Read Online Karma for Beginners by Jessica Blank - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Blank
Tags: Fiction - Young Adult
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have any other friends that I could see.
He kissed me for the first time on the hill behind the cafeteria, and it was nice. The tongue part was a little gross, but afterward he looked at me like I was someone who made him feel things. Up close I could see his hazel eyes had freckles in them, too, little flecks of green and gold. He leaned in and bumped my forehead with his, soft, and then this big grin spread across his skinny face and he started laughing, but not at me, and I started laughing too.
After that, lunch was always on that hill; he would give me half his Tater Tots so I could throw my six-grain sandwich away. Then weâd kiss. We both tasted like ketchup.
Then the second Friday he felt me up. He didnât even really kiss me first, just shot his bony hand up my shirt without asking and squeezed hard enough to hurt, pushing me back onto the ground with his weight. My eyes flew open but his stayed shut, and he made his tongue fill up my mouth and it got hard to breathe beneath him. All of a sudden his body felt like rocks pressing into my ribs, and I said, âHey,â but he didnât look at me or stop, and finally I pushed up on him and threw him off and stood up and headed down the hill. When I looked back he was standing up in his Motörhead T-shirt, wiping grass stains off his jeans and yelling, âWhatâs your problem?â after me.
So thatâs what I had till now: Almanzo, Ponch, and Randy Wishnick. The good ones werenât real and the real one was mean. I was starting to think the whole âguyâ thing was just for banana-clip chicks and girls on TV and my mom, given who was available to choose from. I never knew whether anything else was out there.
Now I know.
I leave seva early to go and take a shower. Iâm not that dirty, but I want to do something to separate this afternoon from tonight. This afternoon in the parking lot with Colin was mine, like my walk the night before was mine, and I donât want them blurring together with my mom.
When I come out toweling my hair off, sheâs sitting on the bed. I see her see the cloud of steam, start to say something about wasting water, but she stops. Sheâs trying to be nice. âCome on, get dressed; weâre going to meet Vrishti for dinner.â Thereâs a lot of this Vrishti all of a sudden. She seemed okay the other night, but weâll see if she talks to me or just my mom.
At the dining hall, the two of them put exactly identical amounts of shredded zucchini and beets on their trays, identical tahini and identical sprouts. They also are the same height, both pretty, and both have long hair. One red and one brown. Like salt and pepper shakers. We come up to the table and everyone says hi to them.
Vrishti takes a chair on my left side and nods for my mom to sit on my right. She closes her eyes and says some long complicated chant before she eats; my mom does too. I donât know the words, so I just sit there between them and feel weird. But when theyâre done, Vrishti turns right to me and asks how old I am and what I think of the ashram. I just shrug. âItâs cool.â It would take way too long to really tell her. But Iâm glad somebody asked.
My momâs never had a friend before. In Ohio the women were always scared of her, the other single ones who worked in offices and drank Tab and went to the bar on the weekends. She was so much weirder than even the âwild girlsâ who smoked pot and had affairs with Bill in Marketing; she was so much prettier that no one ever expected sheâd be lonely. Dayton and Venice, Big Sur and Akron: all the women were just variations on the same weird mix of judgment and envy. The only people she ever had to talk to were her guys and me, and even I felt the same way as those office girls sometimes.
But the other women glare at Vrishti too. Just like my mom, sheâs lonely from too much attention, and the two of them stick
He kissed me for the first time on the hill behind the cafeteria, and it was nice. The tongue part was a little gross, but afterward he looked at me like I was someone who made him feel things. Up close I could see his hazel eyes had freckles in them, too, little flecks of green and gold. He leaned in and bumped my forehead with his, soft, and then this big grin spread across his skinny face and he started laughing, but not at me, and I started laughing too.
After that, lunch was always on that hill; he would give me half his Tater Tots so I could throw my six-grain sandwich away. Then weâd kiss. We both tasted like ketchup.
Then the second Friday he felt me up. He didnât even really kiss me first, just shot his bony hand up my shirt without asking and squeezed hard enough to hurt, pushing me back onto the ground with his weight. My eyes flew open but his stayed shut, and he made his tongue fill up my mouth and it got hard to breathe beneath him. All of a sudden his body felt like rocks pressing into my ribs, and I said, âHey,â but he didnât look at me or stop, and finally I pushed up on him and threw him off and stood up and headed down the hill. When I looked back he was standing up in his Motörhead T-shirt, wiping grass stains off his jeans and yelling, âWhatâs your problem?â after me.
So thatâs what I had till now: Almanzo, Ponch, and Randy Wishnick. The good ones werenât real and the real one was mean. I was starting to think the whole âguyâ thing was just for banana-clip chicks and girls on TV and my mom, given who was available to choose from. I never knew whether anything else was out there.
Now I know.
I leave seva early to go and take a shower. Iâm not that dirty, but I want to do something to separate this afternoon from tonight. This afternoon in the parking lot with Colin was mine, like my walk the night before was mine, and I donât want them blurring together with my mom.
When I come out toweling my hair off, sheâs sitting on the bed. I see her see the cloud of steam, start to say something about wasting water, but she stops. Sheâs trying to be nice. âCome on, get dressed; weâre going to meet Vrishti for dinner.â Thereâs a lot of this Vrishti all of a sudden. She seemed okay the other night, but weâll see if she talks to me or just my mom.
At the dining hall, the two of them put exactly identical amounts of shredded zucchini and beets on their trays, identical tahini and identical sprouts. They also are the same height, both pretty, and both have long hair. One red and one brown. Like salt and pepper shakers. We come up to the table and everyone says hi to them.
Vrishti takes a chair on my left side and nods for my mom to sit on my right. She closes her eyes and says some long complicated chant before she eats; my mom does too. I donât know the words, so I just sit there between them and feel weird. But when theyâre done, Vrishti turns right to me and asks how old I am and what I think of the ashram. I just shrug. âItâs cool.â It would take way too long to really tell her. But Iâm glad somebody asked.
My momâs never had a friend before. In Ohio the women were always scared of her, the other single ones who worked in offices and drank Tab and went to the bar on the weekends. She was so much weirder than even the âwild girlsâ who smoked pot and had affairs with Bill in Marketing; she was so much prettier that no one ever expected sheâd be lonely. Dayton and Venice, Big Sur and Akron: all the women were just variations on the same weird mix of judgment and envy. The only people she ever had to talk to were her guys and me, and even I felt the same way as those office girls sometimes.
But the other women glare at Vrishti too. Just like my mom, sheâs lonely from too much attention, and the two of them stick
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