Instant Karma

by Marissa Meyer

  “Oh, I think we’ll do okay,” says Rosa. “We might finally be able to flourish, without you draining the funds every chance you get.”

  Shauna ignores her, downs the champagne, then stands up and storms off through the crowd.

  I try one more time before she goes, squeezing my fist.

  Nothing happens.

  Not only does nothing happen, but my grip feels weak. My chest feels strangely hollow.

  I look down at my hand, dread whirling through my thoughts. Could it be…?

  “Here,” says Morgan, throwing a white linen napkin onto the spilled drink and mopping it up. “Don’t need anyone else getting hurt.”

  It’s a simple act, but a selfless one. A good deed.

  Please, oh please …

  I snap my finger and hold my breath.

  “Either you’re really clumsy,” Morgan says, picking up the napkin, “or really unlucky.” She drops it onto a serving tray cluttered with empty dishes and abandoned wineglasses.

  And … that’s it.

  No kismet befalls her. No unexpected windfall. No reward.

  Maybe cleaning up a spill isn’t a big-enough deed to warrant the universe’s attention. I peer around the room and spy a man dropping some cash into the donation box on the stage.

  I try again. Snap. Snap. Snap.

  The man returns to his table. If he’s received good karma as a result of his donation, there’s no sight of it.

  “No,” I whisper. “Please.”

  “Pru?” Quint is frowning at me. His hand is still supporting me, pressed between my shoulder blades. “What’s wrong?”

  I pout at him. I can’t help it. “I think it’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?”

  I sniff, even though I know I’m being melodramatic. I don’t care. There were times when I thought my karmic ability was a curse, but … for the most part, it was a fun curse.

  “The universe,” I mutter.

  Quint’s frown deepens. He watches me for a long moment, before turning toward his mom. “Maybe we should call an ambulance.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m fine. Could you help me up?”

  “I’m not sure you should—”

  Ignoring him, I grasp Quint’s arm and use it to pull myself up. He stumbles once but we both manage to make it to our feet without crashing back to the floor.

  “Prudence?” says Rosa, grasping my elbow. “You should see a doctor, especially if this is the second head injury you’ve had this summer.”

  “Ugh, fine,” I say. I don’t have the strength to argue anymore. Not with anyone. Not tonight. “I’ll go tomorrow. Just … please don’t call an ambulance. This night has been weird enough.”

  Rosa frowns. I can see her waffling, so to prove that I’m all right, I smile at her. “I’m okay. I promise.”

  She sighs heavily. “Quint, why don’t you get her some water?”

  Quint glances around. “Ezra,” he says, pointing at his friend in the crowd. “Water?”

  “Gin and tonic, coming right up,” says Ezra, scurrying off to the bar.

  “He’s joking.” Quint smiles sheepishly at his mom. “I think.”

  Rosa takes my hands into hers. “You were very brave to come here tonight, especially after everything that happened. I’m so sorry to have put you through this. I’m sorry for the way we treated you. I’m not sure you’ll want to come back after everything that’s happened, but please know that you are always welcome at the center.”

  I pretend to consider this. “Don’t suppose you’re in need of an event coordinator?”

  She laughs. “I don’t think I’m in a position to be hiring full-time staff yet, but you’ll be the first person I contact if I do.”

  “Prudence would probably make an exceptional office manager,” says Quint, grinning. “And I hear that position just opened up.”

  Rosa groans. “I will have to replace Shauna. Forgive me if I try to find someone with a bit more experience.”

  “Just as long as you Google them first,” I say. “Maybe check for a criminal record?”

  She nods. “Lesson learned.”

  “As for me…” I smile. “I definitely want to come back. I need to spend as much time with Lennon as I can before he goes to his new home.”

  Rosa’s eyes crinkle in the corners and before I know what’s happening, she’s pulled me into an embrace. “Thank you, Prudence.” She sighs as she pulls away and looks around at the crowd watching us. She laughs. “Well. This has certainly turned into a memorable evening, hasn’t it?” Then she waves her hand at the crowd. “Everyone, please, let’s sit and enjoy our meal.”

