The Yo-Yo Prophet

by Karen Krossing

  People in the crowd are listening—Eleanor Rizzo, Marshall, Joseph, Geordie—now that Black Magic has left the stage.

  “Yup.” Sasha flips her bangs off her face. “The first time he made a prediction, we had to help this woman” — she points to Eleanor Rizzo—“get a job. Which wasn’t too hard, since my uncle owns a copy shop downtown.”

  Eleanor Rizzo gasps.

  Rozelle says, “Don’t lie, Sasha.”

  “Give it up, Roz.” Sasha juts out her chin.

  “Let me clarify. The Yo-Yo Prophet predicted she’d get that job?” the reporter asks. “But you made sure it happened?”

  Sasha nods at the camera. “Ever since then, we’ve had to run around and make sure his predictions came true.”

  I shut my eyes briefly. This can’t be happening.

  “When he said some man would find his lost cat, we had to search for it. When he told this guy he would pass his science exam, we had to pay for a tutor. We even broke up this woman and her boyfriend by flirting with him. Whatever he said, we had to make it happen.” She snorts.

  “Is he ever right?” the reporter asks.

  Sasha shrugs. “Sometimes, but it’s just a fluke.”

  “So you lied to the media about your predictions?” Marshall is pale and furious. His pen is poised above his notebook, ready to record my every word.

  “I…I didn’t know…,” I say, even though part of me did. I knew Rozelle was making me into a liar, a cheat, a fool. I just didn’t want to admit it.

  Even Geordie is shaking his head. I guess he doesn’t think much of me now.

  “Don’t listen to her.” Rozelle’s neck muscles are tight cords. “She’s just jealous. Right, Annette?”

  Annette backs away, almost tripping over a speaker wire.

  My stomach clenches and unclenches like a fist. If only I’d never met Rozelle. If only I’d never listened to her. She did this to me.

  “This is your fault,” I say to her.

  “Watch what you say, Yo-Yo.” Rozelle’s voice is threatening.

  “Just leave me alone.” I grab my backpack, jump off the stage and race across the square. I take the stairs down to the subway two at a time, fleeing the judgmental faces, the reporter’s questions, the camera lens capturing my humiliation for the world to see.

  The train takes forever to arrive. I keep my head down, too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye. How long until my shame is out there for everyone to see? On tv? On my blog? Or Marshall’s?

  When the train finally squeals into the station, I slink into a seat in the last car. How could I have been so stupid? I knew Rozelle couldn’t be trusted.

  I just want to go home—stay there forever.

  Half an hour later, I’m slipping into the alley behind the store, inhaling the stench from the Dumpster. The sun is low in the sky, making long shadows against the buildings.

  Luckily, I avoid Spader. When I get to the metal staircase leading to our apartment, a pale white arm dangles over the top step. Someone’s collapsed on the landing.

  “Gran!” I race up the stairs, stumbling, desperate.

  The door is half open. Gran’s key is in the lock. And Gran is lying at an awkward angle, eyes closed, her head jammed sideways against the railing.

  16

  I kneel beside Gran and fold her dangling arm over her stomach, watch her chest for signs of breathing.

  “Gran! Talk to me!” My voice cracks.

  The metal grid of the landing digs into my knees. The setting sun shines on Gran’s face. I nudge her, pat her cheek. Anything to make her wake up.

  A lifetime passes. Gran coughs. Her eyes flutter open.

  “Richard?” she croaks.

  “I’m here.” I deserve to be called Richard. I abandoned her too.

  She tries to adjust her twisted neck. “It hurts,” she moans.

  “Don’t move, Gran.” I remember that from health class. “I’m going to get help.”

  I glance down at the alley, but there’s no one in sight.

  “Wait here,” I say, and then realize how dumb I sound.

  I step over Gran and push open the door to the apartment. The hall is dark. I dump my backpack, race for the phone, call 9-1-1.

  When a woman answers, I scream into the mouthpiece: “I need an ambulance! It’s my grandmother. Please, hurry!” It’s all I can do to remember our address.

