Read Online The Yo-Yo Prophet by Karen Krossing - Free Book Online Page B

around the finger of my left hand and then land back on the string. Keeping time with the music, I bounce the yo-yo off the string and swing it to loop around my right hand into another trapeze. Then I send it back again for a double or nothing on the left hand and swing into a dismount.
    A few people clap. I soak it up. It’s like rain after a drought.
    â€œIsn’t he wonderful!” exclaims Eleanor.
    I head into my next trick, eager to please.
    â€œYo, people!” Rozelle yells over the music. “This here’s the Yo-Yo Pro-phet!” She sounds like a hip-hop carnival caller. “A pro with a yo-yo! With a knack for predictin’ the future!”
    Will she ever shut up about that? I move into a zipper—a smooth trick with loads of cool flips.
    â€œWhoa! Look at him go!” I hear a man say.
    Everyone’s energy is feeding into mine as more people gather. Marshall’s staying near the front, his pen still lodged behind his ear, his camera glued to my every move. Annette’s chomping on her gum like a cow chewing its cud.
    The zipper’s a big hit with everyone but Sasha, who’s not even watching. I throw a few around-the-worlds. My blood’s pulsing, the music’s pounding.
    Then I sense a disturbance, like I’ve lost people’s attention. I scan between throws. A cop in uniform is striding toward me, his hat pulled low over dark sunglasses.
    My legs begin to shake. I switch to a series of loop-the-loops so I can catch what’s going on. People turn and gape as the cop pushes through.
    He stops between Rozelle and Marshall, right in front of me. Annette’s wide-eyed, one hand on the stereo, lowering the music to half volume. Sasha’s smirking. The cop tucks one thumb into a utility belt that Batman would be proud of.
    â€œCan I see your permit?” His voice is so deep it rumbles.
    â€œPermit?” I squeak. My yo-yo wobbles in its loop.
    A few people laugh, Sasha loudest of all.
    Be strong, I tell myself. Keep control.
    â€œYou do have one, don’t you?” He adjusts his hat. “The City requires it for all street performers.”
    â€œUh…” I glance at Rozelle.
    â€œOfficer,” Rozelle says, and I recognize that smooth voice she uses on teachers. “I’m his manager. Maybe we could talk over here?” She puts a hand on his arm, tries to lead him away.
    The cop’s black boots remain planted. “Just show me the permit.”
    â€œYou don’t understand. I’m—”
    â€œYoung lady, I’m here to enforce the law, not chat. Now, do you have a permit?”
    The crowd murmurs. Rozelle looks tiny next to this cop. I’m just trying to keep the show going—whirling, twisting, endless loops.
    â€œWe’ll get one tomorrow—,” she begins.
    â€œNo permit. No performance.” He motions to Annette to cut the music, which she does.
    My blood still keeps the beat. I’ve never done so many loops in a row.
    â€œNo!” Rozelle yells at Annette, who doesn’t move to turn it back on. “Really, sir, we’ll only be a few more minutes. Let us finish.”
    The cop places both hands on his hips. “If you’re going to cause a disturbance, miss, I’ll have to take you in.”
    Rozelle blinks. She scoops up the bucket. “Do we still need a permit if we’re not collectin’ money?”
    â€œThat’s enough.” The cop pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. “What’s your name, young lady?”
    Rozelle’s mouth falls open and then shuts.
    No way. Is he going to arrest her? For some reason, this gets to me. Why should she matter?
    I rev up. My hands are on fire. My cheeks feel blistered. The yo-yo and I are like a piston engine, gaining power with each crazy revolution.
    â€œOfficer, give us another chance, please.” I find my voice, try to sound calm. “It’s not like we’re bothering anyone.