  After that, the night begins to blur from moment to moment, and I’m not sure if it’s the dull thrum in my head that’s causing it, or simply that there’s so much going on. Dinner is followed by dessert. The winners of the silent auction are announced, and I’m ecstatic to learn that the record store’s basket went for a lot more money than I expected it to. Then raffle tickets are drawn for Quint’s photos. I’m not surprised at how many tickets have been purchased, and the people who win them appear genuinely ecstatic to be taking one of the masterpieces home with them. When one woman’s ticket number is called, she literally screams with delight.

  I glance at Quint. His expression is priceless. Bewildered and proud at the same time.

  As dishes and chairs are cleared away, the karaoke begins—Trish and a couple of volunteers sing “Yellow Submarine” to get people in the mood, and practically the whole room joins in for the chorus.

  And just like that, the ambiance of the evening changes from serious and charitable to energetic and fun. This is an event that people will be talking—and joking—about for weeks.

  Not only did Quint have the brilliant idea to have Trish host karaoke, but he even thought to incorporate another fundraising portion. Guests have to pay five dollars to sing, with all proceeds, of course, going to the center. I never would have thought it would work, and I would have been wrong. People are lining up to write down their names and song choices on those little slips of paper.

  I hear nearby tables coercing one another, even bribing and cajoling one another to go up on that stage. I hear debates over which songs to sing and whose voices are truly terrible. Rather than the required donation keeping people away, asking them to pay seems to have encouraged them.

  As a lovely white-haired lady with a walking cane gets up to sing “Stardust,” one of my favorite old standards, I feel a twist of envy. I know, with my head still throbbing, I’m in no form to get up there and sing. I couldn’t give it my all, and without giving it my all, there’s really no point.

  I scan the crowd, again, as I have every few minutes. It’s like I have a radar attuned to Quint, and I keep hoping that maybe he’ll seek me out. Despite having done what I came here to do, the evening feels unfinished. Anticlimactic. I know there’s a lot left unsaid between me and Quint, but every time I see him, he’s busy talking to someone new, grinning and gesturing at one of his photos. He’s in his element, and I want to be happy for him, but … I also can’t help but wonder whether he’s avoiding me.

  Despite how much he hurt me, in all my fantasies over the past few weeks, one thing has stayed constant. Yes, I want his apology. Yes, I want him to plead for forgiveness. Yes, I want to hear him say how wrong he was not to trust me.

  But more than any of that, I want him to still like me.

  As much as I still like him.

  But what if that isn’t the case? What if in these last weeks he’s realized he never wanted me to begin with. That it was all a huge mistake—just like he said.

  I need to get out of here.

  I stand up. I’ll slip out while no one is watching. I won’t have to say goodbye to Morgan or Rosa or anyone. As I make my way to the exit, I don’t look back at Quint, just in case he notices me trying to leave. Because I couldn’t stand it if he saw and didn’t try to stop me.

  I’ll have to face him eventually. If I’m
going to continue volunteering at the center, I’ll have to confront the way he hurt me. And school is starting again soon, and there’s a good chance we’ll have some classes together. I’ll have to accept that whatever happened between us is really and truly over.

  As I pass the now-empty auction table, something catches my eye.

  I nearly trip over my feet. There’s something glinting up at me, tucked just behind one of the table legs, almost hidden by the tablecloth.

  I crouch and pick it up.

  It’s a vintage diamond earring hooked onto a chain necklace. The clasp must have broken when Shauna and I fell.

  The diamond winks at me.

  I chuckle to myself. “Nice one, Universe.”

  I turn and spot Maya sitting at the same table where I noticed her before, staring at her phone. I could go give it to her, but I don’t really want the credit for finding this earring any more than I want the blame for it first having been lost.

