Free The Yo-Yo Prophet by Karen Krossing Page B

Layne—yo-yo master or fortuneteller? There’s no question that Layne can throw a yo-yo. He practically defies the principles of time and space. The question is: can he ascend into a Zen state that allows him to see the future?
    It goes on for a while, reviewing my shows and predictions. Then it says, Based on what this blogger witnessed, Calvin Layne deserves the title Yo-Yo Prophet .
    â€œWhoa.” I lean back in my chair. Even Marshall believes in the Yo-Yo Prophet.
    â€œWhat is it, Calvin?” Van is at my shoulder.
    â€œUh, nothing. Just something about these yo-yo tricks I did,” I say. “I can help you clean now.” Marshall also posted a video of my performance, but I plan to watch it later, in private.
    I turn off the computer and push in the chair. I start wiping down a cupboard, not with as much enthusiasm as Van, but it gets clean enough.
    â€œSo this deal with Spader…,” I begin.
    Gran is gazing into the box again, looking lost.
    â€œThe sale closes on Friday,” Van says.
    â€œIn five days. I know.” I think about the prediction I made earlier this morning that Spader’s deal is too good to be true. “What do you know about this guy? I mean, why does Spader want to buy this place? Can he be trusted? People try to cheat all the time, you know.” I leave out the bit about Gran being an easy target right now.
    â€œOh, Calvin.” Van stops scrubbing. “We talked about this before. Your bà needs this sale.”
    â€œI know, but Gran should find the best deal, shouldn’t she? Because if this deal sucks, you and I can take care of the shop until a new deal comes along. It’s not like we’re in a rush or anything. Maybe we should…” I trail off because Van has gone stiff, although her deep brown eyes are soft on me.
    â€œIt is time to tell him,” she says to Gran.
    Gran looks surprised, and then she nods. “It is.”
    Her eyes seem clearer, like she’s back from wherever she went.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I glance back and forth between them, squeezing my cloth so tight that it drips water on my leg. “Tell me what?”
    Van drops her cloth into the bucket. She settles back on her heels. “I have been trying to find a good time to tell you, but no time is right.” She sighs. “I am moving to Vancouver. You know my daughter’s baby will be born soon, and her son, Samuel, is only two. With two young ones, she will need my help, and I want to be close to them.”
    â€œBut you can’t!”
    Van and Gran exchange looks. Gran grips one of my hands. Her fingers feel cold, frail.
    â€œThis is hard. I know.” Van is wringing her hands. “For me too. That is why I did not tell you before. I wanted to, but…I just could not find the words. They”—she makes a fluttering motion with her hands—“flew away.”
    â€œBut we need you too.” My voice is too loud. “Can’t someone else help your daughter?” Even as I say it, I realize how ridiculous it sounds.
    Van shakes her head and looks away. “I have to go.”
    I’m trembling now. I guess I’m being selfish, not caring about her family, but I just can’t help it.
    Gran squeezes my hand. “That’s one of the reasons I’m selling the store.” Her voice is raspy, like how she gets before the coughing starts. “I can’t run it without Van’s help.”
    â€œI have already given notice to my landlord,” Van says. “I leave at the end of June.”
    â€œIn two weeks? But, Van!” I lean against the wall and rub my eyes. Is this really happening? Vancouver is on the other side of the country.
    The bell over the front door rings as someone enters the store. I’m numb. I thump the back of my head against the wall.
    Van leaps to her feet, saying, “Sorry, the door should be locked. We are…oh, hello, Mr.