  The ambulance ride is a blur. I huddle in a corner, out of the way, while the medic hovers over Gran. He’s wearing a black uniform with EMS on the shoulder. His partner is driving. They’ve trapped Gran in a neck collar and carrying-board with straps. She has an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth.

  “It’s my fault,” I tell the medic.

  He’s adjusting the iv tube that runs into her hand. “You didn’t do this to her,” the medic says.

  “I left her alone.”

  “And you called nine-one-one.”

  The siren wails, and the driver answers the crackling radio.

  What if it’s too late? I want to ask, but I can’t say the words.

  Gran coughs till tears stream down her face.

  I can’t watch. I stare at the white ceiling, letting the ambulance rock me as we round the corner.

  At the hospital, they move Gran onto a bed and draw the curtain around her. I’m allowed to sit in a chair beside her bed. I hug my knees, answer the nurses’ questions, watch them wheel her away for tests, watch them wheel her back.

  “Is there an adult we can call?” the admitting nurse asks. “Your parents? An aunt?”

  As if my father would come.

  “My dad’s out of town,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie. “My mom’s dead.”

  When she mentions Family Services, I quickly backtrack, saying that I’ve got family friends to help me out. She suggests I call my father right away. Like he would come.

  It’s a long night.

  The hospital reminds me of when my mother was sick: It smells like hand sanitizer and death. Doctors and nurses hustle up and down the hallways. Strange machines beep warning signals. The fluorescent lights in the halls never dim.

  My mother lost her hair. Her eyes sank into her skull. Her lips cracked. One day, she didn’t wake up.

  I rock back and forth in the chair. “Don’t leave me, Gran,” I whisper.

  If only I had stayed with her. If only I had missed the duel. If only the camera hadn’t recorded it all.

  I’m an idiot, I think. And now everyone knows it.

  I lean my head against the chair.

  I don’t fall asleep till morning.

  Gran is still snoring when I wake up.

  My neck is cramped. My legs are sore. I stretch against the hospital chair, listening to Gran’s gurgling breaths and trying to forget the nightmare that was yesterday. Why did I let Rozelle control me? I acted like a fool when I should have been watching out for Gran.

  When Gran lets out a long wheeze, I reach through the sidebars on her bed.

  The neck brace and straps are gone, although tubes still weave into her nose and arm. Her skin is paler than ever. Her cheeks are gray.

  “I’m sorry, Gran.” I grip her fingers.

  She moans in her sleep.

  After a while, a red-haired nurse in a mint-green uniform enters. She checks Gran’s pulse, temperature and blood pressure. Gran hardly stirs.

  I sit up straight. “What’s wrong with her?” They’ve asked me a million questions about Gran’s health. Now, I want some answers.

  “The doctor will talk to you soon.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you get some food? There’s a cafeteria on the fourth floor.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t leave her.” I don’t have my backpack anyway, which means I have no money. I must have left it in the apartment.

  The day passes slowly. Gran wakes briefly a few times, but she doesn’t say much.

  “I don’t think so, Your Majesty,” she mumbles once.

  I drink water from the bat
hroom and nibble the food they bring for Gran.

  Near the end of the day, the red-haired nurse catches me eating Gran’s Jell-O.

  “Why don’t you go home for some food and a rest? Maybe get your grandmother a few things? She’ll need a toothbrush, a nightgown, slippers.”

  I never thought of that. “Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea.”

  Then she asks, “Is your father here yet?”

  How does she know about him? I tense up. “Not yet.”

  “Well, I hope you have someone at home. A friend?

  Neighbor?”

  I think of Van on the other side of the country, of Lucy’s casseroles, of Franco’s concerned eyes. “I have a lot of help.” I try to sound confident. “Family friends, you know? Lucy makes a different casserole every day.”

  “Good. So someone’s staying with you until your father gets home?”

  Wow, she knows too much. “I’m fine—except for the macaroni casserole.” I shrug. “I could do without that.”

  I leave the hospital, if only to get away from the nurse’s questions. I don’t need to be reminded that Gran is the only family I have left.

