by Sylvia Olsen
Murphy nodded.
“I broke my promise when I sang for Dad,” she said. “So I had to make another promise. When my mom comes home, I am going to sing for her—just her and me.”
“She’ll like that,” Murphy said. He was quiet for a couple of seconds. Then he jumped up and said, “Okay, Amazing Mollgirl, we’ve got work to do.”
“Really? So you think I should sing in the competition?” she asked.
“Of course,” Murphy said. “Trouble is, I’m not sure what to do first. Maybe I should ask Paige.” He laughed.
“That’s not funny,” Molly said and punched him good-naturedly on his arm. “Don’t you dare talk to her about this. Don’t tell anyone.”
Murphy looked at Molly. “The first word from your new manager is, get over it. If you’re going to be a singer, then people are going to hear you sing. It’s not a secret anymore.”
“Murphy!” she said.
“Molly!” Then he added, “You know I’m right. Your mom will understand. You can still sing for her—just the two of you. She’ll love it.”
When Murphy went home, Molly worried about her promise. The problem with promises was that they were so hard to keep. She had broken her first promise, and there was something wrong about her second promise. It felt as if her mom would be getting a secondhand gift. She hoped Murphy was right and that her mom would understand. If Molly wanted to sing, people would hear her. The idea both terrified and excited her.
As soon as the boys jumped off the bus Monday morning, Molly knew Murphy hadn’t kept his promise not to tell.
“Amazing Mollgirl,” Albert said. “Can I have your autograph?”
Jeff jumped off the bus next and said, “Molly, you are going to be a star.”
Danny followed Jeff. “I hope you’re not singing stupid songs from some old dead singer,” he said. “Who’s going to want to listen to that?” Obviously, Murphy had told him about Molly’s favorite song, “Summertime.”
By the time Murphy got off the bus, Molly was furious.
“You promised,” she said. “Why did you have to tell them?” She turned and stomped toward the school.
Murphy and Jeff ran to catch up with her. “It’s okay,” Jeff said. “We’re going to help you.”
“Oh, sure you are,” she said, looking at Jeff through watery eyes. “I don’t need help like yours.”
“Yes, you do,” Murphy said. “You need an audience to practice in front of.” He turned to the others. “Billie Holiday might be dead, but she’s still famous. She started singing when she was a teenager. She never had any professional training. The songs she sang are perfect for Molly’s voice.”
Molly looked at Murphy in amazement. “How do you know so much about Billie Holiday?” she asked.
“I Googled her,” he said. “Mom and I watched as many of her YouTube videos as we could.”
“You got your mom involved?” Molly asked.
“Mom said she’d be your costume designer,” Murphy said. “And by the way, Moll, I didn’t promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. You asked me not to tell— that’s different.”
“Thank your mom for me,” Molly said. “But I don’t need a new outfit.”
“Oh no, you don’t need nothing—no practice, no costume, no help—’cause you are soooo good,” Danny said.
Albert told Danny to shut up, but then he said, “Danno’s right, Molly. How do you expect to win if you won’t let anyone help you?”
“I don’t care if I win,” she said. “I just want to sing for people.”
“That’s not good enough,” Murphy said. “You are a great singer. It’s a cop-out to say you don’t care about winning.”
Murphy usually had a way of setting Molly straight without getting her angry. This time it didn’t work.
“It’s not a cop-out,” she said. “You don’t understand.”
Murphy and the boys shrugged their shoulders.
“Don’t ask me what she’s thinking,” Murphy said.
“I told you she’s crazy,” Danny said.
Maybe I am crazy, Molly thought, if I want to sing but I don’t want anyone to hear me. Why am I entering the competition? Why did I break my promise to my mom? It was better when I sang to myself.
Chapter Nine
“Good wonderful morning, Riverside,” Ms. Clarkson said. “Fourteen talented Riverside students have entered the Valley Talent Competition. Way to go. Clarissa Eng, a dance teacher from Vancouver, will be in the multipurpose room at lunch today. She will talk about how to make the best of your performance. All the contestants and their managers are invited to attend. Bring your lunch and listen up.”
