Buku When I Was Summer by J. B. Howard
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When I Was Summer by J. B. Howard

Author:J. B. Howard

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group

Published: 2019-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

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When I Was Summer by J. B. Howard

CHAPTER 12

Juan, the manager of JT’s Burgers, tells us he’s a musician, too, and he’s been looking forward to us playing at his restaurant ever since I called. He’s short and pudgy, probably in his thirties.

“You know Van Morrison?” he asks us as we set up. “‘Brown Eyed Girl’ is a good song.” He strums an imaginary guitar and bobs his head.

 

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When I Was Summer by J. B. Howard

Author:J. B. Howard , Date: June 11, 2019

,Views: 24

Author:J. B. Howard

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group

Published: 2019-04-29T16:00:00+00:00
CHAPTER 12

Juan, the manager of JT’s Burgers, tells us he’s a musician, too, and he’s been looking forward to us playing at his restaurant ever since I called. He’s short and pudgy, probably in his thirties.

“You know Van Morrison?” he asks us as we set up. “‘Brown Eyed Girl’ is a good song.” He strums an imaginary guitar and bobs his head.

“Yeah, we know it,” Daniel says.

Juan points at Daniel, covers his mouth with his hand. “That’s the first song I learned, man. It’s a pretty good song. No?”

“Yeah,” Flynn says flatly. It’s clear he wishes Juan would let us set up in peace. “It’s a classic.”

But I like Juan. I turn to him and say, “Do you want to play that song with us? We cover it all the time.”

Juan holds his hands up in front of his shoulders and shakes his head. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.” But then he lifts his air guitar again and strums a few chords.

Cameron gestures to Daniel’s guitar and says, “You should definitely play it with us.”

“No, I’m not a real musician like you guys,” he says. But he’s already stepped over to Daniel’s guitar. “This is a nice instrument.” He drags a finger across the strings. “What kind?”

“Gibson Les Paul,” Daniel says. The usual lightness is gone from his voice. The one thing he never jokes about is his guitar.

Juan nods. “I’ve got a pretty good one, too. Fender Squier. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know it,” Daniel says. The Squier is Fender’s starter guitar; the strings don’t hold their tuning for more than a couple songs. But Daniel sounds fairly convincing as he adds, “It’s a good one.”

Cameron stifles a laugh as he says, “Hey, Juan, you should play Dan’s guitar tonight, when you play ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’”

“No, no, man,” Juan says. But he immediately follows that up with, “Maybe I’ll come play one song with you. Yeah? A little Van Morrison?”

“Great,” Cameron says, pointing to him. “We’re going to hold you to that.”

Juan smiles broadly, then sings the Sha-la-la chorus of “Brown Eyed Girl” as he disappears inside the restaurant.

Cameron’s thick eyebrows rise almost to his hairline as he says, “He actually has a good singing voice.”

“Great.” Daniel glares at him. “But he’s playing your guitar.”

“Fine,” Cameron says. “Then I’m playing yours.”

Juan squeezed the four plastic outdoor tables into one corner of the patio to make room for us, but there still isn’t space for Flynn’s whole drum kit. He sets up a few pieces, and I place my bass amp next to him. I can’t stand without risking knocking over one of Flynn’s cymbals, so I sit cross-legged on top of my amp and pull my bass into my lap. While Daniel and Cameron look through our gig book and discuss song order, Flynn starts drumming a simple beat. I feel the rhythm for a couple measures, then come in on a funky bass line—nothing too fancy, just a D-minor riff with plenty of space and groove.

As the progression evolves, I close my eyes and let my chin hang toward my chest.

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