Ace's Basement

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)
PS
8587.T334A34 2013          j
C
813'.54          
C
2013-901920-0

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

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.