Street Notes

By Lisa McManus

All 15-year-old Nick Zinsky wanted was a guitar of his own and a necklace for his mom, and he wanted to buy both on his own, without anyone’s help.

Nick’s mom want him to focus on school and not get a job. But Nick is anxious to save up, so he spends the summer and weekends busking downtown with a guitar loaned from school – a secret he has to keep from his mom, his music teacher, his friends, and especially from the school bully, Beau.

But when a music competition is announced where the prizes would solve all Nick’s problems, Nick lacks the confidence to enter.

Can he find the courage to enter and will it make his problems disappear?

Author note: ‘Street Notes’ is a story about bullying, a teens’ struggle for independence, and about learning that sometimes it’s okay to ask for help.

This book was previously published with the title “Newbie Nick” in June 2014.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Opal Moon Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781944060763

Lisa McManus

Lisa McManus writes for children and young adults - her young adult novella 'That Night' is published by Evernight Teen (Evernight Publishing) She is also a multi-published author of slice-of-life stories regularly featured in Chicken Soup for the Soul. Find her at www.lisamcmanus.com and www.lisamcmanuslange.blogspot.com She lives on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada.

Book preview

Publisher

Street Notes

All 15-year-old Nick Zinsky wanted was a guitar of his own and a necklace for his mom, and he wanted to buy both on his own, without

anyone’s

help

.

Nick’s mom doesn’t want him to get a job but to focus on school, but he’s anxious to save up so he spends the summer and weekends busking downtown with a guitar loaned from school – a secret he has to keep from her, his music teacher, his friends and especially from the school

bully

,

Beau

.

But when a music competition is announced where the prizes would solve all Nick’s problems, Nick lacks the confidence to enter the competition.

Does he find the courage to enter? Does he ever get his guitar?

‘Street Notes’ is a story about bullying, a teens’ struggle for independence, and about learning that sometimes it’s okay to ask

for

help

.

---

This book was previously published with the title Newbie Nick in

June

2014

.

One

"

W

hatcha

doin

'?"

I stopped playing and looked up. Even though I was wearing sunglasses, I had to shield my eyes from

the

sun

.

It was that little girl again.

I'm playing the guitar. I wasn't trying to be a rude jerk or anything, but I didn't have much time for her. She was too shy to talk when she hung around me yesterday. Her dad, or uncle, or whoever from the shop next to me kept a watchful eye on her, peeking out the store door every few minutes.

I figured if I ignored her, she would go away. Traffic wasn't busy on the street which meant less noise, and thankfully the sidewalks were busy with tourists and shoppers. If I was gonna make some decent cash today, I needed to keep playing. Being distracted by a little kid wasn’t gonna

help

me

.

I had just started strumming, remembering how my grandpa taught me to place my fingers, when she spoke again.

Why are you playing? she singsonged. Her whiny voice

bugged

me

.

How do you explain being a street busker to a kid who looks like a kindergartener?

As she picked her nose, some guy threw a dollar into my

guitar

case

.

Thank you! I

called

out

.

Some might laugh at getting only a dollar. I figure every little bit counts, and I had big plans for the money I was making. I was saving up for a sleek guitar for me and a necklace for my mom’s fortieth birthday. I didn't consider what I had been doing all summer as charity. My mom has always worked hard for us, taking nothing for herself, so I wanted to do something nice for her and. I was gonna do it all on my own no matter what. I worked for every dime I got. My mom always says money doesn't matter when you have people in your life that care as much as they do. Whatever. Money makes the world go ‘round,

I

say

.

I looked at the little girl, stalling to think about how to answer.

Jessica, are you okay? her father, or uncle, or whoever called from the store, biding me time to think of how to

answer

her

.

I'm fine, Daddy! she hollered as she twirled her hair with a dirty finger.

When I first started coming downtown at the beginning of summer, her dad would scowl at me from the store's doorway. I was waiting for the day he would call the police on me, but lucky for me, he never had. Yet. I always try to move spots so as not to attract too much attention but there are only so many sidewalks I can use. And although being seen and heard is a must for any guitarist playing for money, I had to be careful not to be seen by anyone

I

knew

.

Jessica’s dad went back inside the store leaving the annoying little girl still waiting for my answer. I groaned. I want to buy a guitar and one day play like my grandpa. Okay? So— ya— bye. I

rushed

out

.

Whyyyy? This time she sat down on the sidewalk

beside

me

.

I strummed a few chords. The people passing by ignored us. Every second chatting with the little girl meant lost business for me. People wouldn’t take me seriously if I was distracted and chatting with some kid. If I could just get my story out quick, I thought, maybe she would leave, I could only hope. I knew she wouldn't care and probably wouldn't tell anyone. And besides, a little twerp like her wouldn't understand anyways.

Sweat dribbled down my back, and I knew the peanut butter and jam sandwich in my backpack would soon be warm and soggy.

I looked at her and started again. I want to one day play like my grandpa because he was the best guitarist ever. He was a music teacher and taught me how to play when I was a little kid like you. Before I knew it, I was babbling on. If I want to play like him, to be like him, I need my own guitar.

A guy passing by threw a few coins in my case, the sound of money rushing me on. Someone stole his old guitar from my grandma's house, and I haven't been able to play unless I borrow a guitar from school. So I want my own. I stopped. Why had I gone on and on

like

that

?

Doesn't he play the guitar anymore? she asked as if I hadn't rambled on about any of the other stuff.

He died a while ago. And I miss him so much, I wanted to add, but didn't. I didn't want to sound like a freak, even if only to a stupid

little

kid

.

Is he in heaven? She looked fearful for a second.

Yes, he is, I said, and she sagged in relief as if worried he wasn't.

She picked at a worn edge of the guitar case, looked at the money inside, and then said, Why don't you work at a store to get money? If you have a store like my daddy, you could make lots of money!

She was really starting to get on my nerves. I couldn't blame her for my frustrations— it wasn’t her fault I needed to keep working.

I strummed again. After being without a guitar for a year, not only had I gotten rusty and lost my touch, but I had forgotten how playing made any mixed-up feelings disappear.

Missing my grandpa had me wanting to play again. My grade nine music teacher nicknamed ‘Shark’ had loaned me a guitar to practice with on the weekends. He knew my mom couldn't afford to rent one. It was nice of Shark to do that and all, but borrowing a guitar wasn't enough for me. I wanted my own. I hated not having something to play during the week, but feeling like a charity case and borrowing one was worse.

So when summer came, Shark secretly let me borrow the guitar for the summer. The school wouldn't approve if they knew. Even though a guitar with Mattheson High School in black ink down the side of the body wasn't exactly cool, at least I could play. But if Shark knew what I had really been using the guitar for, I don't think he would exactly approve, either.

Jessica still watched me, waiting.

I gave in. My mom won’t let me get a job. She wants me to concentrate on school, I hurried. But next year I’m gonna get a real job. I don’t care how important she says school is. Everyone else has real jobs. Just thinking about it was starting to irritate me, and a kid hanging around only made things worse. I had to get rid of her somehow.

In a nice, fake, happy voice I said, "Hey, I think your dad is calling you. I think you better

go

now

."

At the mention of her dad, her eyes widened and she jumped