The Karma Club Read Free Page A

senior class president, but we were harshly denied entry. It was a blow to the ego that I’d just as soon forget. Jade had insisted that Mason’s victory and my association with that victory as not only his girlfriend but also his campaign manager would assure us entrance. But apparently school politics don’t play a huge role in the popularity game at our school.
    JFK probably wouldn’t have gotten into the Loft either.
    “I don’t know,” I tell Jade hesitantly. “If they don’t let us in, I really don’t want to go through that humiliation again.”
    “Impossible,” she insists. “As long as Mason is invited, which he totally will be once word of this article spreads, we’re golden.”
    When I hang up the phone and try to refocus on my history book, my mind can’t help but drift back to what Jade just said. Could we really get into the Loft party just because of a stupid magazine article?
    Maybe my fantasy wasn’t that far off after all. Maybe this one little article
would
make us the most popular couple in school. Maybe Heather Campbell would eventually start calling
me
up for advice about the new spring fashions and where she should go to get her nails done and how to snag a boyfriend as wonderful as Mason. I really wouldn’t blame her. I mean, I’m pretty much a published magazine writer now. Who wouldn’t want advice from someone whose words are in
Contempo Girl
magazine?
    Suddenly, the French Revolution seems trivial compared to my own rise to the throne, and I abandon my textbook and wander into my closet, determined to pick out the trendiest looking outfit I own for tomorrow.

THE HEATHER CAMPBELL OF COLONIAL HIGH
    All my life I’ve wanted to be popular.
    I don’t know where the obsession came from, but from the time I was a little girl, the life of the high school “it” crowd always seemed more glamorous than anything else I could ever imagine.
    Then in the sixth grade, I met Heather Campbell, and from the moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to be like her. Her hair and teeth were perfectly straight, her makeup looked like she’d just walked away from the M.A.C counter after a full-on demonstration, and her clothes were something straight out of a fashion magazine. She was just beautiful, in every sense of the word.
    Over the years, I’ve come to realize that in every single high school, in every single state in the country, there is always a Heather Campbell. The girl who is simply born with the popular gene . . . and
jeans
, for that matter.
    My mom often tries to comfort me by saying that girls like Heather Campbell tend to peak early in life and then quickly fade.That’s why she looks so much better than everyone now. But by the time I go to my ten-year reunion, I’ll be way prettier than she is. To which I always reply with the same statement, “I don’t want to be pretty in ten years. I want to be pretty now.”
    Because what good is it to me now that I
might
or might not be drop-dead gorgeous when I’m twenty-seven? It’s not like I can go to school every day with a big cardboard sign around my neck that says, “Trust me, in ten years, I’ll look like this.” And then an arrow pointing to a picture of a supermodel.
    Heather Campbell is simply a goddess, and I can’t imagine her being anything less . . . at any age. She has silky, long amber-brown hair and perfectly bronzed skin. Like her mother gave birth to her inside a tanning bed or something.
    And I’m pretty sure she’s not a virgin. Not by at least a couple times over.
    I, on the other hand,
am
still a virgin. I know, I’ve been dating Mason for two years, so what on earth am I waiting for, right? Well, I’m not exactly sure what I’m waiting for. I guess for it to just feel “right.” And up until now, it really hasn’t. Maybe I’ll feel different once we get to Amherst next year and I know there’s not a parental figure sitting in the next room.
    In fact, Angie is the only one in our group who