Yolonda's Genius by Carol Fenner

wasn’t your fingers.” His voice softened. “I’d sure hate to see that happen. A friendly suggestion” — he paused gently — “keep away from the Hill. Go play on the swings.”
    Rom Foster turned and strolled off casually, followed by his two henchmen. Andrew sat for a long time where Chimp had dropped him. He kept his eyes on the mutilated Marine Band harmonica. He waited for everything to go away, for time to go back and for none of this to happen. He waited for his harmonica to become whole again. Then he heard his own ragged breathing. A broken cry scratched at his throat and it seemed to him that it came from the little heap of battered wood and metal where it lay on the asphalt.
    *   *   *
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Londa?” asked Shirley. She followed the big girl into the kitchen. “What did I say?”
    Yolonda’s heart had frozen. Andrew! Had he been on the bus? She didn’t remember seeing him. Asphalt Hill? Was that where he was? He’d always asked her before. Had he asked? She’d been so preoccupied with her cake-baking plans that she couldn’t remember that either.
    Her heart started up again. Now it raced.
    â€œYou stay here. Watch the cake. Take it out when the buzzer rings.” Yolonda grabbed her jacket. “No. First test it with the cake tester. Hanging by the oven. Stick it into the cake. If it comes out with no wet cake sticking to it, the cake is done.”
    Yolonda jammed her arms into her jacket. “I gotta go back to the school. Just keep your eyes on the cake.”
    â€œAhnnh . . .,” began Shirley-whirley, eyes jigging madly. But her voice was lost to Yolonda’s back as Yolonda dashed out the door.
    Yolonda tore down the steps and hurried up Fremont Street, her mind flying out ahead of her, crossing streets she hadn’t even come to yet. “Oh Lord, please let him be okay.” Answering herself, “What could happen to him? He’s in this safe burg; nothing happens here. Andrew’s okay.”
    Feet pounding, gobbling up the pavement, shereviewed in her mind the dangers. Crossing the street. Andrew was dreamy, but he knew about looking both ways. Kidnapping. Kids were grabbed from safe towns all over America — especially pretty kids like her brother. Yolonda hurried on, sweat beginning to gather around her middle and under the hair on her forehead. Andrew was so little. He was so unafraid. But he was lucky. Maybe his luck was on him now. She heaved big breaths as she pounded on.
    Then she heard Mr. Johnkoski’s voice in her head talking about the drug pushers who hung around young kids. “Power brokers,” he had called them. “They want power over other kids — like little Hitlers — like little Joe McCarthys. Fear makers.” This town had its own version of Cool Breeze and his Hundred Gang. We might just as well have stayed in Chicago, thought Yolonda.
    Suddenly, a stroke of intuition slid into her bones, making the perspiration chill on her body. The fear maker’s and Andrew. He always hung around the Hill watching the skateboarders. She began to run, big plodding strides, huffing, her jacket sliding back from her shoulders.
    And then she spotted him. From the distance, several blocks away, the small figure of her little brother came slowly toward her. Her relief was so intense that it hurt. She stopped running andstood gasping for breath. She had a pain in her side and waited with her hand pressed there. But Andrew didn’t dawdle as usual. He hurried toward his sister, both hands holding his harmonica. That was unusual, but Yolonda was too relieved to pay it any notice.
    â€œWhere
were
you?” she growled, more angry at her fear than at Andrew.
    His eyes looked bigger than ever and so sad that they gentled her. Yolonda, never big on hugs, picked him up and held him close. She could feel his hands stiffen around his harmonica.