by Ted Staunton
Ace’s Basement
Ted Staunton
Copyright © 2013 Ted Staunton
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now
known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Staunton, Ted, 1956-
Ace’s basement [electronic resource] / Ted Staunton.
(Orca currents)
Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-4598-0439-5 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-4598-0440-1 (EPUB)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents (Online)
PS8587.T334A34 2013 jC813’.54 C2013-901920-0
First published in the United States, 2013
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013935379
Summary: Ace learns about Internet bullying while trying
to get a music career off the ground.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its
publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government
of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts,
and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council
and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover photography by iStockphoto.com
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
PO Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468
Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA
V8R 6S4 98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
16 15 14 13 • 4 3 2 1
My thanks to Will and Union Duke for great
music and technical info, and to Melanie
Jeffs for super editing and YouTube know-
how. You’re all aces with me.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
Lisa is playing acoustic guitar and singing.
What’s up? I’m down
When you’re not around…
It’s Friday after school. We’re busking for change in front of the liquor store. I’m on acoustic guitar and harmonica. I have the harmonica on one of those holders that loops around your neck. The guy at the music store called it a harp rack because harmonicas are also called mouth harps. It looks like the world’s biggest dental retainer. Usually I play bass, but when we play outside, there’s no place to plug in my amp.
Lisa sways as she sings. It’s nice to watch, especially if you stand behind her like I do. Not only does Lisa have a killer voice, she’s also hot. These are two big reasons why the open guitar case between us has money in it. Another reason is we sound good—as long as I don’t sing. Our duo is named Two. Our sound is sort of folky, but not too mellow. I keep the rhythm going. Lisa sings.
I could trip, I could fall
Would you hear if I called…
I wrote that. I’m getting better at lyrics. Lisa and I write songs together a lot. When you’re only in grade nine and ten, there are not a lot of places to play, so we busk and we get together and write. Life could be worse. Sitting knee to knee with Lisa and making up songs is not a bad way to pass the time. She always has ideas. She has great knees too.
Over and over and over and over
Coming apart at the dreams…
Lisa’s voice goes high. The liquor store is busy. Friday afternoon is a good time to busk here. People leaving the store toss coins in the case. I have time to call “Thanks!” before I close my eyes for my big harmonica solo.
Harmonica is new for me. My guess is that playing it is a lot like heavy kissing. You have to time your breathing in and out and move your tongue around and stuff—not to get too gross about it. Plus you have to know where to start. I haven’t figured that out with kissing. There’s no one for me to practice with.
I have practiced harmonica though. My solo starts with blowing out on the fourth hole. I blow. The wrong note comes out. The next note is wrong too. And the next one and the next. What is going on? I have to keep playing, but it’s panic time.
This is a nightmare. It’s as if everything is backward. That’s when it hits me that everything is backward. I have cleverly put the harp upside down in the rack. Oh. No.
Just as I figure this out, the harp starts slipping away like an elevator going down. The stupid wing nuts that hold the rack have come loose again. Aargh. I chase the harmonica down my chest, playing more horrible noise. Maybe I can pretend this is jazz. I keep my eyes shut. Maybe people will pity me if they think I’m blind.
I hear Lisa saying “What are you—” I can’t answer. I’m bent double as I squish out the last awful sound. I open my eyes.
There’s a cell phone right in my face. “AAAAH!” I jump. The harp rack flies up and bonks my forehead. I yell again and grab my head. The harmonica pops out, bounces off my guitar and into the guitar case. I stagger into it too. Crunch. Change goes flying.
“All right!”
“Trash it!”
“Rock out!”
Three beefy guys with six-packs of beer and the I-need-a-shave look are cheering. They throw coins into the case. Some of them bounce off my foot.
“You should be on Saturday Night Live,” one calls as they walk away. I don’t think he means as a musical guest.
“Ace, are you okay?” Lisa asks. “What happened?”
I’m still rubbing my forehead. I don’t dare look at her yet. Instead, I glare at the owner of the cell phone that was just in my face. It’s my friend Denny. I should have known.
“That was so cool,” Denny says, looking at the screen on his phone.
“Thanks a whole bunch, Den.”
“No sweat,” he says. Denny is not good at understanding when other people are being sarcastic, especially me. He waves his phone at us. “You know what you two need? A YouTube video.”
Chapter Two
Lisa’s dad picks her up when we’re done. He nods and says, “Hi, David” to me. David is my real name. Ace is my nickname. He says hi to Denny, too, which is more than Lisa has said to Denny since he showed up. I get the feeling Lisa doesn’t like Denny that much. Right now I’m a little bugged with him myself for freaking me out with his cell phone. It’s almost as if the whole harmonica mess was his fault.
Lisa and I split the money we made. There is a little more than eighteen dollars each. It’s not our best for a Friday, but it’s good. We were good, apart from my harmonica disaster.
“Practice tomorrow?” I ask her.
“Can’t,” she says. “I’m working all day.” She has a part-time job at Bargain Village. Sometimes I drop by there when she’s working and pretend I didn’t know she would be there.
