Petey, my next-door neighbor, called to me from his front porch. I sat on the steps next to him and watched him play his new guitar.
“My dad found this guitar at the thrift store,” said Petey. “It’s the best guitar ever!” His left hand worked the strings while his right hand plucked and strummed.
“Just in time for the school talent show next week,” I said.
“Are you doing anything for the talent show, Jeremy?” Petey asked.
“No,” I said. “If I were a little older, like you, maybe I could play a musical instrument, too.” I kicked a stone into the grass. “I bet you’ll win first prize this year.”
“Maybe,” said Petey. “I’m playing a song I wrote myself.”
My eyes bugged out.
“You write your own songs?”
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