Yolonda's Genius (6 page)

“Your Aunt Tiny's piano's going to big waste, Yolonda,” her mother was always saying. “Pity she insisted we take it. Tiny thought you'd practice, Yolonda. You could use those good hands of yours for more than pushing food into your mouth.”

Yolonda, seated next to Andrew, reached up and opened the music. It was a Mozart sonata, fairly simple except for two horrible trills in the first movement, each a whole finger-lickin' measure long. She could ease into it. She flexed her fingers shook the blood into her hands, flexed some more, and began to play, slowly letting her fingers press out the notes. She breathed easily like she'd been taught. The notes from the page began to slip into her mind and travel out through her fingers. She rarely had this experience. It was fine. Andrew leaned into her side so gently that her concentration didn't falter. She slowed down only a little for the horrible trills. At the end of the first movement, she stopped. Sighed. She put her arm around Andrew's small shoulders.

“Andrew,” she said softly to the top of his head, “why'd you break your harmonica?”

She felt his body go stiff. She rubbed her fingers into his hair, making circles in his scalp the way she used to when he was a baby sitting in her lap. He began to cry.

The knowledge came slowly into her head.

“You didn't break your harmonica, did you?” she asked in relieved surprise. Things began to make sense. “Somebody else broke it.” Her relief dwindled, replaced by a deeper guilt.

Andrew nodded, digging his head into her. Yolonda's mind groped through a series of possibilities. Then stopped.

“Asphalt Hill?” she asked.

Andrew nodded.

“Older kid?”

Andrew nodded.

“It wasn't your pal, Karl?”

Andrew shook his head furiously.

No, it wouldn't be Karl, she thought. Nor that Buxton guy.

“Gerard? The white-shirt kid?”

Andrew shook his head.

“The Dudes! It was one of the Dudes!”

Andrew kept very still.

“The Dudes, right? One of those junior-high no-goodniks?”

“Three Dudes,” said Andrew, pulling away. He held up three fingers. He looked stricken and frustrated.

In her rising fury, Yolonda recognized that if he had his harmonica, Andrew would play their sound.

School had just let out, but the Dudes were already seated on the raised cement abutment that overlooked the deep, looping bowl of Asphalt Hill. A few skaters were arriving, boards tucked under their arms or hung by the trucks from bent fingers. Someone had brought a blaster that blared out heavy metal. There would be a steady stream of kids for the next hour.

On the abutment, Leaky perched nervously like an insect; Chimp hunkered down. Lounging in princely fashion, Romulus Foster sat with his legs over the abutment wall. He wore a handsome
crinkly black jogging suit; his black-and-lime green tennis shoes dangled.

Yolonda could see them front the distance — no mistaking how they hovered over Asphalt Hill. Like vultures, she thought. She pressed Andrew's hand when she felt him balk and drag his feet.

“It's okay, Andrew. You can stay by the tree.” Still she had to half drag him to his tree. “There's Karl,” she said, letting go his hand. “Your friend is here.”

Indeed Karl was there, on a flat part of the Hill. He was just pushing off on a board with a battered deck while Stoney Buxton watched. Was Buxton stealing Andrew's friend? She glared at Stoney Buxton out of her banked fury as she strode past, but Stoney didn't notice. “Don't watch your feet, Karl,” she heard Stoney say.

The Dudes hadn't changed their positions on the abutment. Although her outrage toward them had mellowed through the school day, it began to charge up as Yolonda marched toward the trio. She knew Andrew was watching from there under his tree on the other side of the Hill. He needed to be there watching. It was
his
vengeance, part of her plan to bring him back to himself. But she didn't look back to check him. Her energy was gearing up. She began to hum tunelessly in time with her feet, her fists clenching and unclenching.
Her mind sized up the three older boys, strategy forming. Chimp, the stupidest, was the strongest physically.

She didn't pause when she got to the abutment but reached up in one quick motion and grabbed the dangling ankles of Romulus Foster. With one swift pull she yanked him off his seat. He landed with a cry of surprise and pain, his lean butt roundly thwacking against the asphalt.

Chimp grunted, rose to leap at her. She'd expected this, and when he jumped she moved into him and pushed him off balance while he was still in the air.
Nobody gonna mess with Yolonda unless they want their head busted.

She caught him by the elbow as he fell. The elbow twisted away from his shoulder and he let out a bellow when he hit the ground. She held on. His arm bent away awkwardly behind his body. She pressed into it and he groaned.

“I got business with your friend here,” she spit at him. “'Less you got some kind of weapon, other than your brain, you better stay put.” She gave his elbow a final push away from her. Sweat was streaming down her face and beneath her shirt.

