Molly's Promise

by Sylvia Olsen

  Murphy said, “Why don’t you just leave her alone?”

  Danny got up, slammed his chair against the table and went back to his own cooking group.

  “Thanks,” Molly said. “I don’t care if he doesn’t like me, but he doesn’t have to keep rubbing it in.”

  Chapter Four

  Having PE first thing in the morning made Molly tired just thinking about it. She plunked herself on the bench and untied her shoes.

  Paige strolled around the change room in her bra and undies as everyone put on their gym strip. “I’m so crazy scared,” she said, and she placed her hands over her mouth. “There are going to be dancers from grade twelve, and I’m only thirteen. That’s not even fair.”

  The way Paige swaggered around the room with next to nothing on made Molly cringe and admire her at the same time.

  “You don’t have to worry. You look sixteen,” Dede said. Dede had turned thirteen a few weeks earlier but could pass for sixteen any day, especially with all the makeup she caked on her face.

  “You will look divine,” Fi said.

  “You can do it,” Nell said. “No worries.”

  Nell was taller than the other girls, and prettier, too, as far as Molly was concerned.

  Paige swooshed her head from side to side. “I am the reigning provincial dance champ,” she said, pulling on her T-shirt. “I can beat anyone my age, no worries—but what about the older girls? Oooh.” She stepped into her shorts. The length of her legs amazed Molly.

  “Do you know anyone else entering the talent show?” Molly quietly asked.

  Paige swung around and glared at Molly. “Maybe you,” she said and laughed. She did a little tap-dance routine and stamped both her feet, edging forward until she was less than an arm’s length away from Molly. “Did you hear that, girls? Molly is going to dance. I thought she just liked to play with boys.” Paige swiveled around and sashayed out of the room.

  Molly’s voice faltered. “I’m not going to dance.”

  Nell said, “It’s going to be so great. I’m going to be Paige’s stage manager.”

  “Sounds like a blast,” Molly said.

  Loni, one of Albert’s cousins, sat nearby, pulling on her sneakers. She didn’t look one bit impressed by any of them, and said, “So what? Paige may have longer legs than the rest of us, but her ego is a size super-extra-large.”

  “I hope she falls flat on her face,” said another girl.

  “She may be a great dancer,” Molly said, taking time to fold her clothes, “but she doesn’t have to be so mean.”

  The trouble was, no one could ignore Paige. Molly included. Not only could Paige somersault, vault, cartwheel, handspring and rope-climb better than anyone, but she also looked better than everyone else while she was doing it.

  In the gym, Molly watched Paige float from one tumbling station to the other and wondered how genetics could get everything in one body so perfect. Paige’s mother must be beautiful, Molly thought.

  Molly considered her own awkward performance and abandoned her talent-contest dream. She thought of her own mom. She must be short, with a serious lack of talent, at least in the dancing and gymnastics departments. And she was definitely not beautiful— not if, as her dad said, Molly looked like her.

  After school, Molly said to Murphy, “No one is even going to compete against Paige. Everyone is so sure she’s going to win.”

  “Talent competitions are dumb, anyway,” he said. “Who’d get up on stage in front of a bunch of judges just so they can tell you that you suck?”

  “Would you go and watch?” Molly asked.

  “No way,” he said and shook his head. “It would be painful. A bunch of rock star wannabes up there on the stage making fools of themselves.”

  Molly slumped over and put her elbows on her knees.

  After a minute, Murphy said, “What’s up with you, Moll? You’ve been quiet all afternoon.”

  “Nothing’s up,” she said.

  “Well, you’re not saying much.”

  “So what? Can’t I be quiet sometimes?”

  “Hey, no worries—don’t bite my head off,” he said. He put up his hands as if to defend himself. “Who cares about Paige, anyway? You could beat her at soccer any day.”

  “I don’t want to play soccer.”

  “What do you mean?” Murphy asked. “What do you want to do? Dance?” He laughed.

