Page 40 of Instant Karma

My eyes narrow like laser beams.

It’s the disabled-persons parking spot. But there’s no wheelchaired stick figure on the car’s license plate, no tag hanging from the rearview mirror.

I swivel the front wheel of my bike up onto the curb. I examine the car more thoroughly as I get closer, looking for any sign that they might deserve this coveted spot right by the entrance. This spot that’s supposed to be used only by those who truly need it.

The driver’s-side door opens and I watch as a middle-aged man climbs out and hurries into the store. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t have a disability. Not even a limp.

And there’s no passenger.

I shake my head in disgust. Who does he think he is? Someone who actually needs that spot could show up at any minute! Is he going to make some poor elderly grandmother struggle across the parking lot with her walker or cane?

I wriggle my fingers first, feeling the blood pumping into them. There’s a moment when I think—you’re kidding yourself, Prudence—this isn’t going to work.

But I ignore the doubt and squeeze my hand tight.

The instant I do it, a seagull flies overhead and drops a perfect white blotch of excrement onto the SUV’s windshield, right smack in the driver’s view.

A surprised bark of a laugh escapes me, and I clap my hand over my mouth.Bull’s-eye.

The man darts from the store a second later, carrying nothing but an energy drink. He takes one look at his car and curses.

I swivel my bike around and soar back onto the street, my whole body tingling with satisfaction.

The ride grows more interesting after that. I’m like a radar, seeking out injustices in the world. My newfound power is twitching at the ends of my fingers, ready to be released. I’m hungry for another chance to see it in action, and the opportunities are suddenly everywhere.

I pass a couple of middle-school-aged boys as they’re abusing the vending machine outside Ike’s Grocery.

I squeeze my fist and their stolen sodas explode in their faces.

I notice a little girl throwing pebbles at a squirrel. A second later she stubs her toe and runs off wailing to her mother.

I see a man at a bus stop making inappropriate catcalls as a woman jogs by. She ignores him, steely-faced. When he leans forward to admire her backside, I gift his jeans with a split seam down hisownrear end.

I am on fire. I am shaking with glee. I’m on a total power trip and I know it, but it’s not like I asked for this gift, so I figure I must have done something to deserve it.

I’m only a few blocks away from the rescue center when I pass a billboard that I’ve probably passed by a hundred times without really paying it much attention. Except now there’s a ladder leaned against it, and a person standing on the platform, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and a green beanie cap, holding a can of spray paint.

I stop my bicycle, a little stunned to think that someone would be bold enough to vandalize a billboard in broad daylight like this.

The billboard is an advertisement for Blue’s Burgers, a joint that’s been a staple in our community since the 1960s. On the right side of the humongous image is a close-up of one of their cheeseburgers, overflowing with picklesand lettuce and creamy special sauce. In the background is a green pasture, with two black-and-white-spotted cows, contentedly grazing. Blue’s slogan is printed in speech bubbles over their heads:WE’RE HAPPY COWS, SO YOU’LL BE HAPPY DINERS!

But the vandal has sprayed an X over that message and is starting to scrawl something over the picture of the cows.

Indignation flares inside of me. That’s a locally owned business. That’s public property. And now someone is going to have to clean this up or pay to have it replaced.

I huff and clench my fist.

The vandal reaches down for a different color of spray paint—and slips.

The ladder jolts. I hear a scream and am surprised to realize it’s a girl.

Then she’s falling.

It happens in slow motion. Her hands scrabbling for the ladder and finding nothing. Her body plummeting at least ten feet to the ground below. There’s a patch of grass and weeds, not asphalt, but still—I hear the snap.

My gut twists, bile rising in my mouth at that terrible noise, followed by her cry of pain.

Her cap has fallen off. She has shiny black hair pulled into two tight buns behind her ears.

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