  On my way through the alley to the apartment, I see Van’s old chair sticking out of the Dumpster. She used to sit out back when she took a break. She didn’t seem to mind the stench of garbage, or the slick layer of grease on the asphalt. She’d just sit on that worn-out kitchen chair and smile at the sparrows hopping along the crooked cedar fence separating the alley from the row of backyards. Once, I saw her feeding her lunch to a stray cat.

  I consider yanking Van’s chair free of the bin—setting it against the brick wall where it belongs—but it won’t make any difference. Spader will just toss it out again. And I need to get back to Gran.

  I climb the stairs to the apartment, planning what I’ll pack for her. When I get to the landing, I cringe, remembering how I found her lying there.

  I pull myself together and head inside. In the kitchen, I find a note from Lucy explaining how to heat the meatloaf she left in the fridge—I guess Gran gave her a key. I rummage through Gran’s closet, shoving some clothes into my backpack, along with a little money from my stash. My twin racers are still in one of the pockets, but I don’t touch them. They’ve brought me enough trouble. I don’t even miss my neon yo-yo.

  I’m starting to stink, so I quickly shower and change my clothes. As I cram some cold meatloaf into my mouth, I consider phoning Van for help, but I don’t want to tell her how badly I’ve messed up. What would she do anyway? She’s with her own family now.

  I sling my backpack over one shoulder, ready to go. At the last minute, I give in to a sudden urge to call my dad’s number. It rings forever and then goes to voicemail.

  I hang up without leaving a message.

  My skin feels raw, like someone has peeled back a few layers, leaving me exposed and blistered.

  17

  The rain batters the hospital window and runs down the glass. Through the rippling water, I stare out at the night. Car headlights flash and then streak away. Thunder growls across the starless sky. Streetlights reflect in the puddles.

  I panicked when I returned to the hospital and found Gran’s bed empty. I started blubbering at the nurses’ station, wailing like a freak.

  It turns out that Gran has been moved to a different room. The doctor had come—while I was gone—and told her she had to stay for a few days.

  I’m sure all the nurses are talking about my meltdown. Or maybe they’re used to it. Either way, I don’t have to face those nurses again. On this new ward, I’ve seen a Jamaican nurse who’s too busy to talk and a grumpy gray-haired one I plan to avoid.

  Gran coughs in her sleep and rolls on her side. I’m jammed in a chair between her bed and the window in the darkened room, trying to stay off the nurses’ radar, using yet another hospital chair for a bed. This one has low arms, which I can’t lean against, and a straight back. I wish it reclined. The other bed in this room is empty, but I don’t dare use it.

  It’s only about eleven o’clock, but I’m sure I’ll never get to sleep. My mind churns like Gran’s old computer trying to download a large video file. I think about Gran’s illness getting worse, our failed search for a new apartment, Rozelle bossing me around. I had everything under control before I crashed and burned at the duel. Or did I? All the signs were there. I just refused to see them.

  I shiver as the air-conditioning cycles on.

  One good thing about the hospital: No one knows we’re here. It’s like we’ve escaped for a while, although it won’t be for long enough.

  I sigh and cross my legs, trying to get comfortable.

  Gran’s heavy breathing fills the room. I worry that she’s sleeping too much. Maybe it’s the drugs they’re giving her. Maybe it’s something worse.

  I shut my eyes and try to force sleep to come.

  I wake to someone shaking me.

  The room is dark, except for the blinding rectangle of light from the hall door.

  “Gran?” I mumble. “Is it time for school?”

  “Who you calling Gran?” snaps a female voice with a thick Jamaican accent. “Wake yourself up and get on home! This isn’t a hotel.”

  I jump to my feet, head reeling. Gran is sleeping in a hospital bed. The horror rushes back in.

  “How’d you get in here anyway?” The nurse has her hands on her hips.

  “That’s my grandmother,” I plead. “I have to stay with her.”

  “It’s four in the morning!” she says, although her expression softens. “Come back during visiting hours.”

  “But they let me stay last night—”

  “Not on my floor.” She nudges me toward the hall. “I’ve got enough people to watch. I don’t need you hanging around.”

