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anymore? Oh, no. I’m shrinking again.

Chapter Ten
    â€œOhhh-kay, Ace! Lay it on us.” It’s Saturday night practice. We’ve just finished listening to Pig’s song. Well, actually it was a drum solo. Archie shot upstairs when Pig got going. I can hear him yowling up there somewhere.
    Now it’s my turn. My fingers are shaky. I pretend to check my tuning. “Okay,” I say, “I’m not quite done yet. It’s, like, a road song.” I make the C power chord on the acoustic and blow the start. I take a breath and try again. This time I get it. I don’t hit all the high notes, and I mess up a couple of chords, but it’s pretty good:
    Running running running it’s a thing
that I do
    Running running running far away
from you
    Running running running is the
thing that I know
    Running running running and I have
to go
    I’m sleeping in the backseat and
running all the time
    Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh duh
    Duh-duh-duh-duh duh duh
    Duh.
    I stop. “The duh s aren’t really the lyrics. I haven’t got them right yet. But that’s the idea.”
    It’s still quiet. I say, “And I didn’t hit all the high notes ’cause…” I point upstairs, where Mom might be listening.
    It’s still quiet. Finally, Denny nods and says, “Okay.” Pig shrugs and nods.
    That’s all that they say. I feel like Led Zeppelin with a leak. Geez, all Pig came up with was a drum solo. A drum solo. I only said I liked it to be nice.
    â€œIt’s okay? That’s it?” I hear my voice squeak a little.
    â€œWell, what do you want?” Denny says. “We only heard it once.”
    What do I want? I was hoping for fireworks and these guys falling off their chairs. Then a standing O, a million dollars and Lisa forgetting the cat barf comment and saying I’m cool.
    â€œWant me to play it again?” I say.
    â€œLet me do mine first.” Denny grins and pulls out a distortion pedal. “Wait till you hear this,” he says. He plugs the Teleporter into it and hits a power chord. The sound crunches through the basement.
    â€œOkay,” Denny says. He unfolds a paper with writing on it and lays it on his amp. “This is called ‘Got to Rock.’”
    â€œThat’s original,” I say. I fold my arms tight. My pits have gone cold where I’ve been sweating.
    Denny doesn’t seem to hear. He starts chopping a rhythm so fast it’s practically punk. He sings:
    Used to walk but now I run
    Used to talk but now it’s sung
    Used to dock—now I roam
    Used to sway but now I rock
    Used to groove but now I shock
    Got to rock—like a rolling stone
    He gets that far, and I already know it’s good. It’s way better than mine. Even though we’re all a band, I feel like I’m doomed. Halfway through, Mom sprouts magically on the stairs. When Denny finishes, she claps. Then she takes out an earplug and asks, “Is that one that you guys wrote?”
    â€œWell, I did, actually,” Denny says. He’s grinning like a maniac. “It’s for the contest.” He tells my mom all about it.
    â€œWow,” says Mom. “That’s great. It’s catchy. It reminds me of…oh, I don’t know, what’s that song? What is it, Davey?”
    I shrug and I say, “I’m not an Abba expert.” My mom loves Denny’s song. This does not make me overjoyed.
    Denny jumps in, saying, “It sounds a little like lots of songs, probably. That’s how you can tell it’s good.”
    Thank you, Mr. Modest.
    â€œI never thought of it that way,” Mom says. “You said two songs. What’s the other?”
    â€œAce wrote one,” Denny says.
    â€œLater,” I say to Mom. I start to fold up my paper.
    â€œOh, c’mon.” she says.
    â€œLater.”
    Mom shakes her head. “Then later it will be,” she says. “Does anyone want anything