  “No, I don’t want to dance. And quit being such a jerk.”

  “Then what?” he asked. “Be a rock star?” He pretended to be an announcer. “And now, put your hands together for the Amazing Mollgirl.”

  “You’re not funny, Murphy.” Molly couldn’t speak anymore. She picked up her backpack and headed toward home.

  Murphy grabbed his bag and followed.

  For the first time since she had met Murphy, Molly started to cry.

  “Hey,” he said. He reached a hand toward her and then yanked it back. “Hey,” he repeated.

  She wiped her nose on her scarf. “Sorry,” she said.

  “No worries,” he said, relieved Molly’s tears had stopped.

  Molly said, “I wish I had my mom.” But that wasn’t what she really wanted to say.

  “Yeah,” Murphy said.

  “And…”

  “And?” Murphy asked.

  Before she had time to answer, Jeff and Albert charged out of the school’s front doors.

  “We have a game tomorrow,” Jeff said. “Central Avenue Cougars think they can beat us this time.”

  Albert said, “They’ve got a new goalie from Vancouver. Some kid called Han Tihn. He hasn’t been beat. I hear he’s only had two goals scored on him this year.”

  “I’ve only had four,” Murphy said, defending his record. “And one should never have been called a goal.”

  Molly pushed past the boys and up the sidewalk. Let them talk about soccer—she wasn’t interested.

  It was a dark afternoon. Tattered, angry-looking gray clouds raced across the sky. Molly usually liked the wind. But today it was cold and hard, and it bit into her skin like puppies’ sharp teeth. The only relief she got was on the straight stretch of the road where Mr. Smedley had his cabin. Giant Douglas-fir trees were lined up close to the pavement. It was calm there. Molly listened to the sound of the wind. It had a rhythm like high-pitched voices and violins. She thought of the words the voices might be singing.

  Molly wanted her mom, but that wasn’t the reason she had cried. It was the promise she had made to herself that was upsetting her. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep it for long, and she wasn’t going to be able to keep it a secret either. Molly felt as if something was bursting inside. Her secret was going to explode.

  Chapter Five

  “Hey, Moll,” her dad said when she got home.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  Molly went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. After she dried off, she looked in the mirror. She knew what she wanted to say to her dad. Now she had to find the courage.

  She sat at the table and said, “There’s a talent show in town next month.”

  Her dad took a noisy slurp of coffee.

  “I want to sing at it.”

  His face went pale. His brow furrowed.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” she asked.

  “I’m just surprised,” he said. “I’ve never heard you sing. I mean, I didn’t even know you sing.”

  “I love music, Dad. You’re the one who turns the radio off.”

  “I like it quiet.” The look on his face became more troubled than surprised.

  “I sing all the time,” Molly said. “I imagine in my head that I can sing just like the singers on my cds. I practice in the shower and walking home through the trail.”

  She stopped. What she had said wasn’t exactly true. She had never sung a note in her life—not out loud. “Well…I don’t sing, exactly. I sing in my head,” she said. “I never sing the words out loud.”

  Her dad’s forehead creased again. �
��You sing in your head? Not with your voice?”

  “Yeah,” she said, recognizing how strange it sounded.

  “Why?”

  “Because…” She had told him enough. “Because that’s just what I’ve always done. But now I want to sing out loud, and I want you to listen to me.”

  “Here? Now?” he said.

  “Yes. Here. Now.” She knew if she thought about it for even half a second longer, she would lose her confidence. “I want to know if I’m good enough to enter the competition.”

  “Don’t you need music or something?”

  “No. I sing without music all the time.”

  “You sing without your voice all the time too.”

  “Dad.”

  “Okay, honey.”

  Molly got up and stood in front of the kitchen sink. “You look more nervous than I am.”

  “I might be,” he said.

  The truth was, Molly was terrified. She wasn’t afraid to sing. At least, she didn’t think so. She was afraid to break her promise. Molly couldn’t remember when she had made the promise. It was a long time ago, and it weighed on her.

