The Yo-Yo Prophet (6 page)

“I'm glad you're making friends.”

Yeah, right. Friends. I'm not an idiot. I'm just Rozelle's fool, her cash grab. I grip my fork tighter. I can't let Rozelle push me around.

Gran forks her second tomato. The insides squirt out like blood from a wound.

I wince. “Gran, I have to tell you something.” I push my plate away.

“What is it, Calvin?”

“I don't like fried tomatoes.” I hold my breath.

“You don't?” Gran's face falls. Her brows bunch together.

I take a breath. “Yeah. I really hate them. I always have.”

“Why didn't you tell me? All these years, I could have had your share.” She grins and leans over to spear one of my tomatoes.

I grin back. That was easy. Now it gets harder. “And there's something else.”

“You don't like sausages either?” Gran eyes my plate.

“No, they're okay. It's Spader. How do you know we can trust him?”

Gran sighs. “Mr. Spider? Why shouldn't we trust him?”

“His name's Spader. And I just want to be sure he's offering you a fair deal. Because you don't have to sell the shop, if the deal isn't good. I could help out more. So could Van, if we ask her.”

“Mr. Spider is fine. So is the deal.” Gran presses her lips together again. “I've thought this through, and checked the paperwork thoroughly.”

“Okay.” I pause. “So where will we move to?”

“I'll find us a place. Maybe a small house with a garden. I've always wanted a garden.”

“Do we have enough time to find a place? It's June fourth already. We need to move by August first.”

“It'll be fine.” Gran wipes her mouth with her napkin and then crumples it in her fist. “I know you're nervous about the changes. This isn't easy for me either.” Her blue eyes hold my gaze. “Selling the shop is like giving up a piece of your grandfather. We started it together, you know, over forty years ago. And with him gone, and Richard, and your mother, well…” Her voice falters. “It's hard to leave it behind.”

“I know,” I say, only I'm afraid that Gran's slowly leaving me behind as well.

“I just can't keep up anymore.” She leans her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands. “And there's nothing you or I can do about that.” Her voice is muffled.

When she looks up again, her face is drained of color and the fine hairs on her upper lip stand out darker than usual.

“Okay, Gran,” I say, even though nothing is okay. Not the defeated look on her face. Not the helpless way I feel.

“It's the right thing to do, Calvin.”

I stare down at my half-eaten breakfast. I hope she's right.

Three days later, I'm leaving the school cafeteria when Sasha stops me.

“Roz wants to see you,” she says.

“But I have to get to class.”

“So?”

I check my watch. Seventeen minutes till math with Mr. Marnello. Enough time to tell Rozelle that I'm in charge of my show, not her. “Okay.”

Sasha rolls her eyes, one hand on her hip. “I love how you think you have a choice.”

She strides down the hall like a model on a runway and heads out the nearest doors. I trail her, wondering where we're going.

We end up at the burger joint across the street—it's where the cool people hang out. I cross into Rozelle's turf, tight-fisted and wary.

The fluorescent lights are too bright. The smell of grease reminds me of Gran's fried tomatoes. There's a long counter for ordering and a few tables bolted to the floor in the back. Rozelle is lounging on one table, swinging her legs and barking orders at Annette, who sits on a chair at the next table.

“Hold my drink, would ya? And gimme a couple of fries.”

Annette leaps to do her bidding. Roz leans back on one arm—she's the queen of burgers and fries.

“What are you ordering?” the guy behind the counter asks me.

Sasha strolls on by.

“If you come in here, you buy something!” He's got a moustache as wide as a strip of bacon and a twitch in one eye that makes me freeze solid.

“Be good, Yo-Yo,” Rozelle drawls. “Angelo throws dishes when he gets cranky.”

Angelo grins. He picks up an empty stainless-steel bowl and tosses it playfully from one hand to another.