  “Excuse me?” I say to a passing volunteer. “Could you give this to that girl over there? I think she lost it.”

  “Oh, sure.” The volunteer takes the earring with some uncertainty, but doesn’t ask any questions.

  I stick around just long enough to see the earring delivered. To see Maya’s shock, her disbelief—her utter joy. She actually starts crying as she clutches it to her heart, then stands up and gives the stunned volunteer a tight hug.

  Too bad that isn’t Jude, I think. Then I would have just made two people’s nights.

  Onstage, the sweet old lady finishes her song, and I clap with as much enthusiasm as I can—but my heart isn’t in it. The theater might be overflowing with good vibes, good music, and more generosity than I could have imagined, but my heart is still broken.

  I start to turn away.

  “Next up,” Trish says into the microphone, “one of the rescue center’s most beloved and longtime volunteers. Please welcome to the stage … Quint Erickson!”

  I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance.

  Surely she didn’t just say …

  And there he is, walking up onto the stage. He smiles nervously at Trish as he takes the microphone from her. He looks positively terrified.

  He clears his throat, nodding gratefully at the applause that’s followed him to the platform. “Sorry,” he says, giving an awkward wave to the audience. “You all don’t deserve the torture I’m about to put you through, but … it’s for a good cause, right? So … here goes.”

  There’s some mild laughter. Some encouraging whoops.

  The music begins.

  My stomach drops.

  “Dear Prudence … won’t you come out to play?”

  I hear a few gasps and feel people searching me out and, when they find me, pointing and whispering.

  Quint, too, is scanning the room. But once he finds me, his eyes stay locked on mine.

  My mouth goes dry as I listen, and a small part of me thinks I should be mortified by the attention, but I’m not.

  I’m awestruck.

  I’m delirious.

  I’m … a little worried that this might not mean what I want it to mean.

  “The sun is up, the sky is blue. It’s beautiful, and so are you, dear Prudence…”

  My heart is beating so hard it might pound right out of my chest.

  His singing voice is … not great, I’ll admit. But the way he’s looking at me, and the way he’s blushing, and how he goofs up on the second verse and has to check the lyrics on the monitor and how he looks so flustered and so scared, how he still somehow manages to find me in the crowd again …

  I. Am. Mesmerized.

  The song ends, and I dare to breathe. It might be the first breath I’ve taken since he went up there.

  Quint clears his throat and puts the mic on the stand. He backs up like he can’t get away from it fast enough.

  The theater fills with applause, as it has after every song. Quint waves nonchalantly, an aw-shucks-but-please-stop wave, charming as ever, and steps off the stage.

  I’m moving before I realize it, making my way through the tables.

  His lips quirk when he sees me. He looks painfully insecure, but also hopeful. “I tried your trick,” he says, once we’re close enough. “I thought, it’s only four minutes of your life, Quint. You can get through this. But is it just me, or is that song, like, two hours long?”

  “Songs always seem longer when you’re up there. I call it the karaoke time-warp.”

  “Now you tell me.” His lashes dip briefly. His voice lowers. “So. How’d I do?”

  I don’t know what to say. I can barely think, much less form coherent words.

  And so, I start to laugh. Embarrassed, I clap a hand over my mouth.

  Quint grimaces. “That bad?”

  “No,” I say, daring to take one more step. He shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a step toward me, too. “I mean, you’re no John Lennon. But I’ve heard worse.”

  “I’ll accept that.” He squeezes one eye shut. “Can we talk? Um … somewhere else?”

  I take in a long breath, and nod.

  The auditorium is empty and eerily quiet once Quint shuts the door. I walk a little ways down the aisle, needing distance, needing space to calm my thundering heart, before I turn to face him.

  He’s leaning against the door. His expression is positively tortured.

  “I was awful,” he says, before I can say anything. “I was mean. I was trying to hurt you, and I said all those things, and…” He inhales deeply. “I’m so sorry, Prudence. I didn’t mean them.”

