Free Ace's Basement by Ted Staunton Page A

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.
    â€œPractice tomorrow?” I ask her.
    â€œCan’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.
    â€œHow about Sunday?” I ask. “Maybe?”
    Lisa makes a face. “I have an English report. Haven’t you got homework?”
    â€œYeah,” 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.
    â€œWow, Den,” I say, “the close-up where my eyes bug out while I scream is really tasteful. How can I thank you?”
    â€œHey, 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.
    â€œThat you, Dave?” he calls up, still measuring.
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œHow was busking?”
    â€œOkay.” 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.”
    â€œHmm. Good idea,” Chuck says. He marks a