  Mom, I have a gift for you when you come home. I promise that you will be the first person to hear me sing.

  The trouble was, her mom hadn’t shown up, and Molly couldn’t wait any longer. Her voice had to come out now, and that meant she was going to break her promise.

  Molly straightened her back. She took a deep breath so the air went into her belly, filled her chest and came up into her throat.

  But Molly’s voice had never come out of her mouth or entered a room before. It had only bumped off the walls of her imagination. All of a sudden she wasn’t sure whether her vocal cords could hold even one note, never mind carry a whole song.

  “I’m ready, Moll,” her dad said.

  A breath of air sent shivers down her legs and arms. Then she heard music. Her toe began to tap. She opened her mouth and started. “Summertime, and the livin’ is easy, fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high…”

  She kept her eyes closed and pretended her mind was her only audience. At first her voice wavered, but after a few moments, it filled the room. It grew louder and stronger until she felt as if she were going to explode. When she finished the last chorus, she opened her eyes.

  Her dad was shocked. “Wow, Molly,” he said. “You can sing.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, stunned by the sounds she had made. “And do you think I’m good enough to sing in a talent show?”

  “There won’t be another kid in that show that can hold a candle to your talent, honey.” He pulled her onto his lap. “You sound like a pro.”

  “Well, I have been singing ever since I can remember. Just not out loud.”

  Her dad frowned and chuckled at the same time. “That’s crazy, girl.”

  Molly told him all the details about the talent show. She explained how Paige had set herself up as the one to beat. She told him she was afraid to tell anyone at school that she wanted to enter the contest. The boys would tease her. The girls would make fun of her. And Paige would make her life absolutely unbearable.

  “Could I enter the contest without telling anyone? Could I just show up and sing?” she asked.

  “You’re tougher than that, Molly,” he said. “If you want to enter the competition, go through the front door.”

  The truth was, now that Molly had sung out loud, all she wanted to do was sing some more. She didn’t really want to compete—not with kids from school listening to her, especially Paige and the other girls.

  “Paige might be able to dance,” he said, “but you are a star. There is no doubt about that.”

  Molly climbed off his lap. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Later, as she lay in bed, Molly replayed her singing over and over in her mind. She loved how her voice had filled the room. If only her mom had heard her.

  Molly had broken her promise. She had given her mom’s gift away.

  “Mom, I am so sorry. I couldn’t keep my voice inside any longer. It just had to come out.”

  She said sorry over and over again, hoping her mom would forgive her.

  As Molly fell asleep, she heard Billie Holiday singing “Summertime.” Although she had been dead for seventy years, Billie’s voice pulsed through Molly’s body.

  In the morning, Molly made a new promise.

  “When you come home, Mom, I will sing just for you,” Molly said. “It will be just you and me.”

  Her second promise didn’t feel exactly right, but it was the best she could think of. Her voice had always been her gift to her mom. It still was. Now if only her mom would come home and get it. One day, Molly thought, my mom will come home and ask, “What is your big surprise, Molly? Where’s the present you promised me?”

  Molly would take a deep breath and sing. Her mom would be amazed. “Molly,” she would say, “I had no idea. What a wonderful gift. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.”

  Molly felt a little better after she had made the new promise.

  The trouble was, now Molly didn’t know what to do about the competition. One minute she wanted to enter, and the next minute she didn’t.

  When she got out of bed, she found an envelope on the kitchen table. On the front it said, Here’s the registration fee. Go for it, Molly. You can do it. I love you, Dad.

  Chapter Six

  Molly was dozing off during the morning announcements until Ms. Clarkson, the principal, said, “Forms for the Central Valley Youth Talent Competition will be available in the office during lunch hour. We need your fee and your form, fully completed. Don’t dally. The competition is just weeks away.”

