I get to the music room for lunch before Lisa does. Other kids are here today, but they don't seem to mind if you hang out. Maybe that's why Lisa likes to meet here.
“Can't stay,” Lisa says when she hurries in, texting. “I forgot I have a math test next period. I have to study. Walk to my locker with me?”
“Sure,” I say. I'm good with being seen with Lisa anytime.
We walk. I hope she doesn't notice the sour-milk smell coming from my backpack. I really have to wash it. I tell her the video ideas Denny and I thought up.
Lisa frowns. She looks even hotter than normal when she frowns. Then she says, “I think Denny should just film us playing the song.”
“Playing the song? That's it?” I'm stunned.
“I'd rather do simple and good than tricky and sloppy. And it's not like those are new ideas. We've all seen that stuff a million times.”
“Yeah, but it's how we'd put them together.”
“Ace, this is Denny we're talking about.”
Lisa has a point. Besides, I don't want to be tied to a chimney, and my mom's already said we can't smash her mirror. We turn into the hall where Lisa's locker is.
“Okay,” I say. “Where should we film?”
“We'll busk,” she says.
I freeze, remembering how I goofed up last Friday. Lisa keeps moving. “Come on,” she says, looking around and not at me. “It'll be okay.”
I should say,
You're right, you make
everything okay
or something like that
.
Before I can even try for it, we're at Lisa's locker. Now she looks at me. “Tell Denny, okay? Noon Saturday in front of the liquor store.”
I nod. Then, as she's about to turn away, I get bumped from behind, and I stumble into her. She grabs me before we both get squished into the lockers.
Behind me, a girl's voice calls, “Nice pic. What a happy couple. Who should we send it to?”
“IIIIIIII knowwwwwwww,”
says a different girl's voice. I get myself turned around in time to see Nadia and Alison twitching their butts as they hurry off down the hall.
Lisa swears. She starts texting again. I back away. I don't think she even hears my “See you Saturday.”
What was
that
all about?
I tell Denny Lisa's plan. Denny says he'll tweet up a flash mob for an audience at the liquor store.
Why am I not surprised when no one but Denny shows up? “They're just late,” he says. “Flash mobs always are.”
Lisa rolls her eyes. I don't even try to be sarcastic. I'm nervous. Maybe it's good that no one is here.
“Cool clothes,” Lisa says to me as she takes her guitar out of its case. I've got on my best torn jeans, my black Hendrix T-shirt and a straw porkpie hat. I bought the hat last summer, but I never wear it. You don't want people thinking that you're trying to be cool. Besides, my mom said it looked cute.
I don't say that to Lisa. What I do say is, “Back at you,” because Lisa looks fantastic. She's wearing skinny black jeans. She's changed her hair around, and I think she's wearing makeup, because her eyes look darker somehow. But what really knocks me out is her top. It's clingy and hot pink and lowcut, and it's either super tight or Lisa has, um, grown overnight. Whatever. Like I said, she looks fantastic. She slings her guitar strap over her shoulder and starts tuning.
I put on my guitar. It covers Jimi on my T-shirt. Oh well, it's not
my
top everyone is going to be watching. I take off my hat and put on my harp rack. It pretty much blocks my face from my nose down. Oh well, it's not
my
face everyone is going to watch either. And it hides the three zits on my chin.
“Wait,” Denny says as I reach for my harmonica box. “Use this instead.” He hands me a tiny kid-size harmonica. It's so small, it's like a toy. You could practically fit it up your nose.
“See,” Denny says, “I've been thinking.” He goes back to posing Doom Master in the guitar case.
“Thinking what?” I say. I try the harmonica. “This doesn't even play all the notes I need. It's stupid.”
“Don't you get it?” Denny says. “This way we see you better. You don't have to really play it. I'll just overdub the sound later, from your recording.”
Lisa strums a chord and says, “I guess that explains why there's no sound equipment.”
“Right.” Denny grins. “Sweet, huh? And way easier. It doesn't even matter if you really play.”
