have
bakku-shan
. That’s a girl who’s pretty from the back, but from the front, it’s like
no way
.
”
I try to look disgusted at him, but I can’t help smiling. I’ve known Jonathan since the second grade, although not as well as Michael. “What’s your point, Takahara?”
“Just that an asshole like you could do a lot worse than Emily.”
“Thanks for the tip, asshole.”
There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask him. He’s into all this weird spiritual stuff, and sometimes we talk about it.
“Jonathan, do you believe in karma?”
Because I do. I believe that everything you do somehow comes back around to you eventually. The night that Michael died, I made enough bad karma to fill an ocean.
“Yep.” Jonathan answers instantly.
I reach up and shift the strap of the loaded backpack that’s biting into my shoulder. Not sure I really want to know the answer to my next question, I ask it anyway.
“What happens if you’ve got a lot of bad karma? Do you go to karma hell?” We turn a corner and pass some guys we know, raising our hands briefly to them as we go by.
“Kinda, yeah. If your karma’s bad enough when you die, you get reincarnated as some lower form of life.”
Great.
I’m probably scheduled to come back as a sea slug.
“On the other hand, you can work off bad karma and create good in its place.”
I get this image of a giant worksheet in the sky, where the karma gods keep track of how everyone’s doing. Right now, I’ve got a whopping balance of negative karma.
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
“I have two uncles and three cousins in Japan who are Buddhist monks.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. My father’s the black sheep of the family, because he went into the import/export business.”
So Jonathan knows what he’s talking about. I can redeem myself, if I do good deeds. But what about Emily? Since I lost any right to be happy when I left Michael in the stairwell that night, the karma gods would probably count being in love with her as a bad deed on the worksheet.
Jonathan brings my thoughts back to the hallway. “Ryan, did you ever figure out anything about Michael’s secret—the thing that was bothering him?”
I shake my head. “I have no clue.”
There’s no one else he would have told. Letting it go doesn’t feel good, but I don’t know what else to do.
“Okay, well, see you later,” Jonathan says, and we go to class.
Chapter 15
E mily has put on white gym shorts, a white polo shirt, and a pair of white Keds, the color scheme being a requirement of my tennis club. She looks cute, with her hair up in a ponytail. She’s going to have her first tennis lesson.
It has taken me a while to get up the nerve to go back to the club. I park my car and get out, setting my feet carefully on the asphalt of the parking lot, as if I’m not sure it will hold me. I would go around to open Emily’s door for her, but she’s already out and pulling the tennis rackets from the back seat.
“The last time I came here, I was with Michael,” I say. “In fact, probably the last
fifty
times I came here, I was with Michael.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Do you want to do this? We could go somewhere else.”
“No.” I grab a couple of cans of balls. “I promised you a tennis lesson.”
I’m wearing my best, most professional looking whites. In addition to giving her a few pointers, I wouldn’t mind showing off to Emily the true God of Tennis that I am.
As we walk through the club gates and onto a court, I follow close behind her, grateful I’m not here alone.
“You won’t laugh at me, will you?” she asks.
I bounce a tennis ball. “Only if you’re really bad.”
“Don’t!” She wags a stern finger at me as the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile.
Once again, I’m drowning in those gray-blue eyes. I have to force myself to say, “Okay, well, I guess we should get started.”
I demonstrate a basic forehand and backhand, and we practice
bakku-shan
. That’s a girl who’s pretty from the back, but from the front, it’s like
no way
.
”
I try to look disgusted at him, but I can’t help smiling. I’ve known Jonathan since the second grade, although not as well as Michael. “What’s your point, Takahara?”
“Just that an asshole like you could do a lot worse than Emily.”
“Thanks for the tip, asshole.”
There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask him. He’s into all this weird spiritual stuff, and sometimes we talk about it.
“Jonathan, do you believe in karma?”
Because I do. I believe that everything you do somehow comes back around to you eventually. The night that Michael died, I made enough bad karma to fill an ocean.
“Yep.” Jonathan answers instantly.
I reach up and shift the strap of the loaded backpack that’s biting into my shoulder. Not sure I really want to know the answer to my next question, I ask it anyway.
“What happens if you’ve got a lot of bad karma? Do you go to karma hell?” We turn a corner and pass some guys we know, raising our hands briefly to them as we go by.
“Kinda, yeah. If your karma’s bad enough when you die, you get reincarnated as some lower form of life.”
Great.
I’m probably scheduled to come back as a sea slug.
“On the other hand, you can work off bad karma and create good in its place.”
I get this image of a giant worksheet in the sky, where the karma gods keep track of how everyone’s doing. Right now, I’ve got a whopping balance of negative karma.
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
“I have two uncles and three cousins in Japan who are Buddhist monks.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. My father’s the black sheep of the family, because he went into the import/export business.”
So Jonathan knows what he’s talking about. I can redeem myself, if I do good deeds. But what about Emily? Since I lost any right to be happy when I left Michael in the stairwell that night, the karma gods would probably count being in love with her as a bad deed on the worksheet.
Jonathan brings my thoughts back to the hallway. “Ryan, did you ever figure out anything about Michael’s secret—the thing that was bothering him?”
I shake my head. “I have no clue.”
There’s no one else he would have told. Letting it go doesn’t feel good, but I don’t know what else to do.
“Okay, well, see you later,” Jonathan says, and we go to class.
Chapter 15
E mily has put on white gym shorts, a white polo shirt, and a pair of white Keds, the color scheme being a requirement of my tennis club. She looks cute, with her hair up in a ponytail. She’s going to have her first tennis lesson.
It has taken me a while to get up the nerve to go back to the club. I park my car and get out, setting my feet carefully on the asphalt of the parking lot, as if I’m not sure it will hold me. I would go around to open Emily’s door for her, but she’s already out and pulling the tennis rackets from the back seat.
“The last time I came here, I was with Michael,” I say. “In fact, probably the last
fifty
times I came here, I was with Michael.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Do you want to do this? We could go somewhere else.”
“No.” I grab a couple of cans of balls. “I promised you a tennis lesson.”
I’m wearing my best, most professional looking whites. In addition to giving her a few pointers, I wouldn’t mind showing off to Emily the true God of Tennis that I am.
As we walk through the club gates and onto a court, I follow close behind her, grateful I’m not here alone.
“You won’t laugh at me, will you?” she asks.
I bounce a tennis ball. “Only if you’re really bad.”
“Don’t!” She wags a stern finger at me as the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile.
Once again, I’m drowning in those gray-blue eyes. I have to force myself to say, “Okay, well, I guess we should get started.”
I demonstrate a basic forehand and backhand, and we practice
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