Battle of the Bands by Lesley Choyce Page A

we’re going to win a major battle, like the one coming up in June. It’s just a couple of weeks away, and we need that win. The prize is an entire day in a professional recording studio. We’re going to send out copies of our shiny CD, and all the DJs are going to play it and everyone’s going to love it. We’ve got it all planned.

Chapter Two
    Life outside the band is mostly boring. My parents aren’t too harsh, and they did buy me my Gibson guitar. They got it secondhand, but it’s a beauty with a flamed maple top and a tiger green nitrocellulose finish. It has a sweet rosewood fingerboard, and a mahogany body that fits me like it was made for me. Once in a while I play for my folks, andmy mom puts on this bright little smile, nods and says, “That’s great, Jay.”
    My dad squints and tries to find the rhythm with his fingers tapping the table, says he wishes he’d learned to play. And that’s about all I have to do to keep them happy.
    That, plus keep curfew and go to school, although grade eleven isn’t my favorite gig. The other thing my parents do is keep a five-dollar bill taped to the door of the fridge. It got stuck there when they said I had an attitude problem back in grade ten. It came with the message,
If you don’t want to follow the rules, there’s your one-way ticket out of here, Jay.
    How far am I going to get on five bucks? I’m not stupid. I do what I have to do, be a regular guy who lives with a regular family in a regular house in the suburbs of Vancouver. If there’s an upside to school, it’s the band battles we have at lunchtime. Every couple of months we get to set up in the gym and go at it. Lately, we’ve won every time. Which leads me toanother upside of school. The girls seem to like musicians. I get a fair bit of female attention. Okay, so maybe that isn’t a good thing. I know I shouldn’t complain, but it seems like a lot of those girls are like Amy. Pushy types who probably have way more experience than me.
    Experience. That’s my biggest problem. I just don’t have enough experience in anything, and I consider this a flaw. How’s an average guy like me supposed to come up with good music material when I haven’t done anything yet? Sometimes I think I ought to take that five bucks and go, just hit the streets and find out what life is really about. It sucks to be stuck in kidville.
    Today, Kel and I are headed for the music store. We won’t be able to buy anything, but we go there just to pick out what we’re going to buy when The Lunar Ticks make it big. It’s like a ritual, same thing every time. We pause before entering the store, scan the display window, draw out the moment. Then we walk in and Kelforgets to breathe. He forgets to drop his backpack at the sales counter. He forgets that he usually trips over his ski feet when he moves too fast. It’s like his brain is erased every time he enters the presence of the Fender Precision bass with sunburst finish.
    Once we’re standing in front of that glass case, Kel always whispers, “It’s still here.”
    He puts his nose within a hair of the glass and drinks in every shiny, sexy curve of that guitar. His long face actually gets longer as he gazes, probably because his mouth hangs open. I figure he’s hearing Roger Waters from Pink Floyd laying down the bass line for “Money” on his Sunburst Fender. I swear, if Kel ever starts drooling, I’m going to hit him.
    â€œYeah,” I say. “There it is.” I don’t know what will happen to him if someone else buys the Fender. He’ll probably keel over on the spot. I hope that day never comes.
    A tinny bit of a Green Day tune breaks the spell this time. Kel startles and his nose bumps the display case, marking it witha smudge. Then he digs in his pocket for his cell. “Hey,” he croaks. His voice isn’t back to normal