Karma for Beginners Read Online Free Page B

practices set out for us.”
    This is making me feel weird. First of all, I’m not a child. Secondly, I don’t know what seva is, although it sounds kind of like a job. And third, the idea of people getting in an argument about who’s in charge of a white speck on my head makes me feel like it’s my fault.
    â€œYou guys, I’m pretty sure it’s just dandruff—” I try to say, but Ninyassa interrupts me.
    â€œYes, well, you know, you’re new to our ashram community, and you’re not familiar with the rules yet. So Jayita and I will have to come to some agreement.” And then she turns to Jayita again. “Respecting the rules is respecting the Guru, you know.”
    Jayita looks at Ninyassa like she’s tolerating her, and then says, “Fine. Okay. How long?”
    â€œOh, I’d say Phase One,” Ninyassa says, and smiles, smug. “Just follow Jayita”—and she looks at my name tag—“Tessa.”
    I definitely want to know what Phase One is before I follow anyone anywhere, especially because I am completely positive it’s dandruff. If my mom would’ve bought Head and Shoulders like I asked her instead of Nature’s Gate I wouldn’t even have this problem. But before I can open my mouth, Jayita stands up and says, “Come on.”
    â€œSee you tomorrow,” Ninyassa says, and marches off down the wood chip path.
    The inside is a combination of a hippie cabin and the school nurse’s office. There are vinyl upholstered benches, glass jars of tongue depressors and cotton gauze, but there are also Indian paisley tapestries and candles. And more photos of that same old bearded guy, who I guess is this “guru” they were talking about. Jayita pulls the curtain back and watches out the window as Ninyassa walks away.
    â€œEch, she can really be a drag. But we’ll have a good time here, okay?” Then she goes over to a boom box and turns it on. The radio is playing George Michael.
    Cause I gotta have a-faith, a-faith, a-faith . She smiles at me, sneaky.
    â€œSometimes the chanting gets a little old.” She moves her shoulders to the beat, liquid and slouchy, like a dancer or a yoga person.
    Then she pulls a stool up by a metal sink. “Okay, come on and have a seat. And change into this.” She pulls out a T-shirt that says NUCLEAR MORATORIUM . I feel weird asking where I’m supposed to change, so I just turn my back to her, hunched over so she can’t see my bra.
    She reads some book while I take everything off and ball it all into a wad. “Okay,” she says, and pats the seat of the stool. I try to sit up straight. Jayita laughs. “Lean back,” she says. “I gotta wash your hair.” She takes out a blue plastic bottle that says NIX in thick white letters.
    â€œThis should do the trick.” She smiles; she reminds me of Janis from the Muppets, except paler. “Or at least it’ll satisfy Ninyassa. For the moment, anyway.” She rolls her eyes and laughs like nothing ever really satisfies Ninyassa .
    I’ve decided that I like Jayita. When she starts rubbing my scalp I get this weird good goose-bumpy feeling and I want to close my eyes. She’s just washing my hair like I do every morning, but somehow the fact that it’s someone else’s hands makes it feel way different and better than when it’s just me.
    After she combs my hair she says, “All right,” and puts the comb in a glass jar full of alcohol. “So you’ve gotta stay in here for the night. In the morning we’ll shampoo one more time, and then you’re good.” The digital clock on the counter says 6:23. My stomach rumbles. I wonder 1) how I’m supposed to eat, and 2) what I’m supposed to do in here until 11:30, which is the earliest I can ever fall asleep. I didn’t even bring a book.
    There’s a tinny knock on the thin door, and then it