Murphy gave Molly a thumbs-up from two desks in front of her. She frowned, shook her head and mouthed the words, “I don’t want to go.”
She imagined Paige and her friends hogging Clarissa Eng’s attention. And besides, Molly couldn’t think of one thing a dancer would know about singing.
Paige can win, for all I care, Molly said to herself. But the truth was, Molly hated the thought of Paige winning. She hated looking at Paige’s fake smile. The only thing she would hate more would be Paige’s real smile if she won the contest.
After the announcements, Murphy said, “It’s just what we need.”
“It might be what you need, Mr. Manager. I just want to sing,” Molly said.
“You listen to your manager, Amazing Mollgirl. You aren’t just going to sing—you’re going to win.”
Molly knew Murphy didn’t understand. She wasn’t amazing, and she didn’t need to win. She needed to sing. Her voice had been trapped for too long. It felt so wonderful to let it out. But Murphy was her best friend, and he wanted to help. So she needed to let him.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Molly said reluctantly. “I’ll try and win the competition.”
Some things you do for yourself, some things you do for your friends, and that’s all right, Molly thought.
As soon as the lunch bell rang, Murphy flew out of math class with Molly chasing him.
“Hold up, you two,” Ms. Clarkson said.
They skidded to a stop.
“You must be excited, Molly,” she said. “I heard you are quite the singer.”
“You’re right,” Murphy said, keeping his distance from Molly’s fist, which she had clenched. “Molly sings like a star.”
“I can’t wait to hear her,” the principal said. “But slow down in the hall.”
“I can’t wait to give you a beating,” Molly said to Murphy as they continued down the hall. “How does she know how I sing?”
Murphy stopped outside the multipurpose room to let some other students through the door in front of him.
He gave her an official look. “Molly,” he said, “if I am going to be your manager, you have to be manageable. And right now you, girl, are impossible.”
Molly wasn’t sure if Murphy was actually angry or playing manager.
“You signed up for this thing, not me,” he said. “I’m going to help you. But when are you going to get it through your thick head that you are in a contest? There’s going to be an audience. People are going to hear you. They are going to talk about you. When people hear you sing, they are not going to believe a voice like that came from a kid like you. You are going to win.”
“What are we waiting for then, Mr. Manager?” she said with as much determination as she could muster. She led him to the front row. Albert and Jeff sat behind them and Danny plunked himself down next to Molly.
When Clarissa began to speak, Murphy pulled out a notepad and jotted down her suggestions.
“Are you kidding, Murph? You’re writing notes?” Paige called from a few seats away.
“I’m her manager and we’re going to win,” said Murphy. Paige giggled. “I want you for my manager.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve got a client.”
After Clarissa had finished, the boys and Molly huddled around Murphy. He held his notepad up. “I’ve got some good stuff.”
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Jeff said, “Okay, team, let’s listen to the coach.”
“Since when did this become a team?” Molly asked.
“Since now,” Danny said. “If you’re going to do it, you better win. You’ve got one chance to take this game.”
“This isn’t soccer,” Molly said. “You guys don’t get it. All I’m going to do is sing, once—that’s it.”
“That’s all you’re going to do—sing,” Murphy said. “But it’s a competition, and that’s the part we know about. And when you compete for something, you compete to win.”
“WINNING ISN’T EVERYTHING. WINNING IS THE ONLY THING!” the boys shouted.
Albert nodded. “That’s why we’re a team, Moll,” he said. “You aren’t singing in your head anymore. You’re singing for judges.”
“Listen,” Murphy said, and he shook his notepad as if to call order. “Here’s what you need to do. Number one, remember your audience and forget about them at the same time. You are there to entertain, and the audience will help you do that.”