  I look away. The apology is so sudden, so fast on the heels of his song, that my emotions have tangled together. I’m nothing but a ball of feelings. I want this apology, I do, but it doesn’t feel earned. Not exactly. Not yet.

  “Are you sure about that?” I ask.

  “Prudence…”

  “No, really. You can’t tell me you hadn’t thought those things about me, probably a thousand times before you actually said them. Critical, judgmental, selfish…”

  He winces and his head falls. “I … yes, I used to … but I don’t…”

  “The thing is, Quint.” I brace myself. “I’m not sure you said anything that wasn’t true.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Except the thief thing. I didn’t take that money. But … I did think about it.”

  His gaze snaps back to me, surprised.

  “Not for me or for my parents. I thought I would use it to buy Maya’s earring back for her. And honestly, I still don’t know whether that would have been the right thing to do or not.”

  His brow furrows thoughtfully. “Well, the right thing probably would have been to talk to my mom about it. She would have helped get the earring back.”

  I stare at him, momentarily dumbfounded. How does he do that? This ethical dilemma that had me tied in knots … how can he solve it so simply, so easily?

  “Huh,” I say. “It probably should have been given to you.”

  Quint frowns. “The money?”

  “No. Never mind.” I squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn’t matter if the power of cosmic justice was given to me, and it doesn’t matter that I very well might have been the wrong person to wield it. I’m fairly certain it’s gone now. “I was just thinking that your moral compass might be a bit more finely tuned than mine.”

  Quint waits for me to look at him again before responding, “That’s a weird thing to say.”

  “I know.”

  “But, thanks?”

  “Look, my point is, those things you said about me before … I don’t want them to be true.” My voice squeaks, and I know I could start crying any minute. “I want to be someone who’s kind and forgiving. The sort of person who sees the good in other people, rather than … casting judgment all the time.” I smile sadly. “And when I’m around you, I become more like that person.”

  I swipe at my eyes before any tears can fall. Take in a deep breath. Then wave my hand at Quint. “Okay.
Now that I said all that … you can go back to telling me how sorry you are. I probably shouldn’t have interrupted.”

  His expression starts to relax. “You do make it hard to give you compliments, you know that?”

  I raise my eyes toward the ceiling. “So I’m difficult, too?”

  “Yes,” he says, with so much feeling I can’t help but feel a little defensive. “Yes, Prudence. You are easily one of the most difficult people I’ve ever known.” He opens his palms, looking helpless. “And yet … I still really want to make out with you.”

  I snort, then immediately cover my face with both hands. “Quint!”

  He’s laughing at me when I dare to peek through my fingers. He hasn’t moved away from the door, almost like he’s guarding the exit in case I decide to make a run for it. But there’s nowhere I would rather be than right here, blushing and awkward and hopeful.

  I slowly lower my hands. He’s still smiling, but it’s taken on a serious note.

  “Honestly?” he says. “I like you, Prudence. I like you a lot. And I know I hurt you, and I am so sorry.”

  I nod slowly. “I forgive you.”

  He hesitates. “I don’t think it should be that easy.”

  I gesture toward the lobby beyond the door. “You just serenaded me in front of all those people. How much harder would you like me to make it?”

  He looks thoughtful, as if he’d almost forgotten about this tidbit. “You’re right. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And also, like, really romantic of me.”

  I chuckle. “Besides, I’m sorry, too. For all those times I was so difficult.”

  We stare at each other, the aisle spanning an entire ocean between us. I so badly want to take a step toward him, but my feet are glued to the red carpet, and he hasn’t made any move toward me, either. So we’re stuck. I feel like we’ve been stuck here, hopelessly divided, all year.

  “You know what, Prudence?” he says. “If you’re going to apologize to me for something … it should be that lipstick.”

  I start, and reach my fingers to my lips.

  He shakes his head, forlorn. “I mean, come on. That’s just cruel.”