Leaky had jumped down from the wall and was circling her. She faced him, then gave a bitter laugh. She wiped her face with her sleeve.

“You gonna push me down?” She faked a move
toward him and he jerked back. “Get outa my way or I'll squash you like an ant.”

She turned back to Rom, who was struggling to his feet. “Si'down!” She pushed him back down. Kept one hand pressing him back. His forehead clenched in pain.

“You don't mess with my brother, or you're messing with me.” She pressed harder, leaned forward, and looked deep into his face. “You don't mess with my friends or my brother's friends either. You hear?”

She reached down and pulled Romulus Foster to his feet by the front of his crinkly black jacket. She drew him close to her, shaking her head so that the sweat would fly at him in big salty drops. She spoke into his reddening face.

“You broke my brother's harmonica. It cost thirty-five bucks. Got thirty-five bucks?” She let the question dangle like a noose.

Although she was victor for the moment, she knew she had to put up a shield for the future. So she lied some more — very quietly, very coldly. “I got friends. I got friends in Chicago. I got friends in and out of jail. Ever hear of Cool Breeze and his Hundred Gang? You are a small-time bimbo, and they are gonna kick your ass.”

“Fat chance,” gasped Romulus Foster with an attempt at bravado. But she could tell she'd gotten
his attention. She dropped his jacket front. Romulus limped backward in a hurry.

“Fat chance, fatso,” he said more boldly. He glanced briefly at Chimp, who had struggled to a sitting position and was holding his arm with his other hand. He shot a look at Leaky, who stood nearby, watching. Then louder: “I'd watch my step, fatso, if I were you. I'd watch out behind from now on.”

“Yeah,” agreed Leaky.

“Yeah, man,” croaked Chimp.

“No problem, boys,” said Yolonda. “My behind's just as big and dangerous as my front side.” She turned in her queenly way and began to move, like a great ship through water, back to where Andrew watched, ashen-faced, from his tree. No one could tell, except Yolonda, that her whole body trembled.

Stoney Buxton had turned and was staring at her, his face delighted and surprised.

“You are somethin', girl,” he said. “You are really somethin'.”

“Yeah,” said Yolonda. She didn't want to cut the power of her dramatic exit by stopping to hear more. She didn't want to slow her victory march. She didn't want Stoney to notice the trembling.

But she stopped. Stoney's eyes were bright with admiration. Different eyes than Tyrone's eyes —
mirth but not mischief. A hero deserves a reward, thought Yolonda. Maybe this is my reward. She noticed that all the activity at Asphalt Hill had paused. Only the music blared out, now useless. Karl was standing, one foot holding the board still. Nobody on the Hill moved. Her trembling began to fade.

“They been asking for it,” she said, and then dropped her eyes demurely. “I had no choice.” She wondered if the Giorgio was winning out over her sweat. “They messed with my little brother, who is a rare musical genius.”

“Well,” said Stoney seriously, “you may have just bought yourself a ton of trouble. They got friends.”

“I got friends,” said Yolonda again, reinforcing her lie, just in case Stoney was a spy. Just a precaution.

But Stoney was smiling “I sure missed your brother these past few days. He really helps my concentration. Better than heavy metal.” Yolonda saw his eyes flicker over her with something she hoped was fascination.

So she told him about the Dudes breaking Andrew's harmonica, “a rare antique inherited from our father.” She wiped sweat daintily from her face with an old, creased tissue she dug out of her pocket.

Stoney looked over her shoulder. “They're leaving,” he told her. “If you think you might have trouble with them, let me know. Two is better against three. B'sides, I can't let you show me up.” And Stoney made a muscle with his lean right arm. It was the long, smooth muscle of an athlete.

Yolonda felt a smile broaden her face. She gave a delicate wave with her fingers and backed away, then turned at last toward her brother. She wasn't about to forget Andrew again, no matter how much fun she was having.

She could hear the activity of the Hill start up anew, the grind of wheels, the scuffing.

“Come on, Andrew,” she announced when she got to his tree. “We're going to pay a visit to a man who's got this brand-new harmonica waiting for you.” Now began the second part of her plan to reunite the loosened pieces of her brother.

Andrew was standing with the strangest expressions crossing and recrossing his face. Yolonda tried to gentle herself. Pay attention, she told the bold part of herself. Pay quiet attention to your brother. But time was wasting. She had a harder duty to perform.

This time she'd checked out the schedule of the bus that went down Beckmore Drive. There was one every hour. Time was growing short, and she was about to disobey her momma. The unfamiliar
sneaky feeling crept through her. It was intensified by her earlier raid on Andrew's panda bank. All money means to Andrew is a pretty sound, she had told herself as the coins slid down the letter opener she had poked into the slot.

