Instant Karma

by Marissa Meyer

  “It was an adventure,” I say.

  I’m saved from giving further details when Mom comes into the kitchen with a cardboard box tucked against her hip. “You kids don’t have any interest in golf, do you?”

  We both look at her.

  “Golf?” I say, not sure I heard correctly.

  Jude, equally dumbfounded, adds, “As in, the sport?”

  “I’ll take that as a no. We have those old golf clubs that were your grandfather’s, but … I think I’m going to get rid of them. Your dad and I are trying to clean house a little bit, so if you guys have anything else you’re not using anymore…” She pats the side of the box, smiles at us, then walks back out.

  I gulp, remembering the receipt for our belongings at the pawnshop. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Jude, abandoning my half-finished sandwich on the counter.

  The envelope of money is still tucked into my backpack, which I’d haphazardly thrown onto the entryway bench when I came. Seeing it reminds me of my visit to the pawnshop and everything that preceded it. The lost earring, the beachcomber, the missing money from the donation jar.

  I clutch the envelope in both hands and go in search of Mom. She’s in the garage, using a damp towel to dust off a bag of old golf clubs.

  “Hey, Mom? This is yours.”

  She glances up, surprised. “What is it?” she asks, taking the envelope. Her eyes widen when she sees the money inside.

  “I stopped by the pawnshop yesterday morning, looking for something, for a friend … but Clark thought I’d come in to pick up your money. So he gave me this. There’s the receipt, too, so you know what sold and for how much…” I hesitate, before adding, “The silverware hasn’t sold yet, but someone did buy the keyboard.”

  She closes the envelope and looks at me, concerned for a moment, before her face softens. “It’s all just old stuff that we’re not using. Stuff we don’t need anymore. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. I know.” I tighten the belt on my robe. “But we also need the money, don’t we?”

  She sighs and drapes the rag over one of the clubs. “We’re not desperate, if that’s what you’re wondering. Business has started to pick up at the store, thank heavens for tourist season. We can pay our bills. We’re fine.”

  “But?”

  She presses her lips together. “You know, things sure do get harder to hide from you kids when you guys get older.”

  “Mom.”

  She nods, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Lucy wants to sign up for soccer and basketball again this year, but she’ll need new jerseys, new shoes. Penny’s bike isn’t going to last another summer, and of course, there are still music lessons to consider. And Ellie’s preschool teachers mentioned a science-based summer camp coming up next month that she’s of course dying to do…” She looks away. “Your dad and I have always wanted to give you kids every opportunity, every experience we could. But life is expensive. Families are expensive. And as much as we love the store … it is never going to make us rich.”

  I bite my lower lip. I know I shouldn’t ask, but … “Mom. Do you ever wish…” I can’t bring myself to say it.

  “What?” she asks. “That we didn’t have you kids?”

  “That you didn’t have so many of us.”

  She laughs. “Easy for the oldest to say, isn’t it?” She tucks the envelope of money into her back pocket, then takes my face into her hands. “Never, Prudence. You and Jude and your sisters bring us more joy than any amount of money ever could. And…” She releases me and glances at the golf clubs. “If I can trade some of our old junk in order to make your childhoods a little brighter, I will in a heartbeat. This is just stuff. But you only get to live your life one time.”

  She cocks her head, studying me as if to see if I believe her.

  And I think I might.

  “I’ll go through my room today,” I tell her. “I’m sure I have some things I can contribute to the cause.”

  “Only if you want to,” she says. “I don’t expect you to start giving up all your worldly possessions.”

  “I do want to. You’re right. It’s just stuff.” I hesitate, considering. “Also, Mom? I should tell you. I’m planning this gala for the center. Kind of a fancy shindig thing, to raise money. And I’ve been asking local businesses if they can contribute gift baskets to the silent auction. I’d love to have something from Ventures Vinyl, especially because our theme is Yellow Submarine. But I get it if you guys can’t contribute anything.”

  Mom’s grin spreads across her face. “Listen to you. I always knew you were going to be my little entrepreneur.”

  I roll my eyes. “Mom.”

  “I can’t help it, honey. Watching you kids grow up…” She sighs. “Well, maybe you’ll understand someday. Anyway. I don’t know about a gift basket. I’ll have to discuss it with your father. Could be a good opportunity to let more people know about the store. But you’re right. Money is tight, and I don’t know if we’re in a great position to be making charitable contributions.”

  “I know. Totally no pressure. But…” I lift my finger. “While we’re on the topic, I’ve actually had some ideas about the store, and Ari has, too. Some things we can do to drum up new business or at least make the store feel more current. Maybe someday we could sit down and talk about it?”

  She fixes me with a thoughtful look, the corners of her lips barely lifted. “I think your dad and I would like that very much.”

  I nod. “I’ll start putting together a business proposal.”

  She laughs and goes back to cleaning the golf clubs. “You do that.”

  My eye catches on a box on a shelf, where Grandma’s old china tea set is settled into a bed of packing peanuts. “Are you getting rid of those teacups?”

  Mom follows my look. “I was thinking about it.”

