Molly's Promise

by Sylvia Olsen

  Molly’s shivering lips slurped hot chocolate from a thermos. “Mmm, thanks,” she said. “This hits the spot.”

  Soon a crowd of Riverside fans had lined one side of the field, and Central Avenue fans lined the other. The game got off to a quick start. Eli made a pass that bounced off a Cougar defenseman and went into the net off the goalpost. The crowd erupted. A lucky fluke for the Strikers. The excitement died down as the game turned into a running match—the Riverside boys were chasing the ball, not playing it. After a Cougar defenseman kicked the ball into his own net, the score at half time was 2-0 Strikers.

  “Murphy said you might join the girls’ soccer team,” Murphy’s mom said. “He told me about the race. You beat him by a mile. Way to go, girl.”

  “Not quite a mile,” Molly said. “But I don’t think I want to play soccer.”

  “Really?” she said. “You love soccer.”

  “I think I make a better fan than a player.”

  They watched without talking for a few minutes.

  “What would you like to do?” Celia asked.

  Molly pulled the blanket up around her ears. She couldn’t bring herself to speak the words that were bubbling up inside.

  Celia looked sideways at her and said, “Moll, what do you have stashed away in that head of yours?”

  Molly wanted to tell her about the talent competition. She wanted to tell her that she wanted to sing.

  “I want to see my mom,” Molly said. “I want to know about her. When I ask Dad, he either gets mad, changes the subject or looks sad. How come?”

  “I don’t know why he does that,” Celia said and looked back at the game.

  The Cougars’ fans exploded. The players huddled and high-fived in front of Murphy’s net.

  “Did you see what happened?” Celia asked.

  “No,” Molly said. “I can’t believe I missed it.”

  Murphy emerged from the crowd, holding the ball. He rolled it to the referee. The score was 2-1.

  “Hey, Moll, I’m sorry about your mom,” Celia said. “How about I talk to your dad?”

  “Sure, thanks,” Molly said.

  “But that’s not everything, is it?” she said.

  Molly took a deep breath.

  Finally the words came out. “There’s a talent competition in town,” she said. “I want to enter. But I also don’t really want to. I don’t want to compete. I just want to sing.”

  Once Molly started to talk, she couldn’t stop. “Paige is going to dance. A lot of grade eights are entering.” The words flooded out. She told Celia about the competition, her dad and the boys. “I want to sing more than anything.” She stopped for a moment, then added, “Other than seeing my mom.”

  Celia’s jaw slackened and her eyes opened wide. “Wow, honey,” she said. “Thanks for sharing that with me. I didn’t even know you sang.”

  “I don’t,” Molly said. “I mean, I don’t sing to anyone but myself, with my mouth closed. I mean, I don’t sing out loud. Except for once, when I sang to Dad.”

  Celia bit her lip as if it was she now who didn’t know what to say. “He must have been surprised,” she said.

  “I think I surprised myself as much as him,” Molly said. “I’ve listened to my voice in my head, but I didn’t know it would feel that good to sing out loud.”

  Celia laughed. “Okay, Moll. That’s a bit crazy, girl. But I hear you.”

  Their conversation ended when the Cougars charged into Murphy’s zone. The Striker defensemen were scattered across the field. Molly and Celia threw off their blankets, jumped up and screamed, “Danny! Avtar! Where are you guys?”

  The Cougar players passed the ball in front of the net, up the wing and then back across the back line.

  Molly clenched her fists. If they scored, the game would be tied.

  Murphy’s eyes never left the ball. Danny and the other Striker defensemen were losing ground as the play moved closer and closer to Murphy and the net. Molly swallowed the lump in her throat. The Strikers left way too much to Murphy, as far as she was concerned.

  “Come on, Danny!” she hollered. “Get with the game.”

  A Cougar player passed the ball to his wingman. A tall lanky boy trapped it, took a stride and wound up. Murphy moved to the right in anticipation. The striker kicked with brutal force, sending the ball to Murphy’s left. The crowd went silent for a second. Molly watched the ball soar through the air. As it did, Murphy quickly changed his position. The tips of his fingers connected with the ball just inside the goal-post. He curled his hands around the flying rocket and dropped like a stone onto the ground. Both teams charged in front of him and halted a short distance from the pile that was his body and the ball.

  Albert appeared next to Molly. They grabbed each other and jumped up and down, screaming, “Murphy, Murphy!”

  The few minutes left in the game resulted in another goal for Riverside. The deflated Cougars took no more shots on Murphy. His big save had given the Strikers the confidence they needed to take control of the play.

  With the win, the Riverside Strikers were the Valley Cup champions for the first time in fifteen years. Murphy’s final, spectacular save had also won him the most valuable player award.

  “Wow,” Molly said after the crowd had settled down. “That was way too stressful for me. I don’t know how Murphy does it.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Good morning, Riverside students.” Ms. Clarkson’s voice was always particularly cheery on Fridays. “Spring soccer starts in a few weeks. The girls’ team is looking for players. It’s a good time for anyone who hasn’t played before to try out. And we have had a great response to the talent-show registration. But today is your last chance to get a form. They must be returned to the office, with the fee attached, by Monday noon.”

