There isn’t time to wonder. The judges nod for us to start. As Pig counts us in, I see the girls shuffle forward. Two more people squeeze in behind them. One of them is Mom. She’s with a guy, arm in arm. The guy has a mustache and one of those stupid old-guy western-style hats, a long leather jacket and dad jeans. I’ve seen him before. As we come in on the first beat, I remember where. My place. A long time ago. It’s Chuck.
Chapter Fourteen
We rock out. Pig nails the beat. Denny half sings and half screams, and it works. He also bounces, jumps, drops to his knees and flicks a pick out into the crowd. He even plays okay. Lucy and Alison and Jessica are right down in front, filming.
And I hate every second of it. I pretend I have to watch my fingers. I don’t look up once. There’s lots of clapping when we finish. Denny does a big goofy bow and before I can stop him, says, “Thanks. We all wrote that, from my idea.”
I have to look. Chuck has his dumb hat pushed up on his bald head. He’s got his arms crossed, and he’s talking to Mom.
Now he’s looking at me, standing onstage with his bass beside the guy who just claimed we wrote Chuck’s song. It was supposed to be Chuck who had reliability issues.
I know what I have to do. Before Denny can say anything else, I step to my microphone. “Uuuh,” I say.
I’ve stepped too close, and what they hear is UUUUH with a huge squeal of feedback. The whole room jumps, including me.
“Uh,” I try again. “Uh, actually, there’s another writer.” My voice sounds like a strangled chicken. Heads lift at the judge’s table. I’m not going to look at Denny. I squint at the far basketball hoop. “Our friend Chuck wrote it. He let us change it around and that helped us get started.” I point. “He’s back there.”
Heads turn. Chuck grins and waves. There is more clapping. “He loaned me his bass too,” I say. The clapping is still going on. “So, anyway, I don’t know if that counts, but we did write this one by ourselves.”
I look at the judge’s table. This time they’re not writing, they’re scratching lines right across their papers. Oh, no. I can’t look at Denny. I’m not even looking at the basketball hoop now. My eyes are closed. I clutch my bass and play the opening of “Sleeping in the Backseat.”
I know I’ve got the beat wrong even before I sing the first line. Pig and I get out of time. Denny hits a wrong chord and forgets to sing on the chorus.
While we mangle my song, part of me floats above everything. That part of me is calm. It wonders what sounds worse than a strangled chicken. Archie barfing? A sick ostrich? Pick one, it tells the rest of me, because that’s how you sound, especially on that high note you can never quite reach—the one that’s coming up now. Then it tells me that “Sleeping in the Backseat” still sucks. All that running, running, running doesn’t cut it. Meanwhile, the rest of me feels as if I’m in a train wreck.
There’s a trickle of clapping when we finish. Then comes the kiss of death.
Someone at the back is clapping like crazy. I don’t even have to look to know it’s Mom.
Chapter Fifteen
As we come offstage I know one thing. Now that I’ve blabbed that we didn’t write our good song, no one’s going to listen to us again. Ever. Actually I know two things, because I also know that I feel so crappy I don’t want to see anybody. Too bad that’s not an option. Mom and Chuck are already in front of me.
“Hon, I loved it! Why didn’t you play that for me before? It’s so sensitive.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Mom laughs. “Don’t be sarcastic, you. I had to shuffle a lot of things, but I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.” Then she says, “And look who I met at an agent’s open house last week!”
“Davey,” Chuck says, “how are ya?” Chuck is grinning. He sticks out his hand. Mine are full. He sees and laughs. “Know the feeling.” His mustache is shorter now. He’s thicker-looking. “Man,” he says. “Did that take me back! Who’d have thought you guys would still be listening to that stuff? Loved what ya did with it! Make me a million, okay? Hey, we’ve got to do some pickin’. You still got the guitar too?”
I nod.
“Smokin’,” says Chuck. “You’re on! Haven’t played since I gave up truckin’. Sell houses now like your mom. I’ll be over, okay? Let’s do it.”