“How about Sunday?” I ask. “Maybe?”
Lisa makes a face. “I have an English report. Haven’t you got homework?”
“Yeah,” I say. I do have homework. Whether I do it is another thing. That’s how I got my nickname. When people used to ask what marks I had gotten, I’d always say sarcastically, “A’s,” even though they weren’t.
Lisa waves and follows her dad to their car. She has her phone out, texting, before she even gets in. She’s still texting as they
pull away. I wave anyway. Then I start walking home with Denny. We take a shortcut through the park.
He shows me what he filmed. Let’s just say it’s not pleasing.
“Wow, Den,” I say, “the close-up where my eyes bug out while I scream is really tasteful. How can I thank you?”
“Hey, no biggie,” Denny says. He still doesn’t get that I’m being sarcastic. Instead, he blathers more about doing a video. Denny is big on video. He’s in the video club at school. There are hot girls in the video club.
As we pass the swings, I have a conversation in my head instead of listening to him. First I say, Why didn’t you ask Lisa if she’s busy tonight, dumb one? I answer, She was texting. That means she’s busy. And I didn’t want to interrupt. And her dad was in a hurry. Then I say to myself, You’re chicken. That’s the real reason. That makes me answer, Okay, just watch. I’ll text her when I get home. That makes me feel better—if I don’t think about how many times I’ve said that before and then not sent the text.
At the other side of the park, Denny takes off for his house. It’s close to suppertime when I get home, but I still get back before Mom. She sells real estate, so her schedule is weird sometimes. The sound of hammering from the basement tells me that her boyfriend, Chuck, is here though. Chuck sells real estate too. He’s renovating our basement in his spare time. I thought it was fine the way it was. He says he’s making a man cave for me down there. Uh-huh.
Our cat, Archie, comes to say hello. I check Arch’s food and water, then look downstairs. Chuck is on his hands and knees, measuring something. He’s flashing some major plumber’s butt. It’s not a pretty sight.
“That you, Dave?” he calls up, still measuring.
“Uh-huh.”
“How was busking?”
“Okay.” I’m not going to tell him about the harmonica. Chuck is actually an okay guy. He was in a band when he first dated my mom. It’s his guitar and bass I’ve been using. I’m not going to tell him about stepping in the guitar case either, since the case is his too. Luckily, it only cracked a little. Instead I say, “Denny says we need a video.”
“Hmm. Good idea,” Chuck says. He marks a two-by-four with a pencil, sticks the pencil behind his ear and stands up. It’s a better visual, believe me. Then he chuckles and says, “Or maybe not. When I was in Razorburn, we tried to make a video. Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”
Razorburn was Chuck’s band. They played country rock. He stoops and grabs the two-by-four. I get to enjoy more plumber’s butt. Then he moves to his portable workbench and picks up the circular saw.
That’s when my mom gets home. She has pizza with her. She gets me to help make salad, and then, as we all eat, Chuck tells her about Denny’s video idea. Naturally, she has a million suggestions. All of them are bad.
“You know what you could do,” she says, “is have you and Lisa both singing, with your heads in profile next to one another, like, you know—oh, whose video was it?”
“ABBA,” I say. It’s one of my favorite bad videos to laugh at.
“Right.” Mom is all excited. “And you could—”
Oh, please. I nod and pretend I’m listening. Really, I’m talking to myself again. Text Lisa. I chew slower and answer: Grade-ten girls don’t hang with grade-nine guys, even if they do play music together. I know this is a law of the universe—or of high school, at least. High school and the universe are the same thing if you are fourteen.
It doesn’t have to be a law, I say to myself. Didn’t you hear how worried she sounded when she asked if you were all right? Do it. Don’t be a chicken.
I’m going to do it. I put down my pizza and pull out my phone. Mom says, “Hey, mister, no phones at the table, remember?” At that exact instant, her BlackBerry rings and she jumps up. “Except for this one call,” Mom says.
Chuck takes salad. I power my phone to text Lisa. The pizza has gone dry in my mouth. I’m going to do it. I’m going to text her this time. But first I see a message from Denny: want 2c doomaster 2nite can pick u up @ 8.
Oh, wow. Doom Master. It’s a new 3-D blockbuster movie. It’s based on our favorite action-hero toy from when Denny and I were little. This is opening night, so everybody will be going. Lisa will probably even be there. That would solve everything. I text Denny back: cool c u @ 8.
I can always ask Lisa next time.
Chapter Three
Lisa isn’t at the movie. When I accidentally-on-purpose go by Bargain Village on Saturday, she’s on a break. I don’t see her till lunch on Monday, when we meet in the music room at school. The music teacher lets us use the school’s equipment to mix our recording of “Coming Apart at the Dreams.” It’s a good thing Lisa takes music. Next year I will, for sure.
“I could trip, I could—” Lisa clicks the computer mouse at two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. We’re at the repeat of the first verse. The whole song is only three minutes and twelve seconds.