  The nurse blocks my view of Gran, although I can hear her snoring as loud as ever. I grab my backpack and scurry out of the room, squinting at the fluorescent lights in the hall.

  “Make sure you take care of her.” I glance back. Then I head down to the emergency department, where the waiting room is packed with dozing people.

  I’m sure one more won’t hurt.

  I spend the rest of the night avoiding the hospital security guards. In the morning, I get my breakfast from the vending machine—three packages of chocolate-chip cookies—and sneak past the new shift of nurses to Gran’s room. I find Gran awake, staring into space, too doped up to know what’s going on. When a woman in a white lab coat bustles in, I’m licking chocolate off my fingers, although my stomach is growling for more.

  “Oh!” The woman startles when she sees me.

  I leap up, scattering wrappers on the floor. “Are you her doctor?”

  “Yes, I’m Dr. Chen.” She shoves her hands in the pockets of her lab coat and frowns slightly. “Are you a relative?”

  “I’m her grandson, Calvin Layne,” I say. The inside of my mouth feels like it’s coated in slime. I wish I’d brought my toothbrush.

  “Visiting hours start in”—she glances at the wall clock—“three hours.”

  “I know. Please don’t kick me out. I need to be with her.” I stand tall, trying to look as mature as possible, like I won’t cause any trouble.

  Dr. Chen regards me skeptically, although her eyes are kind. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

  “Uh, my dad’s out getting breakfast.” It could be true, and I sure don’t want Family Services to get involved. “Can I stay?”

  “I suppose for now you’re not bothering anyone.” She glances at the empty bed beside Gran’s. “But next time, follow the rules.” She moves to Gran’s bedside.

  “Great. Thanks.” I pick my wrappers off the floor and dump them in the garbage. I watch Dr. Chen, hoping she’ll tell me what’s wrong with Gran.

  Dr. Chen brushes a strand of hair off Gran’s face.

  “How are you today, Nancy?”

  “Fine, Your Majesty,” Gran slurs, waving her away.

  I cringe and step closer, so
I’m on the opposite side of the bed from Dr. Chen.

  The doctor glances at me. “Your grandson’s here early. He seems very fond of you.”

  “Calvin is a good boy.” Gran smiles in my general direction, and I reach for her hand. I’m glad she remembers my name, although I’m not sure how good I am.

  “His father stepped out to get breakfast. Did you see him earlier?”

  My eyes get wide. Is Dr. Chen checking up on me?

  “Richard’s not here right now,” Gran mumbles.

  For the first time ever, I’m glad Gran is not alert.

  Dr. Chen nods. “I understand you run a dry-cleaning business?”

  “For more than forty years.” Gran sighs. Her eyelids droop and her grip on my hand relaxes.

  “She sold it though,” I say. “We’re moving soon.”

  “Good.” Dr. Chen nods again and says to Gran, “I suspect that your health issues may be a result of prolonged exposure to perc. Did you use it in your cleaning process?”

  Gran nods, and then her eyes shut, like she can’t keep them open any longer.

  “In that case, I’d like to identify the specific chemicals involved. Is that possible? Nancy?”

  Gran struggles to open her eyes and fails.

  “Maybe we should talk about this later,” Dr. Chen says.

  “What’s perc?” I ask. I never paid much attention to the cleaning process. I only worked the front counter.

  “It’s short for perchloroethylene—a chemical used in dry cleaning. It can cause dizziness, confusion, inflammation of the respiratory system, fluid buildup in the lungs, kidney problems—all of which your grandmother has.”

  “Is she going to get better?”

  “Of course I am,” Gran mutters, her eyes still closed.

  Dr. Chen and I exchange smiles.

  “I agree, Nancy. Your symptoms should improve now that you’re away from the perc. Although there is a danger that, over long periods of time, perc can cause more permanent problems…” Her voice trails off.

  “Like what?” I’m instantly on edge.

  Dr. Chen glances at me and then looks away.

  “Please,” I whisper. “We have to know.”