  Molly felt inside the pocket of her jacket. The twenty-five dollars her dad had given her was there. She had thought about giving it back to him. After Murphy’s last game, she’d decided that competition was okay for Murphy, but not for her. She would have to find another place to sing.

  “This morning I want to have a discussion about the talent show,” Mr. Bahli said when the announcements were finished. “Has anyone in this class entered?”

  Veronica, a worried-looking girl who sat in the far corner of the room, put up her hand and nodded.

  “Veronica?” Mr. Bahli said, looking surprised. “Wonderful! What’s your talent?”

  “Piano,” Veronica quietly said.

  “That’s fantastic!” he said, walking down the aisle toward her desk. “Have you performed before?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve been doing piano recitals since I was four years old.”

  “Really! Tell us about them.”

  “Some are good. Some aren’t so good,” she said. “During the Christmas holidays, I went to Toronto to compete for a place in a summer music school. Last week I got an acceptance letter in the mail.”

  “Wow! That’s so great,” Molly said. “Good for you.”

  It was easy to imagine Veronica as a concert pianist. She had delicate features and slender hands, with perfectly groomed oval nails. Veronica looked like the kind of girl whose parents could afford piano lessons.

  “So what do we think about competition?” Mr. Bahli asked the rest of the class.

  “It’s all about winning. Second place is first loser,” Danny said. “Like on Wednesday. The pressure was on, and we kicked the Cougars’ butts. We rocked.”

  “I don’t expect to win the talent competition,” Veronica said, louder than before. “A singer or dancer will win. I need to practice, and the competition will help me with my performances. I just want to play the piano the best I can.”

  Molly didn’t care about winning. But she wasn’t calm like Veronica. When she thought about the competition, the butterflies in her stomach turned into swarms of bumblebees.

  “So,” Mr. Bahli said, “everyone has their own reason for competing.”

  Now that Molly
had heard her voice out loud, she loved the way it sounded. And she loved the way she had felt when her dad was listening. Now all she wanted to do was sing. The competition would give her that chance, just like Veronica said.

  At lunchtime, Molly charged out of the classroom alone and ran down the hall to the office. “Can I have a registration form, please?” she asked.

  The secretary said, “Sure thing. What are you going to perform in the show, Molly?”

  “Sing,” she said, surprising herself with her confidence. She didn’t notice Fi and Dede sitting in the hall.

  The girls burst into laughter. “Sing?” Dede said.

  Fi clasped her hands over her ears. “Will we have to listen?” she asked.

  “No, you don’t have to listen. But you do have to be respectful, and that was rude,” the secretary said.

  Fi whispered something in Dede’s ear, and the two of them burst into laughter again.

  Molly took the form and shot out the door. Part of her wanted to tear it up and never think about the competition again. But part of her wanted to show the girls that she could sing. Still another part of her wanted to hear her voice in the huge auditorium at the community center. Then she thought about her mom and felt a twinge of guilt. Even though she had made another promise, Molly still worried about singing in front of a crowd before she sang for her mom. It didn’t feel right.

  Molly was in such a muddle that she almost ran into Murphy in the hallway. She hid the form behind her back. “Where did you come from?” she asked.

  “What do you mean? I’ve been looking for you.” He peered around her shoulder. “What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing,” Molly said. “Just a form from the office.”

  “What form?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell the other boys.”

  Murphy looked confused.

  Molly knew that having a boy as a best friend had its problems. Murphy didn’t understand secrets. He and the boys didn’t have any rules about what they said to each other.

  “It’s a registration form for the talent contest,” she said.

  “It’s a what?” Murphy asked.

  “You heard me,” Molly said, holding the form in the air as Murphy grabbed for it.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Never mind.” She stomped into the cafeteria.

  Murphy followed her. He peered over her shoulder as she filled in her name, age and address. Under the heading Talent, she wrote, “SINGING.”

  “Singing!” Murphy said. His eyes bulged like someone had pinched him. “You are going to get up onstage in front of a ton of people and sing?”

  Molly turned her back so he couldn’t see what she was writing. “What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

  “What’s wrong with that? You don’t know how to sing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know ’cause you’ve never said a word about singing. And you talk about everything.”

  “I don’t know if I’m any good,” Molly said, “but I’ve been singing my whole life. I’ve just never let the sounds come out of my mouth.” She pulled out the twenty-five dollars, grabbed her completed form and stood up. “Come on. Let’s drop this in the office,” she said.

  “I can’t believe it,” Murphy said. “I thought I was your best friend. And I thought girls told their best friends everything.”

  “You don’t know anything about girls,” Molly said in a huff.

  “Hold on a minute,” Murphy said. “Did you just say you sing but you never open your mouth?”

  “Yeah,” she said, walking away. “That’s what I said.”

  “How do you do that?” he asked.

  “I listen to myself in my head,” she said.

  “You listen to yourself sing, but you don’t make a sound?” He looked at her like she was out of her mind. “Why do you do that?”

