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changed the words around and sped it up. Big deal. It’s still a rip-off. And you stole one of Chuck’s cds.”
    Denny laughs. “Oh, come on, Ace. I borrowed it. You can have it back.”
    I throw the Frisbee back to him, harder. Now I’m almost yelling. “That’s not what matters, and you know it. No wonder your song was so good. You cheated. I really wrote a song.”
    â€œHey, not so loud, okay?” Denny says and looks around.
    I snap, “What? Are you afraid the video girls might hear?”
    â€œYeah,” he says. His throw goes high again. I have to jump for it. “I’ve been hanging with them. They’re getting interested in a project.”
    â€œRight,” I say. I throw too low.
    â€œNo, they are. Who knows what might happen?” Denny wiggles his eyebrows. He throws high again . I jump to my right and miss.
    â€œDon’t change the subject. You copped the song. I wrote one.”
    Denny sighs and says, “Look, Ace, no offence but, which one was better? Huh? I don’t mean your song sucks. There isn’t time to write a good song. The contest is next Friday.” He throws. This one I catch, even though it’s way over my head. Denny is as crappy at Frisbee as I am. I’m surprised he doesn’t have someone throwing for him. I throw back another worm burner.
    â€œWe’re going to do your song too,” Denny says.
    I moan. “Aw, for—”
    â€œMy bad,” Denny says.
    Denny’s throw has gone really wild this time. The Frisbee is hanging from a tree branch. We jump for it, but it’s just out of reach. We’re not supposed to climb the trees at school, but this one is easy and it’ll take a second. I start for it, but Denny scrambles up first. He reaches for the branch.
    â€œLook, Ace,” he says from above, “we’re in this together, right? It doesn’t matter who wrote the song, as long as it’s ours, right? And we’re all working to learn how to play it, right? So we’re all kind of writing it. With Chuck. We’re getting his song heard, and we’re making it better. It’s not like we’re ripping him off for money.”
    I don’t say anything.
    â€œWe don’t have to say it’s mine,” Denny says. “It’s ours. Okay?”
    I look up at Denny. He’s got his big goofy grin on his face. “We want to win, right? Video club girls, right?”
    I think about winning. Forget the video club girls. I imagine Lisa thinking that I helped write the song.
    I nod. Denny shakes the tree branch. The Frisbee drops into my hand like a big fat apple. I look up. Denny’s already tweeting.

Chapter Twelve
    I get to be Facebook friends with Lisa. It’s stupid, but I am too chicken to ask if she wants to meet up at lunch one day. I tell myself she’s too busy anyway, that her band is probably practicing. I’ll see her at the contest.
    The contest is coming up fast. We’re supposed to be practicing too, but really I am the only one who practices.
    Pig is “busy.” With what? Who knows? His hair is even shorter, and now he wears aviator shades all the time. Denny, Mister Showbiz, is too busy tweeting. All he ever talks about is Alison and Jessica and the other video girls. He’s late all the time. Do they care about this, or what?
    Meanwhile, I keep working on my song. I mean, how cool would it be if mine got so good that it won? Then it wouldn’t matter about Chuck’s song. I get all the duhs out of my lyrics. I decide to call it “Sleeping in the Backseat.”
    I like my tune so much that I’m almost okay with playing it for Mom. I don’t want to tell her that though. Instead I strum Chuck’s guitar a bunch when she’s around, in case that gives her the idea to ask about my song.
    I’m playing guitar in the kitchen on Tuesday when she comes in. She’s carrying red