Karma for Beginners Read Online Free Page A

up against the other corner of the room. The tiny tiled bathroom tucks into a corner; the whole place seems small and old and cheap. Especially when you compare it to the pink marble entranceway, to what this place wants you to think it is.
    I can’t believe I’m going to live in a glorified motel room, with my mother, forever.
    The latch clicks open behind me and my mom walks in. I hear her drop a suitcase or a box. “Tess?” she says. I don’t turn around. She tries again, louder. “Tessa.” I still don’t turn around.
    â€œThis is it, huh? Well, it’s nice enough,” she says, and flops on the queen bed, kicking off her Birkenstocks. “Bed’s good.” I finally look at her then; she grins at me like we’re on some kind of adventure. Except that we are not. We are in an imitation motel room with a gray tiled bathroom and brown scratchy carpet. I guess I scowl or something, because she says, “What’s that look for?”
    I just say, “What.”
    â€œThat look. Like you swallowed something bad.”
    â€œI didn’t swallow anything.”
    â€œObviously I know you didn’t swallow anything, I’m speaking metaphorically.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    And she says, “Don’t ‘whatever’ me. What was that look for?” sharper and kind of mad-sounding, like she’s actually expecting me to explain to her what I was thinking. “Tessa?” It’s like she’s trying to reach inside my brain or something.
    I just walk into the tiny gray bathroom and lock the door.
    I turn the water on and I don’t care if it’s environmentally wasteful, I let it run while I sit on the toilet so she won’t hear me crying. After a minute I hear the front door click open, and I think, Thank god maybe she left , but then there’s a knock on the bathroom door heavier and slower than my mom’s.
    Ninyassa’s voice says, “Tessa? Time for Lice Check.”
    The fact that all kids that come to the ashram have to have a lice check isn’t really comforting. Ninyassa seems to think it will be, because she keeps saying how it’s a required part of admissions as she leads me back behind the main building and into the woods, down a trail made of wood chips to a little tan trailer marked “First Aid.”
    A skinny woman sits on the trailer steps, her long stringy blond hair exactly the same color as her skin. Between that and her beige leotard and drawstring pants, she blends completely into herself. “This is Jayita,” Ninyassa says. Jayita motions for me to sit on the trailer steps in front of her, and goes through my hair with her fingers bit by bit. After about three minutes she says, “Oop,” and pulls away. “White speck.”
    Ninyassa leans over and inspects it. My scalp doesn’t itch at all, and when I lean over to see Jayita’s finger I can definitely tell it’s dandruff, but Ninyassa says, “Okay, Quarantine.”
    Jayita says, “You know, Ninyassa, I don’t really think that’s lice. It just looks like a little flake. We probably can send her back, I think—”
    â€œJayita, it’s imperative that we take precautions. The last thing we need here is an outbreak. You know, I would think you’d be more thorough in your attention.”
    â€œNinyassa, I’m plenty thorough. I just think there’s no reason to isolate her when she’s just gotten here, if it’s so clear that it’s not necessary.”
    â€œYes, well, isolating one child for one single night is much less of a sacrifice than risking the serenity of the entire community.”
    Jayita rolls her eyes; Ninyassa scowls. “Ninyassa,” Jayita says. “C’mon, it’s really my call to make. Lice Check’s my seva , right?”
    â€œRight,” Ninyassa snaps, “and my seva is to supervise and make sure everyone abides by the