The Karma Club (13 page)

Of course, I don’t ditch my appointment. I go, like the good student tutor that I am. Because I suppose people who sign up for tutoring sessions are people in need too. Just a different kind of need. And as soon as I start neglecting them, I’m just as bad as Ryan Feldman or Seth Taylor.

I throw my books into my bag, close my locker, and make my way to the library. Once inside, I scan the room for someone resembling a struggling French student, but unfortunately, I come up short. So I just take a seat at a table near the door and wait.

After five minutes go by, I’m about to give up and tell my friends to meet me at the jewelry store early when I hear someone call my name. “Maddy?”

I look up to see none other than Spencer Cooper walking toward me.

Not him again. What the heck is he doing here?

“Yeah?” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

Of course I’m nonchalant, why would I be
chalant
? It’s not like I care what Spencer Cooper thinks about me.

“Hi, sorry I’m late.”

Wait a minute. What?

“Late for what?” I say, as if I have no idea what he’s referring to. And I’m really hoping that I don’t.

“Our tutoring session,” Spencer says matter-of-factly and, in my opinion, kind of bordering on rudely as he plops his backpack down on a nearby chair and takes the seat across from me.

No, no, no. I did
not
agree to tutor Spencer Cooper, the richest, most stuck-up guy in school. No way.

But then, actually, I kind of
did
agree to tutor Spencer Cooper. I just had no idea it was Spencer Cooper when I was doing it. And if I did, I probably would have just made up some excuse.

“You’re the struggling French student?” I ask, still not quite willing to accept my fate.

He nods shamefully. “Unfortunately, that would be a
oui
. I’m afraid I can’t seem to master the subjunctive, or any tense, for that matter.”

Okay, this is
so
not going to work. I cannot tutor him. I cannot have weekly one-hour reminders of what happened at that dreadful loft of his. Not when I’m doing everything in my power to erase it. Or at least avenge it. Whatever happens during these tutoring sessions, Spencer will certainly report back to Jenna, who will, no doubt, report back to Heather, and then I’m just toast. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s secretly wired for surveillance under that amazing crewneck sweater of his.

This can’t be happening. Out of all the people in this entire school, why did
Spencer Cooper
happen to need help with French subjunctives? I mean, come on, they’re not
that
hard. Can’t he figure them out by himself? Or if not, shouldn’t his parents be paying someone like a million dollars a week to tutor their son in French? Someone who really
is
French. Like Audrey Tautou perhaps.

I take a deep breath and watch helplessly as Spencer unloads his French textbook and a red notebook and flips to a blank page. And that’s when I painfully realize that none of this would be happening if I had only ignored that stupid text message in Mr.
Wilson’s office and just paid attention to whatever he was saying. Because if I had, I’d be standing in front of a display case of charm bracelet charms right now, figuring out which one best represented our Ryan Feldman victory. But instead, I’m here, with
him
. Just another paid employee of the Cooper family. Along with their two dozen maids, butlers, chauffeurs, and the people they probably pay to hold the gold-trimmed tissues they blow their noses with.

And suddenly, I have a newfound respect for the no cell phone policy at school.

After a grueling
hour of explaining to Spencer when to use subjunctive and when to use regular present tense, I finally make it to the jewelry store on Main Street.

I’m about five minutes early, so I casually stroll through the store, inspecting the various pieces of what
Contempo Girl
would call “bohemian jewelry.” Lots of turquoise stuff and peace signs dangling from braided chokers. I see a couple more Yin-Yang symbols on rings and hanging from necklaces, but it’s honestly hard for me to concentrate on jewelry because I can’t stop thinking about the conversation I had with Spencer in the library earlier.

It was about fifteen minutes into our session when I looked up from a page in his textbook to see him just kind of staring at me with this pitying look on his face. Like I’m a lost dog and he’s watching to see if anyone shows up to claim me.

“What?” I asked, rubbing my face self-consciously.

He shook his head as if he were shaking himself from an involuntary trance and replied, “Nothing. Sorry. Where were we?”

