The Karma Club (3 page)

For example, one time in ninth grade, Heather and Jenna were standing in front of me in the cafeteria line and I overheard Heather tell Jenna that she thought Mr. Langley, the biology teacher, looked like Mr. Potato Head with all the pieces in the wrong place. I thought it was hilarious. And incredibly brilliant. Because he
did
kinda look like that.

None of my friends laughed when I repeated the story. But it was probably just because I didn’t tell it with that same unmistakable Heather flare.

There’s a definite buzz going around Colonial High the next morning. I can feel it from the moment I walk through the front doors with Mason. There are a hundred pairs of eyes on us as we walk down the hallway. People are looking at us! At
us
! I don’t think anyone has ever taken notice of my entrance into school for as long as . . . well, I’ve been
going
to school. It has to be the magazine. What else would it be about?

I whisper to Mason, “People know.”

But he simply shakes his head at me. “No one even cares.”

Mason tends to downplay things like this. Yesterday I spent an hour on the phone trying to convince him that the article would make a difference in our social status, but he strongly disagreed.
I think it’s just that he’s not very realistic when it comes to the students at our school. Or teenagers in general, for that matter. I mean, he thinks the reason people voted him class president was that he promised to instate a summer work-study program with a local college. I don’t have the heart to tell him that the real reason he was voted class president was that, at the last minute, I made him announce a proposal for a lunch delivery program with the local fast-food restaurants.

“Trust me,” I tell him assuredly. “They
care
.”

During first period alone, three people come up to me and ask if the Mason Brooks in
Contempo Girl
this month is really the same Mason Brooks that goes to this school, and I feel like one of those spokespeople for celebrities. I can almost see some hotshot E! News correspondent reporting, “Representatives from the Mason Brooks camp have recently
confirmed
the rumor that he is gracing the pages of the teen version of the ever-popular
Contemporary
magazine. Apparently, his girlfriend of two years, Madison Kasparkova, submitted the picture and the story to the publication’s monthly ‘Meet My Boyfriend’ competition, where editors sift through thousands of entries in search of the top five boyfriends from around the country. The man of the hour, Mason Brooks himself, is denying that this article has any connection to his recent rise up the Colonial High social ladder.”

At lunch, Leslie Gellar, the head cheerleader, comes up to the table where Jade, Angie, and I are eating and tells me that she loved my quote in the magazine. I thank her as modestly as I can, trying to take on that ever-so-gracious thanks-for-your-support, celebrity-like attitude.

“This is so cool,” Jade gushes to me as soon as Leslie is out of earshot. “It’s totally spreading.”

“I know!” I whisper, biting down on a potato chip. “Mason’s like a movie star or something.”

“Whatever,” Angie interjects, tucking a strand of her dark, chin-length hair behind her ear. “I give it a week before the buzz wears off and everyone forgets about him again.”

I’m not surprised at Angie’s bitterness. She’s never really shared my obsession with being popular or hanging out with anyone who is. In fact, she pretty much has the exact opposite sentiment toward the whole “high school popularity rat race,” as she calls it. Although I’ve never shared this theory with anyone, I’m pretty sure Angie’s resentment has a lot to do with the fact that, up until the sixth grade, she and Heather Campbell actually used to be best friends. Before popular cliques separated out the “cool” from the “unworthy,” and everyone was kind of just friends with everyone. But then we graduated to middle school and Heather started dating an eighth grader, suddenly became überpopular, and stopped talking to Angie completely, as though Heather quickly deemed Angie a liability in the quest for greatness and cast her aside like it was nothing. So it’s easy to see why Angie would naturally frown upon my thirst for popularity.

And I know that Leslie Gellar commenting on my quote in the magazine only makes things worse because Leslie just happens to be the current girlfriend of Angie’s ex-boyfriend, Ryan Feldman.

“Hey!” I say defensively. “No one will forget about him. He’s class president. If anyone has the ability to stay in the public eye, it’s Mason.”

“Public eye?” Angie shoots me an incredulous look. “He’s not a senator, Maddy, he’s on page thirty-five of a teen magazine. Let’s take it down a notch here.”