“So we just stand here on the street corner and
pretend
? Gee, Den, there's a great way to draw a crowd. We won't feel stupid.” I'm so bugged that for a second, I forget Denny doesn't get sarcasm.
Lisa just says, “But we have to play in sync with the recording or it won't work.”
“Hey!” Denny spreads his arms. “I told you, Lee, I've been thinking. That's why I brought along a boom box”âDenny starts looking aroundâ “with the song loaded”âhe's looking some moreâ“on a USB.” Denny stops and scratches his head. If there's a boom box around, it's invisible. “At least, I think I did. I was going to. Maybe I didn't.”
“Oh,
super
,” I say. By this time, I don't care if Denny gets sarcasm or not. “What do we do now?”
“I have it on my phone,” Lisa says. “Maybe we could share the earbuds.”
I put the little harmonica in the rackâright side up, not that it matters. It's kind of wobbly in there. Not that
that
matters either. Then I lean in for an earbud. The cord is too short. My guitar bumps Lisa's, and my fretting hand ends up way too close to where she's gotten bigger.
We try filming with Lisa using the earbuds and playing along to the recording while I try to follow her. It doesn't work so great, so we switch and she tries to follow me.
That doesn't work so great either. We're always a bit off. Denny films us anyway as we play the song twice more. We all know it's no good. Plus, I feel dumb pretending to play the mini harmonica, and I feel silly wearing my hat. The few people that walk past stare at us. The only good thing is that I don't fall into the guitar case.
“This isn't working,” Lisa says finally.
Denny has taken time out to film Doom Master on a parking meter. “It'll be better with the flash mob,” he says. “What time is it?”
“Face it, Den,” I say. “No one's coming, and this sucks. What'll we do instead?”
We go to the park. Denny films us on the swings. I wear the earbuds and play guitar while Lisa sings. Did you know it's hard to swing on a swing and play guitar at the same time? Especially if you're trying to keep the swing chains from scratching the guitar? And that swinging makes earbuds pop out? And that it is not easier if a hot girl wearing a tight pink top keeps swinging past?
While I'm learning all of this, I'm getting seasick from the swinging. Denny films us on the slide. He films us leaning against a lamppost. He films us running across the grass. “I still wish there was something we could smash,” he says. There isn't. “What if Ace stands on top of the climber and plays?” he suggests.
“No,” I say.
“Come on,” says Denny. “You were going to stand on a roof, remember?”
“That was different,” I say. I'm not going to tell him there was no way I would have actually stood on a roof. I think fast. “This might wreck the guitar.” Which reminds me of the scratches I've already put in it. Maybe they're not
that
bad.
We settle for me standing on top of a picnic table. It's not exactly an exciting shot.
“Hey,” Denny says, “from this angle I can see up your nose.”
“Let's try the merry-go-round,” I say.
We have to wait until some little kids get off. Denny passes the time filming Doom Master on the climber. The little kids see it and run over.
“What are you all doing?” asks one of their parents. He's a big guy, and I can't tell if he's suspicious of us or if he thinks we're funny.
Denny babbles away about our video and plays some of it back for the guy. I don't go over to look. I watch the guy instead. From the way he bites his bottom lip to keep from grinning, I'd say he thinks we're funny. I guess this is better than him thinking we're suspicious, but not much.
Denny says, “It's just raw footage. Like, there's no soundtrack yet, and I'm going to overexpose some of it and do some slo-mo, you know?”
Now the guy
definitely
thinks we're funny. His eyebrows go up, and his shoulders start jiggling. Oh, great.
“Let's go to the teeter-totter,” I say.
Anywhere is better than here, I'm thinking.
Call it my bad.
At the teeter-totter Denny says, “Let's get some shots of Ace on harmonica.”
I'm glad to put the guitar down. When I take out the harmonica box, though, it's not there. Maybe it's on vacation with the boom box Denny forgot.
“I can't play this little one in the rack,” I say. “It slips around.”
“Then just hold it in your fingers,” Denny says. “I'm overdubbing anyway, remember?”
