The Yo-Yo Prophet Read Online Free

boy?” the man yells. “It’s hard enough to earn a living without riffraff hanging around outside my store.”
    Riffraff? What am I—some kind of criminal?
    I throw some loop-the-loops and glance around. Maybe ten or more people stand in front of Hillier’s Jewelry. They fill most of the space, except for a wide circle around the glaring man.
    I think of Gran, trying to make money in her shop. She wouldn’t mind if I performed outside Queen’s Dry Cleaning. Maybe it would bring her more customers.
    â€œI’m not doing anything wrong, sir.” I’m pumped, not ready to quit. I whirl into another trick.
    The man’s still yelling. “I was robbed twice last month. I know how you street punks operate.”
    Street punk? My jaw tightens. I have as much right to be here as he does.
    â€œAre you here to case out my store?” the man continues. “Or maybe you’re the lookout? Well, I’m not giving you the chance. Go on now!”
    â€œDon’t go! We want more yo!” someone yells.
    I get an injection of energy. These people love me. Me! “I’m a performer, not a thief,” I tell the man.
    The crowd shouts its approval.
    â€œAnd if you yelled like that, you’d scare off any thieves,” I say.
    A few people laugh. The man’s face reddens. His eyes bulge out. He’s going to blow.
    Maybe I went too far. “I meant that when—uh, if— some guys try to rob you, you would be tough enough to get rid of them. You’re…” The man’s face is deep crimson. Time to clear out—before he calls the cops. “I’ll be gone in a minute.”
    He shakes a fist at me. “You’d better be.”
    I take a breath before my final trick. I throw a hard sleeper and then carefully remove the loop of string around my middle finger. I call the yo-yo back up with a tug on the string and just before it reaches my hand, I jerk the string up and let go, string and all. The yo-yo skyrockets into the air. The crowd cheers, and I’m defying gravity again. I grab my hat, catching the yo-yo in it on the way back down.
    â€œThanks!” I wave my hat in the air and then place it back on the bench, hoping to attract contributions. Not that I need the money. The cheering is enough. “Come back next week.” I add, without thinking. I’d love to work this crowd forever.
    â€œNot in front of my shop!” the jewelry store owner yells.
    â€œNo, over there.” I point toward the fountain.
    Several people shout their approval. Others drop coins in my hat.
    The man huffs away, back to his shop.
    When I step down from the bench, I’m surrounded.
    â€œThat was awesome!”
    â€œHow’d you do it?”
    â€œWhere did you get that yo-yo?”
    â€œWhat kind is it?”
    One boy asks me to sign his forehead with black marker. Another wants to try my yo-yo.
    When the crowd has finally left, I’m still buzzing. I pack away my yo-yos and hoodie. Turn when I feel eyes on my back. Another fan?
    Rozelle. She’s watching me from across the parkette. My stomach clenches. She smiles and then meanders toward me. The new, stronger Calvin Layne thuds back down to earth.
    â€œThought you were up to somethin’.” Rozelle’s eyes are outlined by hard black lines with deep purple shadow on her eyelids. Her skin-tight top and faded blue jeans reveal every bulge, every curve. I tear my eyes away.
    â€œUh…” I struggle to find some hard words to shoot at her.
    â€œYou could do better though.” She nods, making her huge hoop earrings wobble. “Looks like you need a manager, Low-Cal.”
    â€œWha-at?” The word sticks to the roof of my mouth.
    Rozelle eyes my hat, heavy with coins and even a few bills. “I could do it for fifty percent.” She scoops about half my earnings out of my hat.
    â€œBut…that’s mine!” My hand comes to life. Jerks