Page 32 of Instant Karma

My hand unclenches and I flex my fingers, sensing each joint. My palm is hot. My knuckles feel strained, like they’ve been clenched for hours, rather than just a few seconds.

All around me, people are hollering with laughter. It’s hysterical, watching Jackson pick himself up out of the surf. He’s drenched from head to foot. His clothes stick to him like a second skin, plastered with muddy sand. A string of seaweed hangs over his shoulder. His hair is matted to his brow.

His face is priceless.

“Ha!” a girl yells. “Karma’s a bitch!”

I blink and turn my head. It’s Serena. Her own clothes are still wet, but all signs of tears have vanished. She’s beaming. The color has returned to her cheeks.

Karma.

Instant karma.

“Holy mothballs,” I breathe as something starts to make sense. Sort of. Does it make sense? Can this be real?

I consider the evidence.

The car crash.

The spilled tomato juice.

Mr. Chavez biting his lip.

The ice cream parlor. The tourists on the boardwalk. The rude employee at the fish-and-chips stand…

And now this. A wave that came from nowhere, smashing only into Jackson and his jerk friends, even on this very crowded beach.

Surely it can’t be coincidence. Not all of it, anyway.

But if it isn’t coincidence, what is it?

John Lennon’s lyrics echo through my head. I mutter them quietly under my breath.Instant karma’s gonna get you, gonna knock you right on the head…

I reach for the back of my head, where I can still feel a small, sore lump from my fall. I go over the events of the evening before. Seeing Quint and his friend. Those guys heckling Ari while she sang. Our conversation about karma. My name being called, though no one has admitted to putting it up there. Singing the song. Dancing. Quint giving me that look of bewilderment. Slipping on the spilled beer. Hitting my head…

If it’s not coincidence, then that means that somehow, for some reason… it’s been me. I’ve been causing these things. I’ve been… exacting instant karma on people.

“Pru? Are you okay?”

My attention darts up to see Ari strolling back through the sand. She grabs a towel off the back of one of the beach chairs and wraps it around her waist. She’s still mostly dry, though sand is clinging to her ankles.

“Yeah,” I say, my stomach fluttering. “That was weird, right?”

She laughs. “So weird. But so perfect. Is he always like that?”

“Pretty much. Jackson’s always been a bully. It’s nice to see him get what’s coming to him, for once.” I lean toward her, lowering my voice. “I bet you anything that shirt cost a couple hundred dollars. He’ll try to play it cool, but believe me, this is killing him.”

Ari flops onto the towel and pulls a soda from the small cooler we brought. She pops the tab, then holds the can up toward the water, as if in a toast. “Nice work, ocean.” Then she glances around. “I just hope that girl’s okay.”

I don’t respond. I’m distracted, looking around at the beach towels andblankets and chairs that have taken over the shore. I’m distracted by Jackson, using the corner of a towel to get water out of his ears.

“I’ll be right back.” I turn and hike up the sandy beach, seeking solitude along the rocky cliff side. It’s too early for the infamous make-out sessions to have begun, and it’s easy for me to find an empty alcove among the towering rocks. I lean against a boulder and press my hand to my chest. My heart races underneath my skin.

“This is just wishful thinking,” I whisper. “A fairy tale. Brought on by end-of-year stress, and all those fantasies of wanting to punish people when they deserve it, and… maybe a slight concussion.”

Despite my rational words, my brain shoots back a number of counterarguments. The song. The car accident. The wave.

But every time I start to think—maybe itwasme—I chastise myself. Am I really considering the possibility that I sang a karaoke song, and now I have… what? Magic powers? Some sort of cosmic gift? The completely preposterous ability to bestow the justice of the universe?

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