I Am (Not) the Walrus

Ed Briant

Language: English

Pages: 288

ISBN: 073873246X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

HOW TO CURE THE BROKENHEARTED, STOLEN BASS BLUES

Toby and Zack’s first gig could make or break their Beatles cover band, the Nowhere Men. But ever since getting dumped by his girlfriend, lead singer Toby can’t quite pull off the Beatles’ feel-good vibe. When Toby finds a note hidden inside his brother’s bass claiming the instrument was stolen, he embarks on a quest to find the true owner―and hopes a girl named Michelle will help him recover his lost mojo along the way.

Praise:
"Fast-paced, with authentic characters (the chemistry between Toby and Michelle is particularly satisfying) and a general air of good-natured fun, Briant’s story rings true and doesn’t disappoint."―Publisher's Weekly

"Briant has an ear for smart-aleck teen talk and keeps the first-person narration crisp. A light and entertaining rock-'n'-roll romp."―Kirkus Reviews 

The Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Treasure Hunt (Judy Moody & Stink, Book 2)

The Fourth Stall, Part 2

Look Out Secret Seven (Secret Seven, Book 14)

Ninja Timmy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

board. In fact, he’s studying it so avidly I get the impression he’s looking for errors. I need to answer the question about sharks, so I close my own gaping jaws, wander over to the board, and skim the text from over the kid’s shoulder. All I get to read is that the tank contains sand tiger sharks, nurse sharks, and a blacktip reef shark, and they all have jaws that open and close automatically. Then the kid sneers at me, shakes his head in disdain, and moves in front of me, blocking

Monday night. Why don’t you come along?” “Oh,” says Zack. “Be really nice, but we’re playing on Monday night as well.” “Wait a minute,” I say, with more than a touch of trepidation. “What’s the name of your band?” “The Disappointed Parents,” says Jasper. “That makes no sense,” says Zack. He stabs a finger at Jasper. “If you’re in the Disappointed Parents, then how come we didn’t know about it?” “I only joined them a couple of weeks ago,” says Jasper. “Their old drummer

won’t have to lug it about with you.” I think about telling Michelle how much the bass is worth. Then I decide not to. One stressed-out person in our group is enough. Besides, I can always tell her after I give it back. Julie’s house is only about five minutes from the bus station, and in the opposite direction to Mariner Street. We hurry past used car showrooms, fast food restaurants, and empty shops. Barnard Street itself is lined with crumbling Victorian row houses and empty lots.

the storm. Or maybe it’s heading away from us. Can I actually bring myself to say this? If I reveal that there’s a thief in my family then she’ll never be interested in me again. Not that it matters now. Nothing is going to happen this evening, and this was my last chance. “Either that or he stole it from Rupert.” There I’ve said it. I turn and study Michelle’s profile as the surf booms onto the sand, expecting her to make some excuse, jump down from the platform, and go home. But she

turns out that I need the knife again, as the plastic panel is recessed into the wooden body. I hold my breath as I use the tip of the knife to pry it up. Underneath, the body is hollowed out to make room for the drum-shaped pods connected to the volume and tone controls. There’s also a little bird’s nest of wires that flip upward when I take away the lid. I lean forward and blow away some old sawdust, some of which goes in my eye. I wipe it away, and blink. The drum-shaped pods

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