Free Karma for Beginners by Jessica Blank

to each other like magnets that finally entered each other’s field.
    Vrishti finishes her zucchini, and then she gives my mom a secret smile. My mom secret-smiles back. I watch back and forth like Ping-Pong. I wonder if they’re going to let me in the game.
    My mom says, “Sooo . . .”
    Vrishti says, “Tessa . . .”
    They secret-smile again.
    â€œWe have news.”
    â€œOkay,” I say, with trepidation. I don’t know what this news could be, but the possibility exists that it isn’t good. Since we’ve gotten here, my mom’s perception of what’s good seems to have strayed away from mine, far enough that I’m starting to stop trusting that something is a good thing just because she thinks it is.
    Vrishti squirms in her seat. “We’ve been invited to the Guru’s kitchen!”
    My mom beams into Vrishti’s eyes. I have to say, I don’t know what the big deal is.
    â€œCool.”
    â€œTessa, it’s an incredible honor,” my mom explains. “I don’t even know how they picked us or anything, they just came into the kitchen today—”
    â€œAnd said,” Vrishti chimes in—
    â€œWe would be honored to have your seva in the Guru’s private kitchen!” they finish in unison. Then they actually giggle.
    â€œSo we’ll be working up the hill, over at the Guru’s quarters; we’ll be helping with the prep for all his meals,” my mom says. “It’s such an incredible opportunity to be near the shakti of the Guru.”
    I’ve decided that if people use weird words around me, they’re going to have to tell me what they mean. “What’s shakti ?”
    â€œOh, it means like spiritual energy?” Vrishti says. “The life force of the universe.”
    â€œCool.” I nod.
    â€œAfter dinner, let’s go celebrate!” my mom says.
    â€œYes!” Vrishti says.
    Celebrate means have dessert at the Amrit, which means Snack Bar. At the regular cafeteria there’s no dessert— apparently it’s not yogic—but at the Amrit there is lots. Cobbler, cookies, cake, pie, all made with brown rice syrup and whole wheat pastry flour. I get a yogurtgranola parfait and we sit by the window. Vrishti has blueberry rhubarb crisp. My mom just gets a tea. Music pipes from tinny speakers like in the shuttle buses. My mom and Vrishti do a short version of their chant, holding both my hands, and then we eat.
    As I’m scraping out the final dregs of yogurt, those kids tumble through the Amrit door. The brother and the sister and the other guy all laugh at something, stand near the jars of cookies, and pick some out. Peanut butter, from what I can tell. Vrishti nods toward them at my mom, small, like she thinks I won’t be able to see. My mom nods back. I roll my eyes, but neither of them notices.
    â€œTessa,” Vrishti stage-whispers, trying to be inaudible and failing, “do you know those kids?”
    â€œNo.” I don’t try to whisper.
    She and my mom do their attempting-to-be-subtle nod at each other again. “Maybe you should go and say hello.” Vrishti smiles.
    My mom really likes that idea. “Tessa, I think that would be wonderful.”
    â€œNah, it’s okay.”
    â€œYou can’t have new adventures if you don’t take risks!” She looks at Vrishti meaningfully.
    â€œReally, I don’t feel like it.”
    â€œWhy? I’m sure they’re perfectly nice.”
    I want to tell her that they’re pale and weird and I never know what they’re laughing about, but I don’t want Vrishti to think I’m mean. So I just shrug.
    â€œIt’d be great for you to meet some kids your age!” Vrishti chimes in.
    â€œYeah, Tessa, it really would.” My mom gives her that nod again.
    Oh, for Christ’s sake. This is clearly going to end in disaster, but it doesn’t look like I have a choice. I