Rock Star Read Free Page A

His face is blank.
    “Hey there, fighter dude. Nice bruise on your forehead. Who’re you?” he says.
    “Um. I’m Duncan. Duncan McCann.”
    Grant says nothing. It’s uncomfortable. One of his buddies snorts, then makes this farting noise.
    “I’m the bass player…who answered the ad.” My voice sounds small and all wimpy. This happens sometimes when I get nervous.
    “Oh yeah?” says Grant.
    “Not McCann. He’s a goof,” says Grant’s buddy. With his crew cut and thick neck, he looks like a weight lifter. He looks like an extra-large bulldog. Kind of like the guy who tripped me, actually.
    “Shut up,” says Grant to the bulldog. Then he turns back to me. “Can you play?”
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “McCann doesn’t know how to play bass,” says Bulldog.
    “Hey, didn’t I tell you to shut up?” says Grant. He’s still looking at me, like he’s sizing me up or something.
    “Can you come to our jam tomorrow after school?” he says.
    “Uh, yeah. No problem.”
    “Okay.” Grant writes his address out on a piece of paper. He tells me to be there at 4:00. Then he turns back to his buddies again. I walk back to our table. My face is on fire, like a bad sunburn.
    “So,” says Jason. “I can’t believe that guy who tripped you.”
    “Yeah.”
    “What happened? With Newson, I mean.”
    “I’m gonna try out,” I say. “You know, like an audition.”
    “Cool.”
    “Yeah,” I say. I feel all nervous and jumbled up inside. But happy too. In fact, I’m excited like I haven’t been for a long time. Ever since before Mom died, anyway.

Chapter Three
    I wake up thinking, Oh man. Not another day of school. Then I remember the rock band audition with Grant Newson. The bottom of my stomach gets all tingly.
    Of course, I’ve got to make sure I don’t forget to bring my bass to school. That would be a disaster. Besides, I need it for my band class. That’s the first class of the day, in fact.
    I’m almost late for school because I have to lug my amp as well as my guitar. Plus I’ve got my usual jumbo backpack of books along for the ride. Band class goes okay, although the dude who plays bass drum is farting like crazy, of course. What does this guy eat for breakfast? Because it’s not working out for him.
    After we play a medley of Disney movie tunes for forty-five minutes—why Disney, for the love of god?—class is over. I see Jennifer, the girl I kind of like. She looks over at me and actually smiles. Wow. So I make myself walk over. Heck, if I can do it with Grant Newson, I can do it with her, right?
    “Hi,” I say.
    “Hi there. You’re Duncan, right?”
    “Yeah…Hey, I like the way you play clarinet.”
    “You can really hear me?” she says. “From all the way at the back?” She smiles. This Jennifer is a really cool girl.
    “Well, not really. But you, uh…look like you’re having fun playing your horn and all.”
    Jennifer smiles again, almost laughing. Then she closes her clarinet case.
    “Well…,” she says, “see you next band class, I guess.”
    Crap. Having fun playing your horn? Why did I say something so stupid? Is a clarinet even a horn? I don’t know. What an idiot.
    The rest of the day is a drag. Even more than usual. That’s because I’m waiting for 4:00 to roll around. The teachers just drone on and on. History. English. Math. The day takes forever.
    Finally the bell rings. I’ve got to phone a cab to get to Grant’s house, which makes me sort of uptight. Plus I have to drag my bass amp along. But Dad gave me the money for a taxi, so it’s cool. I kill time until 3:30 pm, just sitting on the front lawn of the school, then phone for the cab.
    “Here’s the place,” says the cab driver, pulling up. Man. It’s kind of a dump. I’m not a snob or anything. I mean, our house isn’t exactly a mansion. But this place looks like it needed a new coat of paint in 1971.
    A note on the front door says McCann: Go around to the side of the house. Basement door . Well, at