  “Okay … but not today.” I grab the box. Mom doesn’t stop me and doesn’t ask what I’m doing as I carry it into the house.

  Eleanor is in the living room, making a tower of alternating red and black checker chips.

  “Hey, Ellie. While Jude and I are eating our lunch … do you want to come play tea party with us?”

  The smile she gives me is all the reward I need.

  FORTY-TWO

  I’m twenty minutes early the next day, in part because my sleep schedule is indeed completely wonky. After yesterday’s long nap and an early bedtime, I woke up at four this morning, which is ridiculously early, even for me.

  No matter. I had plenty of pleasant memories to keep my mind occupied before I managed to pull myself out of bed. I used my morning hours semi-productively … when I wasn’t caught up in unhelpful fantasies, at least. I’m giddy as I swing my bike into the parking lot, eager to tell Quint and Rosa and the other volunteers about my new ideas for the gala.

  That—and I can’t wait to see Quint again. It’s been an entire day, and there’s a small part of me that thinks it might have been a fluke. Maybe we were just caught up in the romance of the storm. Maybe he’ll take one look at me this morning and regret everything.

  But every time these doubts start to creep in, I think about his words, right after he kissed me the first time. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.

  It wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t a mistake. And I cannot go another minute without seeing him and kissing him and confirming that it was real. That he still likes me as much as I like him.

  There’s only one car in the parking lot—Rosa’s, I think. None of the other volunteers have arrived yet. I tear off my helmet and practically skip to the door.

  No one is in the lobby, so I make a quick pass around the yard and lower levels. No one in the kitchen, or the laundry room, or with any of the animals. I do stop to greet Lennon and Luna, but I can tell that they’re only interested in me because it’s almost breakfast time.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I whisper. “First, I need to see Quint before I explode.” I squeal in the same way Penny squeals whenever she sees a photo of Sadashi
v on one of those celebrity magazines they keep at the checkout line at the grocery store. I feel faintly embarrassed for myself, but it doesn’t keep me from practically jogging back down the hall.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” I call, even as I’m ascending the steps to the second floor.

  I’m passing the break room when Rosa sticks her head out of her office and blinks at me. She looks bewildered. “Prudence.”

  “Hi!” I beam. “I know, I’m early. Is Quint here yet?”

  She doesn’t speak for a minute. Doesn’t move. Then she clears her throat and glances over her shoulder, back into her office. “Yes,” she says slowly. Her jaw is set when she faces me again. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, before the others. Can I … can we talk to you?”

  “Of course! I want to talk to you, too.” I clap my hands excitedly. “I secured us a venue for the gala! I mean—it was Quint’s idea, so I can’t take all the credit, but it’s perfect!” I follow Rosa into her office.

  And there’s Quint, his hands gripping the edge of a low bookshelf, his ankles crossed in front of him.

  My heart leaps at the sight of him.

  His head is lowered slightly as his eyes dart toward me, and there’s a second—just a second—when I remember his story about his eyebrows, and how he was afraid they made him look mean, and I can kind of understand why he would have thought that. But the moment passes, and no, he doesn’t look mean. He looks nervous.

  He probably hasn’t told his mom about us yet.

  I can’t be hurt. I haven’t told anyone, either, not even Jude or Ari.

  I smile at him.

  He looks away.

  Ooooo-kay. Not quite the reception I’ve been dreaming about all morning, but … maybe his mom doesn’t want him dating anyone yet? Not that we’re dating. Officially. Or anything. But it has to be heading in that direction. You don’t kiss someone for seven straight hours without wanting it to become a regular thing.

  At least, I know I want it to become a regular thing.

  “So!” I chirp, trying to dispel the weird tension in the air. “I called the Offshore Theater yesterday and told them all about the center and what we’re planning for the gala, and they are totally on board. They’ll let us use it free of charge, as long as we don’t do it on a weekend, so I went ahead and booked it for the eighteenth, which is a Tuesday. It’s going to be perfect. They have a kitchen for the caterers to use, plenty of tables and chairs we can set out, and just like you thought, they should have everything we need for the AV equipment, too. The manager I spoke with seemed really excited to be a part of the event. I told them we’re hoping it will become an annual thing, and…” I swallow. Rosa is rubbing the back of her neck, looking concerned. “They love the ‘Yellow Submarine’ theme. They do a Beatles movie marathon every couple of years, so they said they can put out some of the posters from that.” Quint’s jaw twitches. His eyes are still glued to the floor. My chest feels like it’s starting to cave in, and the only way to prevent it is to keep talking, so I do. “Plus they’re also going to supply a date-night-themed gift basket for the auction, complete with movie tickets and a free bucket of popcorn! Isn’t that … so … generous?”

  My shoulders fall. I can’t keep going. No amount of enthusiasm could hide the fact that I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall. Two brick walls. Why isn’t Quint looking at me? Why isn’t Rosa smiling and saying how great this is?

  “Okay, what?” I say. “Is it one of the animals? Is Lennon okay? Luna?”

  “The animals are fine,” says Rosa. She glances at Quint, her brow furrowed. His knuckles whiten where he’s gripping the bookshelf.