I nod again. I’m still trying to catch up. Mom takes Chuck by his leather-coated arm and says, “We’re going to grab a quick bite, hon. Do you want to come with us?”
“I’d better stay here,” I say.
Mom smiles and says, “All right. We won’t be late.”
Next it’s Denny and Pig. I see them at the guitar cases. I’m still thinking about my mom’s “We won’t be late.” Denny and Pig won’t look at me. I know I have to say it.
I put down the bass amp. It’s killing my arm. “Look,” I say, “sorry, but I saw them come in. I had to.”
“Aw, no sweat.” Denny shrugs as he snaps his case shut. “Alison said they got good footage.”
That makes me feel a little better. After all, it’s not as if the whole world was here. “So Pig can post it on Myspace,” I say.
“Well,” Denny stands and shuffles. Then he says, “It wasn’t exactly for that. See, they were just filming me. For a video club project.”
“Video club?” I say.
Denny says, “Yeah, I joined, ’cause like, the girls wanted me too. We’re making this movie.” Denny shrugs and makes a face. He says, “So, like, sorry, Ace, but I have to bail on the band. There’s not gonna be enough time for music.”
“But—,” I say.
“Me too,” says Pig, from behind his shades. It might be the first thing he’s said all night.
“What?” I spin to him. “You joined video club too?”
“No,” Pig says. “I’m in air cadets. Always was.”
“Air cadets?” I say.
Pig nods and points to his Cleared For Takeoff T-shirt. “I’m starting flying lessons,” he says.
Suddenly the boots and the hair and the shades make sense. Pig says, “And my brother wants his drums at school anyway.” He hoists the snare and cymbals.
“But,” I say again, “but…”
It’s over. Just like that. Incoming is outgoing.
Pig doesn’t stay to watch the rest of the bands. He has cadet training camp early Saturday morning. Denny goes to find the video girls. He says I should come too. I shake my head and put my bass away. There are no props this time.
The next band isn’t even finished, and my band is done for good. I have had the shortest music career ever. All that’s left is jamming with a bald real estate agent who wears dumb hats and redates my mom.
I sink down by my case and lean against the wall. Music bounces around me, but I don’t take it in. I’m staring at the floor tiles when I see the toes of two soft boots. Oh. No. It’s the person I least want to see after I’ve looked like a total idiot.
Lisa sits down beside me. “Hi,” she says.
“Hi.” I nod to the stage and say, “They’re good.” As if I’m listening.
Lisa says, “Yeah. We weren’t. We sucked.”
“Tell me about it,” I say back, and shrug. “At least—never mind. I liked your song.”
“Thanks,” she says.
I wait for her to say she liked mine, but she doesn’t.
After a bit I say, “How come you changed your song? I liked it better as a rocker.” I did, but I guess I’m also bugged she didn’t say anything about my song.
“I did too,” she says. “But the band wanted to do it that way. And Grant couldn’t play the bass line you showed me.”
“That’s a drag,” I say.
Lisa nods. “Same with yours,” she says. “No offence, but your guitar player should have sung, and you could have rocked out on bass.”
I nod. “Well,” I say, “he didn’t learn it, so I had to do it. It doesn’t matter. I know I’ve gotta change the words more. It’s still not very good.” I wrap my arm
s around my knees. “And anyway, it really doesn’t matter. The band just broke up.”
Lisa nods and says, “Mine too.”
I look at her. “Your band broke up? Why?”
She sighs, then tucks her hair behind her ear and says, “’Cause we sucked and I said so, and nobody but me wanted to practice more so we wouldn’t suck.”
I think that over as a song ends. Maybe it’s my night for saying things. I look at Lisa. Then I look a little bit to one side of her, as if I’m thinking deep thoughts. “We’ve got guitar, vocal and bass,” I say. Deep breath. “Um, maybe we should start a band.”