“Well, I think it’s exciting.” Jade sticks up for me. “And when
you get to Amherst next year, you’ll have something to brag about.”

“If,”
I correct her, taking a sip of my soda. “If I get accepted.”

Ever since December, when I sent in my college applications, getting into Amherst College has been pretty much the only thing I can think about. Well, besides Mason. But he’s part of the obsession. Three generations of Mason’s family graduated from Amherst, so it was really no surprise when they offered him early admission. In fact, he didn’t even have to apply anywhere else. While I was busy stressing over college applications and essays last month, Mason was sitting pretty in my room watching TV.

“Oh, please,” Jade says. “If Mason can get in, so can you. Your GPA is totally higher than his.”

“Yes, but he got a 2350 on his SATs and my score was nowhere near that,” I remind her. “I still think I should have taken it again like he did. His score improved so much the second time around because he took that Kaplan class and studied his butt off.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t understand why he had to take it at some random school in the city. What? Do they have softer chairs there or something?” Angie snidely remarks, taking a bite of her tuna fish sandwich and wiping her mouth with a paper towel.

I sigh loudly. “I told you already. He didn’t want to take the test around his friends because he thought he’d be distracted. He was just thinking ahead. He’s responsible like that.”

Angie opens her mouth to retaliate, but Jade quickly chimes in with “Um, you might want to drop it ’cause Mason is on his way over.”

I look up to see my boyfriend making his way to our table. He
seems to be completely oblivious to the fact that people have actually stopped their conversations to watch him.

“Do you believe me now?” I ask as soon as he sits down next to me.

“Believe what?” Mason says, pulling a sandwich out of his lunch bag.

“What do you mean, what?” I exclaim. “Everyone is staring at you! They know about the article.”

Mason laughs off the idea and pops open a can of root beer. “They’re just excited because I convinced the administration that we need new textbooks for next year.”

Jade practically snorts. “Sorry, Mason. But no one here cares about new textbooks—especially not the seniors—or anything the administration has to say, for that matter.”

He takes a sip from his soda. “They’ll care when they crack open that new algebra book and discover that every single page is not covered in graffiti.”

Jade and Mason go on like this for a few moments, but I’m hardly paying attention to their little discussion because I’m far too focused on something else entirely. Heather Campbell is walking directly toward our table.

“Oh my God,” I say under my breath. “Look who’s coming over here.”

On cue, Jade, Angie,
and
Mason all turn their heads.

“Don’t look at the same time!” I screech.

Angie shakes her head. “You are ridiculous. In fact, I don’t think I even want to hang around here long enough to hear whatever airhead thing she has to say.” And with that, she gets up, tosses her lunch bag into the nearest trash can, and heads for the
door, making an obvious point to bump roughly against Heather’s shoulder as she passes. Heather is completely unfazed by this dismissal and continues her unaltered course toward us.

And that’s when I realize that I’m blatantly staring. But no matter how hard I try, I simply can’t manage to pull my eyes away. Heather is wearing the most amazing pair of jeans, which hug her hips as perfectly as if they were personally designed for her body. Her hair is actually glistening under the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. I didn’t think that was even possible with this dreadful lighting.

She approaches us, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and leans forward with her hand on the table. “Hi, Mason. Hi, Madison,” she says, pronouncing my full name with a clear intonation on every syllable. No one really calls me anything but Maddy, except a few teachers and my senile grandmother, on the rare days that she actually remembers my name at all.

Mason smiles politely and offers back a very politically correct “Hi, Heather.”

I try hard to stay calm. “Hi, Heather,” I manage to repeat in a rather squeaky voice. I immediately clear my throat.

“Great picture in the magazine, Mase,” she says with a slight purse of her lips.

“Thanks,” he replies lightly, still holding true to his flawless presidential charm. “Maddy picked it out, though.”

I nod eagerly. “That’s right. I picked it out.”

What are you doing?
I scold myself silently.
Stop repeating everything he says!

“Well, it was a good choice,” Heather says with absolute poise. Like she just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel or something.