  “Because…” She paused. She knew she’d never be able to explain her secret promise. “Because that’s just what I do.”

  “So because you sing in your head, silently, you think you can sing in a talent competition?” Murphy asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, I’m not sure.”

  Murphy said, “You are crazy, Moll.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Molly sat down on a bench in the hall. Murphy’s reaction was only half as bad as the other boys’ would be. She didn’t even want to think about what they would say.

  “Okay,” he said as he dropped onto the bench beside her. “Fill me in. What are you talking about?”

  Molly told him how she had sung for her dad and that it was the first time she had ever heard her own singing voice. She told him how her dad had been shocked and had left twenty-five dollars for her on the table the next morning.

  “Have you been practicing with him?” Murphy asked.

  “No,” Molly said. “He doesn’t like music.”

  “How are you going to win a competition if you don’t practice?” Murphy asked. “If you have never sung for anyone? That doesn’t make sense. Music in your head doesn’t mean you can sing.”

  “Yes, it does. You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right,” Murphy said, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t understand.”

  “Then come over after school, and I’ll sing for you. If you think I suck, I won’t sing in the competition.”

  “Murphy, my man.” Paige sauntered up the hall with her friends. She flipped her ponytail with her fingers and said, “Did you know your Molly girl is a singer? She thinks she’s the next Selena Gomez.”

  Fi said, “Is she trying to recruit you to be her talent manager? As if she has any talent.” She sat herself down on Murphy’s knee and flirted. “I’d like you to be my talent manager.”

  Murphy stood up, almost toppling Fi to the floor. He turned toward Paige and said, “Yeah. Molly’s a singer, and I’m her manager. Look out, Selena— Molly is about to arrive.”

  Paige glared at Molly and then batted her eyes at Murphy.

  “Well,” she said with a sappy smile. “Tell your friend she’s got some serious competition.” Her smile turned to a sneer. “She’s gonna be laughed off the stage.”

  Murphy said, “No one will be laughing Molly off the stage. You heard that first from me.”

  Paige’s face turned bright pink. She gave a fake giggle and then she and her friends moved on.

  “Holy cow,” Murphy said. “You better know how to sing or I just buried myself.”

  “Thanks, Murph,” Molly said.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got work to do. First of all, we better leave that form in the office. Then I better figure out how to be a talent manager.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Murph,” Molly said, setting the paper on the counter. “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said. “This is a competition.”

  The secretary said, “Good luck, Molly.”

  “Thanks,” Molly and Murphy said together.

  In the computer lab, Murphy Googled “talent manager.” He scanned website pages. “Okay, so I’m supposed to deal with promotions, photography, how much you get paid, performances. As well as the business of singing, lessons, practices and… your image.”

  “You better quit now, Murph,” Molly laughed. “Now you’re the one acting crazy.”

  “I’m serious. It says lots of talented people never get heard because they don’t have good management. It says good management is as important as good talent.” Then he paused and added, “Well, almost.”

  Molly shrugged and said, “You don’t even know if I can sing.”

  Chapter Eight

  After school, Murphy and Molly walked home together.

  “I’ll text Mom and see if she can pick me up from your place later,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said. “For sticking up for me.”

  “I didn’t have much choice,” he said. “Now we ha
ve to deliver.”

  “You don’t have much faith in me, do you?” she said.

  “It’s not about faith. It’s about getting up in front of tons of people and singing.”

  After Molly had eaten a bowl of Cheerios, and Murphy had eaten two, they went into the living room.

  “I’ll put on the music,” Murphy said.

  “I don’t use music,” she said.

  Murphy sat down on the sofa and scrunched a pillow on his lap. He looked afraid—as if someone was going to give him some very bad news.

  “Calm down. This won’t hurt,” she said. But her stomach felt as if someone had stuck a knife in it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Murphy disappeared. Her foot began to tap, and she started to sing.

  Summertime, and the livin’ is easy

  Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high…

  When she had finished the song, she opened her eyes. Murphy was staring at her as if he had seen something supernatural.

  Molly’s heart pounded against her ribs. She waited for his assessment. “So?” she asked. “What do you think?”

  “Where did that music come from?”

  She put her hands on her chest and said, “It’s in here, and for some reason it won’t stay inside anymore. It has to come out.”

  On a normal day, Molly knew, she looked small and insignificant. There wasn’t anything wrong with how she looked, but she wasn’t pretty in the normal sense of the word. Some of the girls had changed a lot since grade six. Molly wasn’t one of those girls. Her hair was stringy, her clothes were plain, and she had no hips or breasts. She still looked like a little girl.

  But when she sang, she felt bigger—taller. She had to be. It was impossible for a sound like that to come from a small girl.

  “Why haven’t you told anyone?” Murphy said, looking confused. Molly looked different. He wasn’t sure quite how. Older…stronger.

  She took a deep breath. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve sung to myself—in my head. My voice was my secret, and I promised myself that my mom would be the first one to hear me sing. I wanted to give that to her—it was my gift. So I was waiting for her to come home.” Molly swallowed hard. “But she took too long. It had to come out. I couldn’t wait.”