I studied him curiously and pointed to the page. “Regular
ir
verbs.”

“Right,” he said with a smirk, and I turned my attention back to the book and continued with my explanation.

But when I looked up ten seconds later to make sure he was paying attention, I saw that he was staring at me
again
! This time with even more concern on his face.

“What?”
I asked again, annoyed. I mean, honestly, what
was
this guy’s problem? Did he think that just because his parents own half of the town, he’s allowed to sit and gawk at people like that? Did his family not teach him any manners while they were jetting across Europe?

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he finally said with what surprisingly sounded like genuine compassion. “At my parents’ loft. With Mason.”

I immediately knew what he was getting at. He was trying to pry information out of me. Juicy details that he could report back to his little crew. He was trying to get me to talk about how crushed I am. To admit that my life would never be the same after Heather Campbell swooped in and stole my most prized possession. Maybe he could even get me to shed a few tears in the process. Then he could go back and give Heather the satisfaction of knowing that she single-handedly ruined my life.

Well, I was determined not to let that happen. Especially not when I knew that just this morning, the homecoming queen herself was unknowingly rubbing Crisco all over her face.

Not a chance.

He could sit there all he wanted with his pathetic displays of sympathy and his concerned eyes. Because little did this spoiled jerk know I had everything to play for at this point. And it would only be a matter of time until I wasn’t the one on the verge of tears anymore.

So I smiled politely at him and offered a tight-lipped “Thanks.”

“No, seriously,” he insisted. “I feel bad.”

By then, it had gotten ridiculous. I couldn’t believe that he was actually trying to egg me on. That he was actually trying to poke around until he found the right button to push. Well, he could just keep poking as much as he wanted, because I was determined not to cave. And just for show, I gave him an apathetic shrug and said, “I appreciate your concern. But there’s no reason to feel bad. I’m fine. Really.”

“I know it’s not my fault,” he continued. “But it did happen at my house, and Heather is . . . well, kind of a friend of mine, so in that sense I feel somewhat responsible.”

I wanted to grab his shoulders, shake him, and say, “Give it up, buddy! I’m not going to cry!” but instead I focused my attention back on French verbs.

But he kept talking. “I know I wasn’t even there, but someone told me the next day that—”

And with that, my head jerked up. “What do you mean, you weren’t even
there
?” I asked.

This was news to me. Why wouldn’t Spencer be at his own party? And then when I thought about it, I didn’t really remember seeing him there. Granted, I wasn’t exactly looking for him.
I was too busy looking for Heather. Oh, and walking in on my boyfriend making out with her.

He shook his head. “No. I’m not really a fan of the Loft parties. Chandra Cruz usually hosts them. I just give her the keys. I think I’ve only been to one or two this whole year.”

“What?” I sputtered and then quickly recoiled, berating myself for letting this guy evoke any sort of uncontrolled emotion, including surprise. I attempted to compose myself and force the aloofness back into my voice. “I mean, that’s just kind of weird that you don’t go to your own parties.”

He shrugged and put his pen down. “What can I say? I’m not really the party type of guy. It’s like I outgrew that whole scene last year. It’s not even fun anymore. It’s all about who’s there and what girl is wearing what and who’s making out with who. Personally, I think it’s kind of juvenile.”

At this point, it was me who was staring. I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Spencer Cooper—as in the Cooper Loft, as in the son of the
owners
of the Loft—doesn’t like to party? How completely ridiculous was that? And I wondered if Heather had absolutely any idea that Spencer was going around basically calling her entire existence juvenile. Somehow I doubted it. And what about Jenna? Did she know that he felt this way?

I nodded speechlessly.

“Anyway,” Spencer said, picking up his pen again, “I only wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened there. What Mason did was completely heartless, and I know you didn’t deserve that.”

Somehow, I was unable to move my hand to turn the page of the textbook. My whole body felt kind of numb . . . and tingly at the same time.