Lisa and I sit on opposite ends of the teeter-totter. It's a pretty good balance. I'm not very big. I hold the little harmonica with one hand and try to play it as we bounce up and down. Denny films us. I've still got the earbuds in, so I try to keep us bouncing in time to the music. The thing is, Lisa's top bounces in time to the music tooâa lot. Right in front of my eyes. I have to close them to keep from staring.
“Look happy!” Denny calls.
I open my eyes. How can I look happy? I feel like a dork. Then I see he might not be yelling at me. Lisa definitely does not look happy.
“Stop,” she says. “Stop!” She's flapping one hand. Something white is poking out of that low front on her top. It doesn't fit the way it did before.
Then, as her end of the teeter-totter goes down, Lisa hops offâwhile I'm in the air. I slam down butt first and fall back into the dirt. The earbuds pop out, and the harmonica pops into my mouth.
“Hey!” I squawk, except that what comes out is a sound like an accordion in a fish tank. I'm too stunned to move. I start to struggle up, trying to spit out the stupid harmonica.
Someone grabs me around the waist from behind, hauls me up and Heimlichs me. The harmonica pops out with a soggy gurgle, and I almost blow a few chunks along with it.
“Ho-ly!” Denny says.
The arms around me let go. “Are you okay?” Lisa pants behind me.
“IâYeah, I think so⦔ I rub the skin under my rib cage, and I turn to Lisa. She's red in the face and all messed up. The white thing is poking from her neckline again, and another one is about to fall out where the bottom of her top has come away from her jeans.
I guess she sees me noticing this, because her face gets even redder, and she spins away. Then she hurries over to her guitar case, stuffs something inside and snaps the fasteners.
“I have to go now,” she says without turning around.
“We've probably got lots anyway,” Denny says.
“We do?” I say. I'm still a little shaky. Plus, my butt hurts, and something is choking my neck.
“Sure,” says Denny. “We only need, like, three minutes and whatever.”
“Okay,” Lisa says. “Sorry. Gotta go, there's stuff I have to do. Sorry. I forgot. I'll text you or something, Ace.”
“Yeah, okay.” I'm guessing this isn't a good time to ask if she's busy tonight. Then I remember. “Hey, I've got your phone.” I limp over, unwinding the earbud wire from my neck. That's what was choking me.
“Thanks.” Lisa takes the phone from me. She's still red in the face. I'm trying not to look at her deflated top. “Later,” she says and heads out of the park, texting.
“Wow, how cool was that?” Denny says when I limp back to him. “She popped her chicken cutlets.”
“Den,” I say, “shut up.”
Denny says he's going to go home and start editing.
“There's nothing worth editing,”
I say as I snap my guitar case shut and pick up my hat.
“Hey,” Denny says. “Leave it to the, uh, magician and his apprentices.”
“
Sorcerer
and his apprentices,” I say. If Denny has apprentices, I'm Santa Clausâand the world is in big trouble.
“Yeah, whatever,” Denny says, “Later.”
He heads off. I walk back home, carrying the guitar and my hat and thinking about Lisa and her cutlets. If you asked me, I'd say she doesn't
need
cutlets. But then, the day she'd ask me about something like that would be the day I became Santa Claus.
Chuck is in the basement again when I get home. I carry the guitar case downstairs. This time he's in his real-estate-guy clothesâdress pants and shoes, and a snappy leather jacket. He reels in a tape measure, then writes in a little notebook.
“Hey, Dave,” he says. “Going to show a couple of houses. Need to measure up for drywall and hit the hardware store before I come back here to work. You around this aft? I might need a hand for a few minutes.”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
Chuck closes the notebook and nods at the guitar case. “Been busking?”
“We were shooting our video.”
“Oh yeah. How'd it go?” Chuck reaches for the guitar case as he talks. I give it to him. After all, it is his guitar.
“It was okay.” Why tell him about something no one's going to see? Chuck puts the case down and opens it. I remember the scratches on the guitar. Maybe now
would
be a good time to talk, to distract Chuck a little.
I say, “Denny filmed us busking, but it didn't work out. Then we went to the park and made stuff up, but I don't know if any of it is any good. We might have to do it again.”