somehow I’m not surprised that she’s transformed this medical accessory into a wearable protest sign.

  “You do always know how to make an entrance,” Quint says. She frowns, then her gaze drops to his shoes.

  And then over to mine.

  I gulp.

  Do my sneakers have leather in them? They might. I’ve honestly never thought of it before. But the last thing I want right now is to become the next target of Morgan’s wrath.

  But either I pass inspection or she can’t tell or she just doesn’t think it’s worth starting another fight. Morgan flails a hand in the direction that Shauna went. “I hate that argument. Oh, it’s vintage, so that makes it okay. It’s such bullshit.”

  Quint nods, but I’m not sure if he agrees, or if this is just a tactic to try to soothe her.

  I think I should probably play along, too, but … I can’t.

  “Shauna kind of has a point, though,” I say, sidling up beside Quint. He shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him. “Would you rather they were thrown into the trash?”

  “Yes!” Morgan says forcefully. I balk in surprise. “Because as long as people buy them and wear them, then the fashion industry will believe there’s a market for it—because there is a market for it! Which means they’ll keep making them. Keep slaughtering innocent animals, keep raising them in these awful, inhumane conditions, and for what? A pair of shoes? When we have plenty of other materials we could make boots out of? It’s disgusting. I mean, would you wear them?”

  I grimace. “I don’t really like snakeskin that much.”

  Morgan rolls her eyes. “Oh, how saintly of you.”

  “Look,” says Quint, “I don’t know who’s right or wrong here, but … people have different … you know, principles and stuff. Shauna’s been working here for ages. She’s helped save a lot of animals. Maybe it all balances out.”

  “Nice try,” says Morgan. “But the truth is, if snakes were as adorable as these guys”—she gestures at Lennon and Luna—“then we’d be having a different conversation. But whatever. Fine. You just keep eating your pork tacos and wearing your leather shoes.” She glances at my feet and for a second I feel about as big as a bug. “Because you volunteer at an animal rescue center, so that makes it all okay, right?” She tosses the clipboard back onto the table and storms off—as fast as she can, at least, limping along with her crutches and bright pink leg cast.

  Once she’s gone, Quint lets out a low whistle. “Sorry about that. You’d think she’d learn that it’s easier to change people’s minds if you’re a little bit nicer, but…” He shrugs.

  I’m barely listening. “Weird, isn’t it?” I muse, as much to myself as to Quint. “That something like a pair of vintage boots can spark such completely different reactions in people? To Shauna, it’s recycling and supporting a small business. To Morgan, it’s animal cruelty.”

  Quint nods. “The world is complicated.”

  I realize it’s the same with the billboard. What I saw as an unforgivable crime, Morgan saw as something completely different. To her, she was trying to give a voice to the helpless cows of this world that probably don’t want to be turned into cheeseburgers.

  But the universe punished her. The universe sided with me.

  I want that to mean something, except the universe also stole Maya’s earring, and I’m now thoroughly convinced that was a bad call.

  I frown up at the sky. At nothing. At everything. What were you thinking, Universe? What’s your endgame here?

  And, a question I probably should have been asking all along …

  Why involve me?

  “Hey,” says Quint, touching my elbow. “Don’t let her get to you. She just feels strongly about these things. But we’re all doing the best we can, right?”

  I peer at him, not convinced that’s true. Because if we were all doing the best we can, then there’d be no need for karmic justice in the first place.

  THIRTY-THREE

  “Which brings the total donations to…” Shauna hums to herself as she punches a few numbers into a calculator. The money from the donation jar is spread across the table in the break room. Stacks of green bills and an entire bank vault’s worth of quarters and dimes.

  I want the number that’s about to come out of her mouth to be spectacular. Mind-blowing. I want everyone to gasp and cheer and high-five each other.

  But I know what the number is going to be. Or at least, I have an idea of what it’s going to be.

  My jaw is clenched as I brace myself to look surprised.