“Right there,” she says. “My voice sounds so lame there.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say. “We’ve talked about this before, Lee.”
Lisa’s family calls her Lee. After she phoned me one time and said, “Hi, it’s Lee,” I figured it was cool if I used it too. I still get a little nervous when I do though.
“But I’m flat,” Lisa complains.
“No, you’re not. We checked, remember? It just needs to sound stronger.”
“Maybe we should double the vocal,” Lisa says.
“You’re going to sing it again?”
“No, no. With this program I can copy the vocal to another track and play them both. Wait.”
She starts pointing and clicking the mouse again. Screens blink past us. How cool is this? I think. I’m sitting here mixing a song that I cowrote with Lisa, who I get to call Lee. And she is older than me and gorgeous and in a duo called Two with me, and I’m talking and not nervous or sarcastic. I didn’t even think of a smart comment when Lisa said she was flat. I bet you thought I would, too. So, if I’m comfortable with her when we work on music, how come I can’t ask her to a movie?
“Okay, let’s try this.” Lisa clicks the mouse one more time.
I could trip, I could fall
Would you hear if I called…
Lisa’s voice sounds way fuller. “Awesome,” I say. “That is so cool, Lee. How’d you do that?”
Before she can show me, guess who barges in?
“Ace! Lee! Hey, wait’ll you hear this.” Yes. It’s Denny.
I glare at him. I’m the one who gets to call Lisa Lee. And anyway, what does he want now? I say, “No, Den, wait’ll you hear this.” I reach for the mouse to click on a playback. I knock over my carton of chocolate milk instead. It splashes onto my backpack. I jump up “Aw—”
“No, listen,” Denny insists. “We want to do a YouTube video, right?”
“You want to do a YouTube video. We didn’t say we did.” While I talk, I use my gym shorts to mop up the milk. I know this is probably a mistake even while I’m doing it.
“Whatever,” Denny says. “So anyway, I told Nadia and Alison Ace needs a YouTube music video and they were, like, We’re on it!”
“Yeah right,” I say. I’m still mopping up. Now I see the milk has gone into my backpack. “And it’s not my video, it’s Two’s—”
“Nadia and Alison who?” Lisa interrupts. At least she’s talking to Denny today.
“You know,” Denny says. “From video club.”
Lisa doesn’t say anything. I’m too busy mopping the inside of my backpack to look at her. I’ve known Alison and Nadia since they were in a grade one/two class with me and Denny. We were grade ones. They were grade twos. They’ve gotten a lot hotter since then, but I know they don’t think we have.
Before I can say, “Yeah right” again, Nadia and Alison come in.
“Sweet,” Denny says. “So, let’s make a cool music video and conquer YouTube!”
I lift up my chocolate-milk-covered shorts. The room goes quiet. I look at
the shorts. Oh-oh. Using them was a mistake. I stuff them in my pack.
But now I see no one is looking at me. Lisa is looking at Nadia and Alison, and they are looking at her. If looks could kill, they’d all be six feet under.
Nadia says, “Actually, Denny, maybe not. So much to do, you know. Sorry, Ace. Too bad, so sad. Gotta go.”
“So not sad, Lisa,” says Alison. “We’re outta here.”
They spin on their heels. Alison tugs up a shoulder strap. Nadia pulls the hem of her shirt down to the top of her jeans. Is that a tattoo peeking out there? They walk out. A second later, from down the hall, a girl’s voice calls, “Oh, Robbyyyyyyyyy,” then there’s laughter.
“What was that about?” Denny scrunches up his nose.
“We’re not exactly friends,” Lisa says. Her face is as red as her hair.
“How come?” Denny asks. He’s not Mister Sensitive. I glare at him. But I want to know too.
“It’s a long boring story,” Lisa says. “About boys.”
Boys? I don’t think I want to hear anything about Lisa and boys.
“Okay, whatever,” Denny says. “Anyway, we don’t need them to do our video. They were just gonna help with tech stuff anyway. Really, it’s my vision—well, our vision, right, Lee?”
“Right,” I join in, “because I don’t have any vision.”
“Well, like, you too, Ace. But it will feature Lee, right? I mean, she’s the lead singer.” Denny isn’t even looking at me while he talks. He’s looking at Lisa. And calling her Lee.
“I don’t know,” Lisa says.
“Come on,” Denny urges. “It’ll be way cooler than busking. It’s creative! People will hear your songs. And I’ve already tweeted that we’re doing it.”
It’s time for Denny to go. I pull out my chocolate-milk gym shorts and wave them in his face. “We’ll think about it, Den. It’s time for gym. Go get your stuff.”
“Whoa.” He waves his hands. “If it’s wrestling again today, we are so not partners.”
Denny leaves. Lisa and I play “Coming Apart at the Dreams” again. People should hear this song. Denny is probably useless at videos, but you never know. And it would mean I’d get to spend more time with Lisa, even if it was with Denny around. At least I could keep an eye on him.