I dare a look at her.
She’s smiling. Lisa says, “I think we just did.”
Since the publication of his first picturebook, Puddleman, in 1988, Ted Staunton has been delighting readers of all ages with his funny and perceptive stories about friends, family and school life. Ted is a frequent speaker and performer at schools, libraries and conferences across Canada and teaches fiction writing at George Brown College. Ted and his family live in Port Hope, Ontario.
Orca Currents
9781554694341 $9.95 PB
9781554698882 $16.95 LIB
In most ways, Poe is like the other kids in his school. He thinks about girls and tries to avoid teachers. He hangs out at the coffee shop with his best friend after school. He has a loving father who helps him with his homework. But Poe has a secret, and almost every day some small act threatens to expose him.
Orca Currents
9781554699100 9.95 PB
9781554699117 16.95 LIB
Fifteen-year-old Maddie has big-city dreams, and she’s found her chance to visit New York. An art magazine is holding a portrait contest, and the first prize is an all-expenses-paid trip to the Big Apple. Maddie plans to win, but her mother has different ideas for her: a mother-daughter adventure in organic gardening. Maddie is furious. How will she find an inspiring subject for her portrait amid the goat poop and chickens?
Orca Currents
9781554698202 $9.95 PB
9781554698219 $16.95 LIB
Suspended from school, lonely and bored, fifteen-year-old Zack will do anything for amusement. His mom drags him out geocaching, and Zack finds a cd with the word Famous written across it. He puts the cd on his stereo and loses himself in the music. Zack has sound-color synesthesia. He sees colors when he hears music, and the music on the Famous cd causes incredible patterns of color for him. Zack becomes obsessed with the girl on the cd and decides he has to find her.
Titles in the Series
Orca Currents
121 Express
Monique Polak
Bear Market
Michele Martin Bossley
Benched
Cristy Watson
Beyond Repair
Lois Peterson
The Big Dip
Melanie Jackson
Bio-pirate
Michele Martin Bossley
Blob
Frieda Wishinsky
Branded
Eric Walters
Camp Wild
Pam Withers
Chat Room
Kristin Butcher
Cheat
Kristin Butcher
Cracked
Michele Martin Bossley
Crossbow
Dayle Campbell Gaetz
Daredevil Club
Pam Withers
Dog Walker
Karen Spafford-Fitz
Explore
Christy Goerzen
Farmed Out
Christy Goerzen
Fast Slide
Melanie Jackson
Finding Elmo
Monique Polak
Flower Power
Ann Walsh
Fraud Squad
Michele Martin Bossley
Horse Power
Ann Walsh
Hypnotized
Don Trembath
In a Flash
Eric Walters
Junkyard Dog
Monique Polak
Laggan Lard Butts
Eric Walters
Living Rough
Cristy Watson
Manga Touch
Jacqueline Pearce
Marked
Norah McClintock
Mirror Image
K.L. Denman
Nine Doors
Vicki Grant
Perfect Revenge
K.L. Denman
Pigboy
Vicki Grant
Power Chord
Ted Staunton
Frieda Wishinsky
Rebel’s Tag
K.L. Denman
Reckless
Lesley Choyce
See No Evil
Diane Young
Sewer Rats
Sigmund Brouwer
The Shade
K.L. Denman
Skate Freak
Lesley Choyce
Slick
Sara Cassidy
The Snowball Effect
Deb Loughead
Special Edward
Eric Walters
Splat!
Eric Walters
Spoiled Rotten
Dayle Campbell Gaetz
Storm Tide
Kari Jones
Struck
Deb Loughead
Stuff We All Get
K.L. Denman
Sudden Impact
Lesley Choyce
Swiped
Michele Martin Bossley
Watch Me
Norah McClintock
Windfall
Sara Cassidy
Wired
Sigmund Brouwer
Orca Currents
For more information on all the books
in the Orca Currents series, please visit
www.orcabook.com.