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million good ones I could come out with, but I just sigh and mumble, “Nothing, Sister.” Then I wait for her to call on us to read our homework. The assignment was about the principle of reincarnation and whether it is represented in Christianity. I’m just hoping she doesn’t go alphabetically, because I’ll be called first, and honestly, I never got past writing my name and date on that piece of notebook paper last night. That’s the problem with having Andrews as a last name—you’re always the first one up in front of the firing squad. But maybe she’ll do her picking in reverse alphabetical order. That way, Kiara Harding will go before me. And since she always has those A-plus book reports, I’ll be able to jot down some good ideas from her. Of course, I’ll have to change it around a little so it doesn’t sound completely like I’m cheating, though I see nothing wrong with taking advantage of such a situation, if it’s done in a creative way.
    Everyone finally settles into their seats, and the murmuring dies down. That’s when Sister Margaret Theresa Patricia Bernadette walks around to the front of her desk and clears her throat.
    “Today, I would like to jump right into the Hindu philosophy of karma. Who has an understanding of what that is?”
    Charlene Simpson, an average-looking girl’s worst nightmare, is one of the first to raise her hand. What’s new? And Sister just beams at her.
    “Basically, it’s the principle that whatever you put out will come back to you. So, if you do good, good comes to you. If you do bad, bad comes to you.”
    “As usual, Charlene, you’ve hit the proverbial nail on its head.”
    And teacher’s pet flashes her hundred-watt, spent-two-thousand-dollars-on-braces-to-get-the-chompers-perfectly-straight smile, then flings her thick, shiny black hair this way and that.
    “Yes, this philosophy asserts that for everything you do, there is a direct, balanced consequence that will take place sometime in your life. Does anyone have an example of a karmic experience?”
    Sylvester Young shifts his bulk uncomfortably in his too-tiny chair, then raises his hand.
    But another kid yells out, “Sylvester ate a tubload of fried chicken. Two hours later, he threw it all up. Now, that’s karma.”
    “Class!” the nun says sternly before the laughter can expand any further.
    “No,” Sylvester says. “I was gonna say, I helped this little old man who had fallen on a patch of ice a few months ago, and later he gave me a twenty-dollar bill.”
    “That’s one way of looking at it,” the Sister says. “Anyone else?”
    And it goes around and about like this with everyone highlighting a good deed that was in some way rewarded. It comes back around to Charlene again, who mentions something about rescuing a cat from a tree or stopping aspeeding bullet from hitting a baby carriage or preventing the atom bomb from going off, or something as ridiculous as that. Whatever. And the Sister oohs and aahs and drools and slobbers.
    “But karma can also be bad,” the Sister continues once she’s able to tear herself away from Charlene’s “awesomeness.” “I’m sure some of you have dealt with experiences that led to rude awakenings somewhere down the line.”
    Okay, I’m really starting to feel queasy. If there is such a thing as karma, the worst consequence must be given for killing someone. I mean, even with the Ten Commandments, isn’t “Thou shalt not kill” the mother of them all?
    “Okay, bad karma, bad karma. Whom shall I call on … Let’s see … Who would have some experience with bad karma? Faye Andrews!”
    If there is a God in heaven, please strike me down. Now! Is “old-person tormenter and potential killer” stamped on my forehead for all to see?
    “Why’d you call on me?” I ask. “I wasn’t even raising my hand.”
    “No, but you were looking a bit shifty.”
    “I don’t know what that means,” I say. “I was probably looking the way I always