Murphy continued reading from his list. “Number two, enjoy yourself—at least, look like you’re enjoying yourself. Number three, treat the microphone as if it’s your best friend. Number four, every once in a while take a look at your manager—that’s me. He’ll give you confidence.” Murphy laughed. “Number five, remember you are performing mostly with your face. Your face will win or lose it for you.”
“My face,” Molly said. “Are you kidding?”
“Really. It’s your face that communicates with the audience and the judges.” Murphy shook the notepad again. “I’m not finished.”
By the time Murphy got to number seven, Paige and the girls, plus several other competitors, were crowded around him, listening. “Practice, practice, practice, until you know your piece so well you don’t have to think about it.”
“Is that all?” Molly asked. “Are you sure there aren’t a hundred other things I need to remember?”
“Yeah, there’s one more thing,” he said. “Play to win.”
“Murphy!” Molly shook her head. “Stop all the pressure.”
“Clarissa said the performer who is the most convincing is going to win. That’s a quote,” he said. “You will convince everyone you should win because you love to sing, Mollgirl.”
Paige said, “I think you have the wrong client.”
Dede and Fi started to laugh. “There’s no contest,” said Fi. “Did you hear what else Clarissa said? Style? Confidence? Skill? Doesn’t sound like Molly to me.”
“Does to me,” Murphy said.
Paige smiled. “Well, good luck with that, Murph. But if you want a winning client, you know my number.”
“You need more than a manager, Plague,” Danny said. “If you think you can beat Molly, you are in for a big surprise.”
Before Paige could argue, Clarissa said, “Hey, come on, kids. Don’t ruin the competition.”
“Then tell Paige to shut up,” Danny said as Paige pasted a big fake smile on her face. “She’s the one slagging our team.”
“We’re just kidding, Danny,” Paige said in a syrupy voice. She turned to Clarissa. “Clarissa, thank you so much for your help. Are you one of the judges?”
“The judges are listed on the poster,” Murphy said.
When Clarissa walked out the door, Danny said, “It couldn’t be any more obvious that you’re just kissing butt.”
Paige ignored him. “Molly should stick to soccer,” she said. “I hear she can run and kick better than some guys around here. Or maybe Molly is one of the boys?” She tossed her head, and her ponytail swayed as she sashayed into the hall with the other girls shuffling behind her.
“You gotta beat that girl, Molly,” Danny said.
When Molly got to the field after school, Paige, Dede and Fi were standing on the sidelines beside Albert. It was the last game of the regular season, with the Strikers playing the Searchlight Middle School Stars.
Ten minutes in, the referee called a penalty on the Stars’ wingman. Free shot. The Strikers huddled for a few seconds before Jeff emerged and picked up the ball.
A Stars defenseman laughed out loud. “No worries,” he shouted. “FN boys can’t kick.”
“First Nations boys can kick your butt,” Danny said.
“That’s enough,” the referee warned, pointing his finger at the Stars player.
Jeff set the ball in its place, looked at the goalie, wound up and drove the ball high and over the left side of the goalpost.
“No worries, guys,” Murphy shouted from halfway down the field. “Keep the pressure on.”
Murphy had his eye on the ball. He looked at the field, at all the players, then back at the ball. He never lost his concentration, not for a second. He shifted from leg to leg and bounced on the balls of his feet. He slapped his hands on his arms. He was ready. All the time.
Molly threw her backpack down and sat on it. By the second half, it was a kick and chase game.
Riverside scored near the end of the game, but no one knew for sure who had made the goal. It wasn’t until Jeff high-fived Avtar that the other players gave him a nod. When the whistle blew, the final score was 1-0 Strikers.
“Way to go,” Paige squealed as she ran up to Murphy. “Good game.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said.
“But you won,” she said. She stood in the middle of the boys as they picked up their gear. “And winning isn’t everything—it’s the only thing. Right, Murphy?” She turned to Albert. “With coaches like you guys, I’d be a winner for sure.”