  It was raining hard at lunchtime. Murphy was in the gym with the rest of the team, practicing for the game after school. Molly sat on the bleachers watching— and thinking about whether to pick up a registration form. A crowd of grade-eight girls stood nearby.

  “Darcie’s going to tap-dance,” said a blond girl with a purple, feathered hair band.

  “Paige is in my dance studio,” another girl said.

  “She’s pretty good.” “She thinks she’s going to win,” said a girl with heavy eye makeup. “Have you seen her? She struts around like somebody crowned her the Queen of Talent.”

  “She is soooo conceited,” the blond girl said. “But what about Devon? That guy can sing AND play guitar. He’s a star, baby. The next Mr. Bieber. What do you think, girls? Let’s put it together for our very own Devon Dempster.”

  A chorus of laughter, sighs and coos came from the girls all at once.

  Molly’s face burned. Why had she thought she could sing in the competition? Devon was not only the best-looking boy in the school but also talented at everything. He could walk onstage with his hands in his pockets and say his name and he’d win the competition. Someone said, “Mica can sing. Anyone know if she’s entering?”

  “Probably. She takes singing lessons,” said the girl with the eye makeup.

  Molly didn’t want to hear any more. She swiveled around, jumped off the side of the bleachers and sped out of the gym. In the hall she ran into Paige and her friends.

  “What does it say? What does it say?” Dede asked, flapping her hands hysterically.

  Fi held up a piece of paper and squealed. “It says, Write the winner’s name here. Paige Nelson!”

  Paige grabbed the form. “Settle down, girls. It’s just the registration. You’re putting too much pressure on me.”

  Molly didn’t have a chance to slip away without being noticed. She sat on a bench outside the gym doors.

  “Hi,” Molly said quietly to Nell when their eyes met.

  “You should come down to the multipurpose room. Paige is going to practice. I’m her stage manager,” Nell said. “Did I tell you that already?”

  “Yeah, you did,” Molly said. “I’m going to the soccer game.”

  “It’s pouring,” Nell said.

  “I’ve got an umbrella,” Molly said. She thought getting drenched at
a soccer game would be more fun than watching Paige parade around on the stage.

  Paige hollered from down the hall. “Nell, what are you doing, girl?”

  “Gotta go,” Nell said and ran to catch up with the others.

  “Yeah, of course you gotta go,” Molly said. She sat on the bench and looked down the hall toward the office. Maybe she should just forget the registration. The soccer team interrupted her thoughts as the players spewed out of the gym.

  “We are gonna beat those suckers,” Danny shouted, high-fiving the other boys.

  The only team that had a chance of beating the Riverside Strikers this year was the Central Avenue Cougars. They were only two points behind Riverside in the standings. With two games left in the regular soccer season, the boys could clinch the title with a win this afternoon. A loss would give Central Avenue a chance to tie it up.

  “We’re going to win it,” Murphy said when he saw Molly.

  “I know,” Molly said, “but aren’t you worried?”

  “Do I look worried?” Murphy asked, puffing his chest out.

  “Sort of,” she said. His noisy teammates jostled in front of them. “The whole team sounds pretty hyped.”

  Murphy had started playing soccer in grade six, five years after most of the other boys. Now that he was the starting goalie, people thought he was the most important player on the team.

  “We have to win this afternoon, and everyone’s looking for me to play a big game,” he said.

  “Ouch,” Molly said. “That kind of pressure must hurt.”

  Murphy said, “No worries. All pressure is self-inflicted.” He laughed. “I can handle it.”

  The truth was, Murphy loved competition. He even loved the pre-game jitters. He had told Molly after the last game, which was a 3-0 shutout, that tough competition made him nervous but also made him play better. The better the opposing team, the better Murphy played.

  Molly loved competition too—as a spectator. The very idea of competing in something herself made her stomach hurt.

  After school the rain stopped, and a chilly sun came out and brightened the field. Murphy’s mom had brought two chairs and a blanket for her and Molly to share.