I pull out enough change to buy the cheapest thing on the menu—a small orange soda. I don't argue, mostly because I don't want to be late for Mr. Marnello's class. Math is hard enough without pissing him off.

While I'm waiting for my drink, I notice that a few other people have dared to enter Rozelle's palace. A long-haired guy with a mean stare makes me nervous, and a skinny guy from our school gives me the once-over before turning away.

Angelo bangs my cup on the counter, sloshing soda over the edge.

I jump. “Uh, thanks. Do you…uh…have a straw?”

He rolls his eyes. “You want me to drink it for you too?”

Rozelle and her girls laugh. My back goes rigid. My face heats up.

Angelo motions behind me. “Straws are with the lids, kid.” He gets out a damp cloth and vigorously wipes the counter.

I get my straw and lid, hands jittery. I head to the back, where Sasha's up on the table beside Rozelle, looking down on Annette with a smirk. When Rozelle sees me coming, she pushes Sasha off and pats the empty space beside her.

“Sit here,” she orders.

I obey without thinking. Sasha stomps over to sit beside Annette, who gives her a look that says, Now you know what it's like. Sasha glares at me, making me squirm. I sip my soda without tasting it. The skinny guy is watching, probably wondering what Queen Rozelle is doing with a nobody like me.

Rozelle puts an arm around my shoulders, and I stiffen.

“Welcome to my office,” she says.

Annette lets out a high-pitched giggle. She's got her legs crossed, swinging one foot and eating fries while enjoying Rozelle's show. Rozelle is watching me as she talks, her face too close to mine, her breath smelling of fries. I stare straight ahead, gripping my soda.

“So here's how I wanna run it,” Rozelle begins. “You start the act with yo-yo tricks, and then you use the prophet angle for the finale. I'm gonna ask the crowd who wants a prediction—it's better if I find the best situation for you to predict.”

“But—,” I begin.

“Only one prediction for each performance. I don't wanna tire you out.” She winks at her girls, and I wonder why. “Don't get too specific either. Keep it loose, easy to interpret.”

“Roz, I was thinking…,” Sasha says.

“You don't wanna be doin' that,” Rozelle replies.

Annette guffaws.

Sasha's face goes red, but she keeps talking. “Maybe we could check out a few fortune-tellers, see how they make predictions.”

“Naw.” Rozelle waves away Sasha's idea. “The Yo-Yo Prophet knows how to handle it.”

Now Sasha's really glowering. Rozelle gives my shoulder a squeeze, and I almost drop my drink. I'm wearing shorts and she's in a miniskirt, so our bare legs are touching. It's awkward, electrifying, disturbing. I try to wriggle free, but Rozelle's grip is too tight.

“I don't know.” I choke out the words. “I've had enough of that prophet stuff. I just want to do my yo-yo tricks.”

“No way.” Rozelle shakes her head. “Think 'bout it. Yo-yo tricks are good, but you need more if you wanna stand out. The Yo-Yo Prophet is a better act. It gives 'em entertainment and inspiration.”

I grit my teeth. Tell her you're in charge, I think. But I can't make myself say the words.

“Remember, you still owe me—,” Rozelle begins.

“Owe you! Because you didn't beat me up when I accidentally bumped into you?” I'm about to explode, but I force myself to be calm. “I think we should call it even.

I can take care of things myself.”

“Yeah? Like you took care of that frickin' jewelry store guy?” Rozelle snorts. “You need me as much as I need you, Yo-Yo Prophet. And I ain't walkin' away.”

“But I'm no prophet,” I say. “That was just some stupid…I mean…wild scheme you thought up to make more money. Well, I don't care about the money. And I don't like lying.”

“Not a prophet, huh?” Rozelle stares me down.

“That's right.” My soda's starting to sweat in the heat. Drops of condensation trickle down the cup and onto my hand.

“Well, you may wanna know that a certain unemployed woman found work today.” Rozelle gazes intently at me. “Eleanor Rizzo—the woman from your show at the park—just called.” She slides off the table and worms a cell phone from her skirt pocket.

