Free Ace's Basement by Ted Staunton

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.
    â€œAll right !”
    â€œTrash it!”
    â€œRock 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.
    â€œYou should be on Saturday Night Live ,” one calls as they walk away. I don’t think he means as a musical guest.
    â€œAce, 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.
    â€œThat was so cool,” Denny says, looking at the screen on his phone.
    â€œThanks a whole bunch, Den.”
    â€œNo sweat,” he says.