  “Then what’s going on? Is the insurance not going to cover the damages from the storm?”

  “No, Prudence…”

  “Then why do you both look so miserable?”

  Rosa inhales deeply. She looks again at Quint, and I think she’s maybe waiting to see if he wants to say something, but his mouth is shut so tight a muscle has started to twitch in his cheek. “Prudence,” Rosa says again, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Is there, perhaps, something you’d like to tell us?”

  I stare at her. Then my attention darts to Quint. He shifts his shoulders, hunching forward, and still does not look up. I look back at Rosa again.

  “Other than how the gala is really coming together?”

  Quint makes a disgusted sound in his throat—the first thing he’s almost said since I got here. I feel my hackles rise. I’ve heard that sound. I used to hear it all the time.

  Rosa massages her brow. “I think you know that isn’t what I’m referring to.”

  “I have no idea what you’re referring to. Quint, what is going on?”

  He releases the bookshelf, but only so he can cross his arms over his chest. At least he manages to look me in the eye, and I take back what I thought before. He does look mean.

  I can feel panic starting to claw at my throat. Have I just stumbled into some alternate universe where this summer never happened and Quint still despises me? What did he say the other night—that he used to think I was a terrible person? I’d given him a pass on that comment, because he’d made it quite clear that he no longer felt that way. And I couldn’t entirely blame him, either, after how awful I’d been toward him all year.

  But that was then. So why is he looking at me like this now?

  “A woman came to the center yesterday,” says Rosa. “She had an interesting story to tell, involving a lost earring and a large cash donation made during the beach cleanup.” She pauses, waiting to see my reaction. I don’t know what she thinks she sees on my face, but Rosa looks disappointed. “I can see that I don’t need to tell you the whole story. The short of it is, she felt bad about selling off this earring that didn’t belong to her—though of course she had no way of knowing at the time who it did belong to. She came here trying to make amends. To get back the money she donated so she could repurchase the earring and give it back to its rightful owner. But as you and I both know, that money isn’t here. So, tell me, Prudence … where could twelve hundred dollars have disappeared to?”

  And there it is. That’s what this is about.

  They think I stole it.

  “I don’t know.” My voice is strained, and somehow I feel like I’ve already incriminated myself. Because I did know about the earring and the money. I knew there was money missing.

  “This is your opportunity to tell us the truth,” says Rosa. I can tell she’s trying to be gentle about this, but at the same time, there’s anger simmering under her calm exterior. “The woman said she talked to you, so I believe you were the only person who knew there was such a large donation made that day.”

  I shake my head. “She did tell me about the money, but I don’t know what happened to it. I didn’t take it.”

  “I saw you!” Quint snaps. His voice is so loud, so harsh, I jump from the sound of it. Unlike his mom, he’s making no show of trying to disguise his fury. “I saw you in Shauna’s office, pawing through that jar! And all that money you had in your backpack! You’re honestly going to try to say it wasn’t you?”

  “It wasn’t!” I’m yelling now, too. Desperation hums through my veins. He can’t think I did this—this thing I absolutely did not do!

  Although, whispers an irritating little voice. Although, I had intended to take it that day …

  I swallow. That isn’t the point. I’m innocent.

  Quint pushes himself away from the bookshelf and takes a couple steps toward me, his arms flailing aggressively as he talks. “You stood right in front of me, a wad of cash in your hand, and lied to my face. How could you do this?”

  “I didn’t do anything! I … yes, I knew about the donation, and I wanted to count it and see how much the total was, but when I did, there wasn’t nearly as much there. Only … three hundred and whatever. Whatever Shauna told us the next day.”

  Quint’s glare turns sharp. His words are sharper. “You told me you didn’t have ti
me to count it.”

  My stomach twists. “I…”

  He lifts one eyebrow, waiting. But I can’t look at him, not when he’s looking at me like that. I close my eyes. “I did count it. But I was … the money wasn’t there. The twelve hundred dollars was already gone. I didn’t take it.”

  “Right,” says Quint. “And what else have you been lying about?”

  “Nothing!” I open my eyes, determined to face him, to make him see he has this all wrong.

  “What about going through our mail? What have you been looking for, exactly? More donations? More money? More things you can take without anyone realizing it?”

  “Stop yelling at me!”

  “Stop lying to me!”

  “Quint, that’s enough,” says Rosa, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  He shakes her off and takes a step back away from me until he’s half-sitting against Rosa’s desk, arms tightly crossed again. “I get that your family is having money problems. I know you want to help your parents. But … really, Prudence? Stealing from an animal rescue shelter? And from my mom, from me?”

  The first tears spill out, sliding down my cheeks. I hastily brush them away, but they keep coming. “I didn’t. Take. That. Money.”

  “Then who did?” he asks.

  “I don’t know! Maybe nobody. Maybe it got lost.”

  He snorts, the sound so derisive and disbelieving it makes me wants to throttle him. “Please. You had the opportunity, you had a motive. It’s crime scene 101.”

  I glower. “Innocent until proven guilty. It’s justice 101.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You could just admit it, you know. Give the money back?”

  “I didn’t do it!” I yell, tossing my hands toward the ceiling.