Danny threw his bag over his shoulder and said, “Come on, Murph. Let’s get out of here. That girl makes me mad.”
“She’s not our problem,” Murphy said. “The game didn’t matter to our standings, but still, we played terribly. That’s our problem.”
“Hey, we won. We’d already clinched first place,” Danny said. “What difference does it make?”
“Winning isn’t everything. And it’s not the only thing,” Murphy said. “Not when you play a bad game.”
“Geez, Murphy,” Molly said. “You’re never satisfied.”
Chapter Ten
The next day when Murphy jumped off the bus, he was holding his notepad.
“Our first performance is after school at Grandma’s place,” Murphy said with an air of authority. “She said we could set up a stage in the living room.”
“Murphy, ughhhhh!” Molly said.
Murphy ignored her. “Grandma says she’s going to invite everyone.”
If Molly could choose a grandma, Murphy’s would be the one. She was always thinking up one crazy idea or another. Murphy lived downstairs at her house, and whenever Molly visited him, Grandma made sure to call them upstairs to eat fried bread or help her make chutney or hang lanterns from the ceiling.
The thought of singing for Grandma and everyone on the reserve terrified Molly. Singing in front of a huge crowd at the Community Arts Center wasn’t as scary as that. But Molly decided not to argue if Grandma was involved.
After school, when Molly and the boys piled out of the bus at Grandma’s house, Mousetrap, Murphy’s scruffy white cat, was waiting for them on the street. His uncle Rudy leaned against his car in the driveway.
Grandma stood on the front steps, wiping her hands on her jeans. “It’s about time,” she hollered. “We’re almost ready inside.”
Molly and the boys said, “Hi, Grandma!”
“You’re lucky I didn’t have time to tell everyone.” She laughed. “There’s going to be standing room only as it is.”
Molly picked up Mousetrap. He was the kind of audience she liked.
Inside, Grandma had pushed the dining room table into the corner and covered it with food—chips, tomatoes, apple pie, fried bread and jam. By the window, she had put a piece of plywood on top of some blue recycle bins to make a stage.
“It’s safe,” she said, climbing onto it. “See?” She jumped up and down. “I tied them together.”
She had pushed the sofa to the edge of the living room and brought in kitchen and patio chairs and some stools from the basement.
“How many people are coming?” Molly asked. A large lump was forming in her stomach.
“More than will fit in this place,” Grandma said. She was pushing the chairs together, cramming in as many as possible. “It’s a fine-looking venue for your first performance, don’t you think?”
It was too late for Molly. As her dad often said, the cat was out of the bag. Once Murphy became her manager, she didn’t have much say in what happened. Her dad had heard her sing, Murphy had heard her sing, and now the boys would hear her sing, along with, from the looks of it, everyone else from the reserve that Grandma could stuff into her “venue.”
“It looks fine, Grandma,” Molly said.
She thought about her promise. She had to remind herself that it was okay to sing for everyone because one day her mom would come home and she would still have a gift for her.
Grandma greeted people at the door. “Help yourself to something to eat,” she said. “Then grab a chair. This is a sold-out show.”
People jostled around the crowded room.
Molly plunked herself on the corner of the stage. Murphy sat beside her. “I didn’t know she was going to do all this, Moll. Really, I didn’t,” he said, his mouth full of bread. “But it’s ideal.”
“It’s not ideal, it’s terrifying,” Molly said. “And don’t chew with your mouth full. It’s gross.”
“Well, this is the biggest audience we’re going to get,” Murphy said. He swallowed hard and said, “For now.”
“Don’t get any other crazy ideas,” Molly said. “I’m doing this for Grandma and that’s it.”
Murphy stuffed more bread into his mouth. “We could use the Chief Morris Community Hall. Grandma could ask them,” he said.
“Just stop now, Murph,” Molly said. “This is getting to be too much for me. And I’m telling you, I don’t want to see the food in your mouth.”
“We’re ready to start,” Grandma said. “Put some food on your plates and sit down.”