“Come on, Andrew. I got this planned just right.” She leaned toward her brother. “Come on, Drew-de-drew, you gotta earn this mouth harp. It's not free.”

Andrew wasn't sure where they were going. Yolonda had said something about a harmonica — not his dead one, the one that had the music in it, the one that sometimes spoke before he knew he had the thought. She wanted him to earn it. He was only a little worried. Yolonda never did anything to hurt him.

The bus ride was pretty long. Andrew was aware of Yolonda checking her watch and jiggling her leg impatiently. Every time the bus stopped to pick up a passenger, she let out an exasperated hiss. She was still perspiring, sweat running down her face.

Maybe she's still mad, thought Andrew. He'd never before seen the Yolonda he had just witnessed at Asphalt Hill — towering over those bad boys like Batman, bigger than Batman. He'd never seen her great power unleashed before, but
he hadn't been surprised. He'd never doubted Yolonda could tackle anything. There wasn't anything she was afraid of. Some Yolonda sounds came into his head — great, powerful explosions. He'd need another instrument — drums maybe, a horn, both together. What instrument roared?

The bus stopped. Right in front of his favorite store. He checked the window with pleasure. There was a curled horn on a stand. Could the curled horn roar? He didn't think so.

Yolonda pushed open the wide glass doors. “Longhair might not be here, but I got a receipt somewhere.” His sister fumbled in her jeans pocket.

Andrew stared at the wall lined with guitars, at the glass cases holding different kinds of pipes, bigger than his. There was a gigantic curved horn on a huge stand. Yolonda. Andrew was sure that horn could roar.

“Is this the genius?” A smiling man with gray hair that brushed his shoulders was leaning toward Andrew. Andrew scowled. There was that name again.

He could tell the man that his name was Andrew Blue, but his mouth was suddenly wishing for his old harmonica, the one he'd buried in the dark dirt of his mother's tulips, the dead harmonica. Where was it now?

Then he saw that the man was holding something out toward him.

“Where'd you get that?” asked Andrew, shocked and horrified.

There was his harmonica, only someone had fixed it up, polished it. The smiling man held it out toward him.

A sick feeling began to invade Andrew's stomach, and a faint hollow sound threatened his ears. Then it seemed as if all the instruments on the wall, on stands in the corners, inside the glass cases waited for him.

“All you gotta do to earn this baby is play something, Andrew.” Yolonda eyed him. “Something great, that is. No chords. Play
'Round Midnight
. Play Bart Simpson. Play the bacon.”

Yolonda waited. The smiling man waited, holding out the harmonica. The other instruments waited. The hollow buzzing came into his ears.

“Andrew,” said Yolonda in her impatient voice. “We got no time for games. The bus will leave. We aren't gonna wait another hour for the next one. I gotta dust before Momma gets home. You gotta play before we earn this harp. Come on, do your stuff.”

The buzzing grew intense.

Yolonda grabbed the harmonica from the clerk, thrust it into Andrew's hands, and said,
“Play!”

The harp in Andrew's hands felt stiff, wood and metal, no magic to it at all. No voice.

Yolonda's face grew more fierce. “Andrew! No more baby stuff. Come on!”

Andrew looked at the harmonica. He had no breath anymore, only a tiny little bit that sat in his throat, not enough to even whisper through the wooden holes. The air around him grew tight with everything waiting.

“I should have
killed
those guys!” exploded Yolonda. “They
really
robbed you, Andrew.” She wheeled and headed for the door. “Give it back to the man. Get my eight bucks back. I'll try and hold the bus at the corner.” She stomped toward the door. “I should have
killed!
”

Wait! cried Andrew's brain. Instinctively he lifted the harmonica to his mouth, felt with his lips and tongue the new wooden holes, felt with his hands the smoothness of metal, felt with his brain for the old voice living inside the wood and metal.

Wait!
screamed the harmonica.
Wait! Help!
Yolonda froze, then turned slowly toward him.

Andrew wet the wood with his tongue, wept into the wooden holes; a crying spilled out of the Marine Band harmonica. Then jagged streaks of angry sound bled into the room.

“Whooooo!” cried the clerk. “Whoooo-eeee! Go for it, kid!”

Wait!
yelled Andrew's harmonica.
Wait. Wait. Eee iiii eee iii oooh!

“It's all yours, kid,” said the clerk, clapping his hands. “You belong together.” Then to Yolonda, “You owe me six bucks, sister.”

Yolonda heaved a great sigh. “'Bout time,” she grumbled.

Andrew looked at the harmonica while Yolonda counted out six dollars plus the sales tax from a great weight of quarters. His head felt like a balloon. It could float away maybe. He kept his eyes fastened to the Marine Band harmonica as if it were an anchor.