Jessica Brody - The Karma Club

The Karma Club

JESSICA BRODY

Farrar Straus Giroux New York

Copyright 2010 by Jessica Brody

All rights reserved

Distributed in Canada by D&M Publishers, Inc.

Printed in March 2010 in the United States of America

by RR Donnelley & Sons Company, Harrisonburg, Virginia

Designed by Natalie Zanecchia

First edition, 2010

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

www.fsgkidsbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brody, Jessica.

The Karma Club / Jessica Brody.1st ed.

p. cm.

Summary: When high school senior Maddy catches her boyfriend cheating on her, she devises a complicated plan to get revenge.

ISBN: 978-0-374-33979-1

[1. RevengeFiction. 2. Interpersonal relationsFiction. 3. Conduct of lifeFiction. 4. High schoolsFiction. 5. SchoolsFiction.] 1. Title.

PZ7.B786157Kar 2010

[Fic]dc22

2008055560

To Elizabeth Fisher,
Namaste

The Karma Club

I can tell you right now, its all Karmas fault.

Yes, Karma. You know, that unmistakable force in the universe that makes sure good deeds are rewarded and bad deeds are punished.

Like when I stole my little sisters lunch in the seventh grade because I woke up too late to make my own. When I got to school, I found that the meat in the sandwich was actually moldy and I had to spend the very last of my allowance money on the disgusting, unrecognizable cafeteria food.

Karma.

Or the summer between junior and senior year, when my best friend, Angie, and I decided that our time would be better spent hanging out at the mall rather than keeping our promise to her mom to help clean out the garage. Well, Angies car ran out of gas halfway there and instead we spent our morning trudging through the ninety-degree heat toward the nearest gas station, which was, not surprisingly, four miles away, and then back to the abandoned car with a gas can that weighed nothing short of twenty pounds. Needless to say, the total amount of energy exerted during this brilliant little escapade of ours was about ten times the amount it would have taken to help Mrs. Harper sort through a few dusty boxes.

Yep, Karma again.

And when I was nine, I obsessively begged my parents to let me get a dog and they refused. So I decided to volunteer at the local animal shelter walking dogs that didnt have homes because it was clearly the closest thing to a dog I was going to get. Well, my parents were so impressed with my unrewarded dedication, as they called it, that they ended up letting me pick out a dog from the shelter to keep.

So, you see, it works both ways.

Good deeds are rewarded while bad deeds are punished. Good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. Thats just how Karma works.

Well, at least thats how I thought it worked.

But that was before I entered the second half of my senior year. When everything changed. Everything I thought I knew and everything I thought I could count on suddenly went right out the window.

I think I can trace it back to one day.

That fateful day when Angie called me up with the news.

Yes, that was definitely the day it all began. Before my simple, little worldwhere up was up and down was down, and right and wrong were as different as night and daywas flipped upside down. And from that point on, there was absolutely nothing in my life that could be described as simple.

My phone seems to be ringing louder than usual today. And theres a certain urgency in its tone that makes this incoming call somehow sound more important than most.

I stare at it for a moment and then quickly decide to ignore the call. Im in the middle of studying for a very important European history test and I really dont want to be bothered.

The phone rings again.

I dont need to look at the caller ID to know that its Angie whos being so freaking persistent. My friends all have their own ring tones. Angies happens to be a very popular hip-hop song that she insists she started liking way before everyone else did. Personally, I think she just doesnt want to admit that shes in any way mainstream. It would damage that subtle counterculture reputation shes spent so long perfecting.

Either way, I think this particular song lost its appeal after about twelve rings. And given the fact that Angie calls me at least sixteen times a day, I am now officially sick of it.

I ignore Angies call again and continue reading about the storming of the Bastille. Whatever is so important can at least wait until King Louis XVI gets his head chopped off.

The phone rings a third time.

Finally, I groan and pick it up. What?

Normally, Angie would berate me for my unfriendly greeting, but this afternoon, apparently, she has bigger things to worry about than my tone. Maddy, get down to Millers now.

I cant. Im studying for my history test, I say, slightly annoyed.

Drop everything and get your butt down here, she practically growls into the phone. I promise, its more exciting than the French Revolution.

Yeah, like thats hard, I reply sarcastically.

Just come. And with that she hangs up the phone.

Angie has been my best friend since the sixth grade. She probably knows me better than anyone else in my life. For instance, she knows that, right now, Ill sulk around my room for the next few minutes debating about whether or not I really want to give in to her demands. Then Ill eventually close my textbook with a scowl, slip on my shoes, and drive the twelve blocks to Millers Drug Store, where she works quarter-time as a cashier. I say quarter-time instead of part-time, because although it is a part-time job, she spends only half of the time working and the other half reading magazines from the rack next to the register.

I pull into the store parking lot exactly nine minutes later, and I know shell be patting herself on the back when I walk through the door, incredibly proud of her ability to clock my decision-making process down to the minute.

I trudge into the empty store and approach the register, where shes flipping through the new February issue of Contempo Girl, our mutually favorite magazine. Although we have completely different reasons for liking it. I enjoy reading the sections about the new fashion trends, latest celebrity gossip, and relationship advice, while Angie, as far as I can tell, just likes reading it so she can have a replenishing supply of people and products to criticize.

Whats so important you couldnt just tell me on the phone?

Angie looks up and, without even so much as a hello, shoves the magazine into my hands. I manage to catch it just before it falls to the floor.

Turn to page thirty-five.

I shift my weight onto one foot and, with a frustrated sigh, open the now crumpled magazine. As I flick brusquely through the pages, I say, You know, this history test tomorrow is my only chance to bring my B up to an A and I dont really appreciate the fact that you dragged me down here just to gripe about whatever I stop suddenly with a gasp when I see the page in front of me.

Angie watches me with a satisfied I-told-you-so grin on her face.

Oh my God! I exclaim as I stare down at the page in disbelief. They published it?

She nods excitedly. Yes!

They actually published it? I still cant seem to wrap my head around what Im seeing in front of me.