Someone I'd Like to Call Karma - Chapters One and Two

Chapter One

"Well, well, well. Look who we got here," Davie Brent mumbles. He gives the passing girl a glare as she slowly strolls by, "Hello, Karma. We meet again, ey?"

Karma stops, then spits on Davie's shoe. "Whattaya want?" She hisses.

Davie doesn't even bother to bend down and wipe the spit off. "You ain't allowed to pass through this alley. Only the Club is allowed to."

Karma puts her hands on her hips and takes several steps closer to Davie. "Oh, really?" She says.

Davie swallows, but doesn't take his eyes off her. "Yep. You heard me."

"Hm." Karma turns to the short kid that's standing behind Davie, looking frightened. "Ey, Joey, hand me one of ya sharpest toothpicks."

"Y-yes, Karma," Joey says in his usual squeaky, chipmunk-like voice. He pulls a small container out of his pocket, opens it, pulls out a toothpick, then holds it out.

Karma immediately snatches it, then pops it in her mouth. She doesn't even bother to say thanks.

"Fellas, don't let this eleven-year-old loner scare ya." Davie says to the rest of the boys that stand behind him, trembling, "she thinks she can have her way all the time, but she is wrong."

Davie is the headmaster of "the Club". He is barely thirteen, a skinny little fellow, who tries to act tough for the gang, when really, he's just as afraid as everyone else is.

"Ah, really?" Karma is so close to Davie now that their noses are slightly touching. "Ya might wanna step aside and let me through, or else you gonna get it."

"Get what?" A boy named Travis pipes in.

"This." Karma thrusts her fist across Davie's jaw.

Several boys squeal in horror.

"Yow!" Davie slouches and rubs his jaw. "What the heck was that for?"

"For not lettin' me through. But now, I am. Catch ya later, alligator." Karma smirks, pats Joey's small, melon head, then keeps strolling down the alley.

Here in the streets of New York City, everyone is afraid of Karma. People describe her as a "spoiled brat" since she always wants to get her way of things. And, as usual, she does.

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Chapter Two

Three Years Earlier...

Eight-year-old Simone Jones happily skips across the street, but then haults to a stop once she notices a honking car speedily passing through. She gives herself a moment to catch her breath and have her heartbeat slow down, but then she continues on skipping, this time paying more close attention to the cars.

Simone is a lovely young girl, with brilliantly glowing tan skin, large, round jade-green eyes, and long, flouncy locks of well-shampooed, golden brown hair. She feels quite happy, indeed, because she is wearing her favorite Sunday outfit: A white spaghetti-strap top, dark blue capris, and cherry-red sneakers.

Simone's parents often force her to wear tacky, long dresses in dull colors, like most girls at Jonas Elementary wear. But Simone isn't any ordinary girl, no, for she likes to stand out and be different from the rest.

"Moe!" Two familiar voices call out.

Simone is now running towards a green field with a smile from ear to ear taped to her face.

"Poppy! Peach!" Simone squeals, then hugs her two best friends.

Poppy and Peach Woolbury are twins. They both look exactly alike. So alike, that most people would often get confused on who is who. So the twins decided to do something so people will know which one is Poppy and which one is Peach: Poppy would often put a flower pin on her hair, and Peach would often put a fruit pin on her hair. Easy and simple as that.

"Ready to go to the forest?" Peach asks cheerfully, as her shoulder-length blonde curls bounce on the sides of her rosy cheeks.

"You's bet!" Simone giggles, then starts to bounce and clap her little hands in excitement.

"Then let's go." Poppy's moist, pink lips stretch into a smile, as she flips a mass of blonde curls (same as Peach's) behind her shoulder.

"Not. So. Fast!" A deep voice booms, then a hand grasps Simone's shoulder firmly.

"Ow!" Simone glances up at the person who stands before her, then pulls her thin eyebrows together. "Pa?"

Mr. Jones has is eyebrows pulled together, as well, along with Simone's mother, Mrs. Jones.

"Ma?" Simone says quietly.

"You aren't going anywhere, missy!" Mr. Jones snaps, "We have to visit Lady Whistle because her hound died."

Lady Whistle is the Jones' neighbor. She's an old, wise woman who would often whistle a cheerful tune every morning. No one really knew her name, so they just gave her the title of "Lady Whistle". But ever since two days ago, Lady Whistle's tune quickly died out, because her adult hound, Winifred, passed away. Lady Whistle looks as depressed as the hound herself.

"No! No! I don't wanna go!" Simone is trying to pull away, but her father's grip is incredibly strong.

"Simone, quit it!" Mrs. Jones barks, "You're behaving like an infant!"

"Um, Moe?" Peach leans towards her friend and whispers in her ear, "I think this is happening because karma's goin' after you."

"Karma?" Simone whispers back, "What karma?"

"You remember, don't you?" Poppy pipes in, whispering as well, "When you spit on that mean girl's soup?"

"Y'mean Rose Bumble?" Simone asks.

"What is this I hear about 'spitting in a mean girl's soup?'" Mr. Jones asks as he raises a bushy eyebrow.

"N-nothin', Pa." Simone stammers, afraid to later on get a good strip of leather smacked against her bottom. "Nothin'."

"Well, we better get going. We do not want to keep Lady Whistle waiting, now, do we?" Mrs. Jones says.

"But..." Simone starts to protest.

"What was that?" Her mother asks in a sharp tone.

"Never mind." Simone gives up, then bows down her head in shame since the twins are focused on her.

"Poppy? Peach? It's best you both run along to your parents. There are many hooligans here at the park." Mr. Jones says, "Tomorrow at school you may play with Simone. Good day, girls."

"G'day, Mr. Jones." The twins say at the same time.

The Jones' stroll away.

"Bye, Moe," Peach calls.

"Bye, Moe," Poppy echoes.

Simone glances behind her shoulder with a frown pasted on her face. "G'bye, gals. See ya tomorrow."

"Speak correctly, Simone," Mrs. Jones growls, "It's useless to talk slang like those disgusting street boys that roam around the neighborhood."

"Yes, mama," Simone mumbles, then remains silent.