  We’re all in the staff room, me and Rosa and Shauna and Morgan and a whole bunch of volunteers … and Quint. Even though this is supposed to be his day off. His second day off in a row, and the second day on which he’s shown up anyway. I keep telling myself not to make assumptions. He came yesterday to watch Lennon and Luna being introduced for the first time, and he’s here now because he’s curious to know how the fundraiser went. We’re all curious.

  It’s not like he’s here to see me.

  Rosa beats her palms against the table, faking a drumroll. Quint and a couple others join in.

  “Three hundred sixty-four dollars and eighteen cents!”

  There’s a moment of stillness in the room, and I know it’s that space between high expectations and a disappointing reality. That moment in which expressions are dismayed, before everyone hastily tries to cover them up.

  I glance at Quint. He’s frowning at the piles of money, and I know he feels the same way. There should be more. Wasn’t there more? He catches my eye, the corners of his mouth wrinkling with a frown. I return the look.

  He doesn’t know the half of it. There shouldn’t just be more. There should be a lot more.

  I want to go track down that beachcomber and demand an explanation. Why would she lie to me about selling that earring and donating the money to our cause?

  My attention shifts to Rosa. She’s smiling at me, but there’s an apology behind it, like she feels bad for me. My gut wrenches.

  “It’s not terrible,” she says. “It’s on par with how our past fundraisers have gone. A little better than some of them, actually.”

  I force myself to smile. I know I’m doing a lousy job of concealing my own disappointment, despite how chin-up everyone around me looks.

  “It’s more money than we had last week, at least,” I say.

  “That’s right,” agrees Rosa. “It is.”

  But we’re all smiling through our frustration. Especially Quint and I, who put hours and hours into that event. We tried so hard.

  “But remember,” says Rosa, “the purpose of the cleanup wasn’t to raise money. It’s far more important that we filled eleven huge trash bags with garbage that otherwise would have been going right out into our oceans.”

  I nod. “Plus, one of our big priorities right now is to raise awareness, and for a lot of people in our community, this was the first time they heard about us. And I like to think we made a pretty good first impression.”

  “Absolutely,” says Rosa.
“We should all be proud of what we accomplished this weekend.”

  A few volunteers start to clap and it’s a struggle for me to swallow back my bitter disappointment and believe my own words. I still feel like I failed. Three hundred and sixty-four dollars. I don’t even know if that’s enough money to buy a day’s worth of fish.

  But wallowing about it won’t fix anything.

  “On that note.” I take in a deep breath and clasp my hands together. “The beach cleanup and some of the outreach we’ve started doing, such as the website and social media pages that Quint has been building”—I gesture at Quint and he responds with an elaborate bow—“are all a part of the foundation on which we are going to build a thriving nonprofit.”

  So, fine. One event didn’t save the center, but we all knew it wouldn’t.

  I’m not done yet.

  “Plus, I’ve already started planning our next big fundraiser,” I continue. “And I know it’s going to be an enormous success.”

  I can sense Quint watching me, and I feel a twinge of guilt. I probably should have talked to him about this before bringing it up to the whole staff.

  Rosa starts gathering up the money, tying rubber bands around the dollars to keep them organized. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Prudence, but maybe we can celebrate one accomplishment before moving on to the next? We still have a lot of work to be doing around here, you know.”

  “No,” I say fervently. Then I hesitate. “I mean, yes, of course, taking care of the animals is number one. Always. But now that we have people talking about us, we can’t lose this momentum. Strike while the iron is hot! And I already have the perfect idea.”

  Rosa sighs and I can see her preparing to hit the pause button on whatever I’m about to say, so I rush forward, grinning excitedly, my hands flashing through the air as I look around at the other volunteers. “We are going to host an end-of-summer fundraising gala!”

  There are a few raised eyebrows, a few confused frowns, plenty of curious smiles.

  Beside me, Quint murmurs, “Gala? I thought we decided against that.”

  I glance at him. “I’ve had a change of heart.”