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This is an advance, uncorrected proof. Not for resale, duplication, or reposting. Please do not quote without comparison to the finished book.
To my five darlings, who have heard their fair share of bands in basements!
—K.B.
To Ferris, whose music fills the house at night —J.M.
The illustrations for this book were made with Gelli print collage and digital mixed media.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4197-6907-8
Text © 2024 Kelly J. Baptist
Illustrations © 2024 Jenin Mohammed
Book design by Andrea Miller and Natalie Padberg Bartoo
Published in 2024 by Abrams Books for Young Readers, an imprint of ABRAMS.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
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Printed and bound in China 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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BASEMENT The Ban d in Our N
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Daddy’s band is in our basement . . .
We can’t fall asleep!
Mama said, “Go right to bed and do not make a peep!”
But the sounds downstairs are funky and we start to wiggle toes.
We flip-flop and we giggle with sheets up to the nose.
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The rhythm’s steady, the trumpet’s sweet.
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Before too long, we’re on our feet!
“Shhhh!” my brother, Kenny, says, dancing all around. He makes some funny faces and I laugh without a sound.
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I hear the bass guitar and say, “I
bet that’s Uncle Roy!”
I bust some moves and do a spin . . .
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but
There goes a toy!
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The music stops . . . Our stomachs drop . . . We freeze . . .
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Then Daddy starts the beat again, and boy, are we relieved!
“That was super close,” I say, and climb back into bed.
But Kenny grins and whispers he has other plans instead.
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“Let’s sneak downstairs and watch them play!”
I shake my head. “Uh-uh, no way!”
Kenny grabs my arm. “Let’s go!
We’ll sneak down fast; they’ll never know!”
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“Alright, alright,” I say at last, excited just like him.
We creep into the hallway where the light is soft and dim.
Careful, careful, can’t be caught. Careful, careful, down the stairs. Tiptoe past the squeaky spot. Tiptoe, tiptoe, almost there!
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The main floor is a danger zone, ’cause Mama might be near— sipping soda in the kitchen, reading in her chair.
Footsteps close—look out, we’re toast! We’re busted, it’s no joke! But then we sigh, ’cause walking by is Clansy with a Coke.
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He opens up the basement door, and WHOOSH!
The music gives a ROAR!
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“C’mon,” says Kenny; I agree. Downstairs is where we gotta be. We wait ’til Clansy’s back on keys . . .
. . . then creep down slow, so no one sees.
My heart is thumping with the beat; the basement’s thick with sound and heat. Cords and amps and music stands are packed in tight around the band. This is an advance, uncorrected proof. Not for resale, duplication, or reposting. Please do not quote without comparison to the finished book.
“Back
from the top!” Big Frankie shouts.
The band knows what he’s talkin’ ’bout.
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They slide into a jazzy groove.
I’m still, but man, I want to move!
We bob our heads to parts we like, and then a singer takes the mic. Her voice is perfect, clear as day. And BAM! It hits us right away!
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Kenny pokes me, eyes aglow . . .
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That’s Mama’s voice stealing the show!
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“My my my, funny as can be!
Got four li’l eyes think I don’t see.
My my my, hear what I say:
Those four li’l feet betta scurry away!”
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We hang our heads and stand up slow. I guess it’s time for us to go. But then the band begins to sing . . .
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“Come
on, come back! Come join this thing!”
Daddy nods and taps his feet.
I grab the sticks and find the beat. Kenny gets the microphone; the whole band laughs and plays along.
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My brother hits a note so high! I make sure the drumsticks fly!
Mama scats and claps her hands!
We’re all a part of Daddy’s band!
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We jam until we start to yawn. It’s almost time to end the fun.
When Daddy nods, we say goodnight.
We head to bed without a fight.
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Slowly, slowly, up the stairs, the squeaky ones and all. The music’s like a lullaby that trails us down the hall.
We do our special handshake and fall into our beds.
“Next time, we’ll sneak down early in disguises,” Kenny says.
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We dream of all the songs we’ll write and practicing we’ll do.
We promise we’ll be ready when it’s Daddy’s band . . . plus two!
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