“Yeah?” I leap to my feet, relieved to put some distance between us.

Rozelle waves her cell phone. “Some copy shop downtown needed help.”

“Good for her. Although I'm sure I had nothing to do with it.” I drop my drink on a table and turn to leave.

“Forget this. I've got to get to math.”

Behind the counter, Angelo slams the fridge shut and bangs a few plates around.

“Just a minute,” Rozelle says. “I've got somethin' you wanna hear.”

“I don't want to—”

“Just shut up and listen.” She starts pressing buttons on her phone. The skinny guy from our school gets up to leave. I guess he's trying to get to class on time. Rozelle holds her phone in front of my face. A woman's voice comes through the speaker. She sounds happy.

“Hi Rozelle. This is Eleanor. I just had to tell you that I got the job at Kopy Kingdom. It's the night shift, which isn't great, but I start tomorrow! Please, tell the Yo-Yo Prophet how grateful I am. Without him, I couldn't have done it, mostly because I didn't believe I could. He changed my life. And so did you, Rozelle. Thanks for the
—
”

Rozelle snaps the phone shut, stopping the message. “The rest is personal,” she says.

I can't believe Rozelle would want to get personal with that woman. “Did you get her that job?”

“Naw. It was all you. You predicted it. Then it happened. That's all that matters.” Rozelle's eyes are wide. Her voice is smooth, easy.

“So why were you talking to her after my show?”

“I was just checkin' out the crowd.” Rozelle slides her phone back into her pocket. “And I was gettin' her number so we could find out when she got a job.”

Yeah, right. “Why would you care?”

“Advertisin', stupid. Your prediction came true. She loves you for it. And she's willin' to tell her story to whoever will listen.”

I refuse to tell Rozelle that she sounds more like a manager all the time. “But I don't want her to tell anyone about it.”

“Why not? If it brings the crowds, who cares what she says?”

“But I don't want to predict—”

“Think 'bout it.” Rozelle drapes her arm around my shoulder again, making me tense. “You're just givin' 'em what they want.” She pauses. “Hope.”

“But…” Hope? That kind of makes sense.

Rozelle squeezes me closer. Her arm is hot, heavy. “And the Yo-Yo Prophet is a cool name.”

I pull away. “I know.”

“And the money is sweet. Don't tell me you can't use the money.”

I think of all the cool yo-yos I could buy. “Sure I can.”

“Damn right. So what's the problem? You're not givin' up on me, are you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, this is my show, not yours. I should decide what happens.”

There. I said it. I brace for Rozelle's anger. She'll hit me, or at least threaten me. But she doesn't do either.

“Oh, I get it,” Rozelle says. “This is 'bout creative control.” Her eyebrows knot. “You run the show. I take care of the rest. I've heard 'bout this—with musicians and stuff.”

I'm so relieved that I'm not getting hit. “Well, I—”

“I can work with that,” Rozelle says. “So you plan your tricks, decide when to do the prediction. We'll scope out the next venue.” She nods at Sasha and Annette. “I figure we should move it up. Find a boss location.”

“That…sounds good.” Have I just made another deal with Rozelle? I check my watch. Two minutes till class. I'll never make it.

“How's Saturday? We could meet here in the mornin'. Maybe at nine?”

“I…guess so.” I glance over the long counter and out the grimy front windows. No one's hanging around on the school grounds. Even the smokers on the sidewalk have gone in.

“Then it's settled.” She grins. “Now get out of here.” She pushes me toward the exit. “Don't be late for class.”

“Yeah, and get the homework for us,” Sasha says.

Annette laughs and then stuffs a fry in her mouth.

I spin away from them, feeling light-headed. I'm not sure who's pulling the strings now, but I hope it's me. I push the door open, squinting at the sunlight. I'll get detention, for sure. And I'll probably show up on Saturday, just for kicks.