“Thanks,” I sputter before looking over at Jade. I can’t
help feeling the slightest bit sorry for her. Heather hasn’t even acknowledged her existence. But I’m sure it’s because Heather doesn’t know Jade’s name and doesn’t want to be rude by asking. There are over four hundred people in our class; it’s not like she’s expected to memorize every name in the yearbook just because she’s popular.

“Anyway,” Heather continues, her mocha-colored eyes sparkling, “I was just talking to Spencer Cooper before lunch and we both thought it would be really fun if you came to the Loft on Saturday night.”

I look anxiously to Jade, and she raises her eyebrows knowingly at me.

“So, what do you say, Mason?” Heather cocks her head to the side and flashes him a smirk.

“Well, I’m not really sure if—” Mason starts, but I give him a swift kick in the shin under the table and interrupt. “We’ll totally be there!” I say brightly.

Mason shoots me a what-the-heck? look and reaches down to rub his sore leg as Heather offers me a strange half smile. “Great,” she says with another casual flip of her hair. “I guess I’ll see you on Saturday.” Then she spins around on her pink ballerina flats, and I watch longingly as she makes her way across the cafeteria and regroups with Jenna.

“Jeez, Maddy,” Mason whines, still rubbing his leg. “That really hurt.”

But I don’t even hear him. Because I’m still kind of in a trance, my eyes locked dazedly on the other side of the cafeteria.

“Maddy,” Mason says, waving his hand in front of my face.

I blink rapidly. “Sorry. Was I staring?”

Mason and Jade both laugh. “Just a little,” he replies. “You do
know she’s only Heather Campbell, not
Naomi
Campbell, don’t you?”

“Whatever,” I say, reaching into my bag of potato chips and pulling out the last one. “It’s not like you wouldn’t date her if you had the chance.”

I’m fully expecting Mason to instantly negate my statement, but he doesn’t say anything. And when I look up at him, I notice that his eyes are not focused on me. His gaze has shifted about half an inch to the right. I follow the direction of his eye line until I suddenly realize that I’m staring at Heather Campbell again. “Mason!” I screech in disbelief.

His focus quickly turns back to me. “What?”

“
Would
you?”

“Would I what?”

“Date Heather Campbell if you had the chance,” I repeat with an exasperated sigh, looking to Jade for moral support. But unfortunately, her head is down and she’s concentrating really hard on cutting up a piece of meat loaf with the edge of a plastic fork. I know she’s just trying to avoid getting caught in the middle.

Mason breaks into laughter. “Yeah, right. Date
her
? Never in a million years. Besides, why would I need anyone else when I have you?” And then he flashes me one of those irresistible smiles that always leave my knees feeling a little bit wobbly. It’s this overpowering mix of adoration and disbelief. I like to translate it as “I love you, but sometimes you’re beyond ridiculous.” And I immediately forgive him. Besides, it’s really hard to concentrate on being upset with him when there’s only one thought occupying my mind at the moment.

We’re finally going to the Loft!

The week drags
on forever and Saturday feels like it is constantly getting farther and farther away. And the worst part is, the faster I want the time to fly, the slower everyone else seems to move around me.

When Saturday does finally arrive, Angie, Jade, and I pile into the SUV that Mason’s parents bought him as a congratulations gift for getting accepted to Amherst and we make our way into downtown San Francisco to Spencer Cooper’s loft.

Angie was reluctant to go from the moment we told her we’d been invited. She said she had no interest in hanging out with anyone who threw parties that required a guest list. But Jade and I were insistent, and she eventually yielded. I’m pretty sure the resistance was just a front. Because, in all honesty, I think she’s just as curious as the rest of us about what goes on at the infamous Loft. I don’t know how you could not at least wonder.

Mason parks the car in a pay lot two blocks down from the modern high-rise building, and we each pitch in two dollars to cover the parking fee. As we step into the lobby, I feel a rush of adrenaline run through my body. The last time I was inside this lobby was when we were leaving it—right after we had been denied admittance to the party upstairs. Not exactly my fondest memory.

I assure myself that tonight will be different. All of the bad memories of this place will be wiped clean and replaced with fresh and exciting new ones.