“Thank you,” I managed to say weakly and, in my own personal opinion, with just a tad too much feeling attached. But honestly, I couldn’t really help it. It just kind of came out. As did the small drops of moisture in my eyes.

But I quickly blinked those away and averted my gaze before he was able to see my face. Then I silently cursed myself for letting him get to me. Although I was grateful that I was able to stop myself before the tears really started to spill. If he was planning to leave that library with gossip to share with his friends, at least he wouldn’t have much.

But somehow, deep down, I truly didn’t believe that that was part of his grand plan. Actually, I was starting to doubt if there even
was
a grand plan.

Then again, I believed Mason when he told me he had no interest whatsoever in dating Heather, and look how well that turned out.

Either Spencer is the world’s best actor who missed his calling . . . or he was being genuinely sincere.

Right now, as I stand in the jewelry shop waiting for my friends to show up, the only thing I can think about is how much I hate him for being so freaking ambiguous.

Angie and Jade come through the door a few minutes later, and my thoughts of Spencer are quickly washed away with talk of charms and Karma and revenge. And believe me, I’m incredibly grateful for the distraction.

We stand in front of the display case for a good twenty minutes deliberating on which charm best suits our purpose. It’s a close call between a charm that looks like a pair of women’s underwear and a charm depicting a baseball bat hitting a ball, but in the end
we agree upon the baseball charm because it’s more representative of Ryan’s overall Karmic payback. The fact that his reputation took a serious dive and he’ll probably be forever known in our school as the “Great Granny Panty Bandit” is just icing on the cake.

The baseball bat looks really good next to the Yin-Yang, particularly when you know what it stands for. But I have to admit, the victory is a little bittersweet for me. Because as much as I’m excited about getting some well-deserved revenge on Ryan after he totally betrayed my best friend last year, I’m still somewhat disappointed that our first victory wasn’t Mason. And not only that, but every day that I’m forced to watch Mason and Heather canoodling in the hallway or the cafeteria or the parking lot makes it seem like victory is getting farther and farther away. I mean, I’m trying to be optimistic and everything, but some days are just harder than others.

We leave the jewelry store and go directly to Jade’s house, where we immediately launch into the fourth and final mission that we have planned, Operation Mrs. Robinson. This was actually Jade’s idea. Or rather, the name of the operation was Jade’s idea. She’s a big fan of old movies, and she explained to us that the name was inspired by
The Graduate
, which came out in like the sixties or something. I mean, who even knew they made movies back then? Well, anyway, she forced us to watch it with her so we could fully understand the meaning behind the brilliant title.

Basically it’s about a guy who’s fresh out of college and has an affair with an older woman, Mrs. Robinson, who is also one of his parents’ friends. But despite the fact that he’s still sleeping with Mrs. Robinson, he soon falls in love with her daughter. And
it becomes impossible for the guy to have a normal relationship with the daughter because Mrs. Robinson gets really jealous and tries to arrange her daughter’s marriage to someone else so she can have the young buck all to herself.

To me it dragged on just a little too long and the whole plot seemed really incestuous and wrong, but I must admit that the name Operation Mrs. Robinson or Mrs. Robinson
s
, plural, was really the absolute perfect fit for what we had planned for Seth.

We get on Jade’s computer, and the first thing we do is create a fake e-mail address for Seth. Next we sort through Jade’s picture folder and select three pictures of him that we feel best represent different sides of his personality: sexy, athletic, and playful. Jade has always been the photographer of our group. She loves taking pictures. While I, on the other hand, am much more of a writer than a photographer. That’s why I was selected to be in charge of the official Karma Club notebook.

Jade goes to some Internet dating site, and we’re greeted by a black welcome screen. Without even a second thought, she clicks on the giant green bubble that reads, “Find My Soul Mate Now.”

“Okay, Seth Taylor,” Jade says with a hungry gleam of revenge in her eyes. “Prepare to meet your Mrs. Robinson.”

From the Official Notebook of the Karma Club

Karmic Beneficiary #4

Name:
Seth Taylor