by Laurie Smith Murphy (@lauriesmithmurphy)
MG Contemporary/General Fiction
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Query
I am excited to present, BEYOND THE MOON, a 35,000-word, contemporary middle grade novel, for your consideration. A story about standing up and standing out even when we believe we’re not good enough, this book will appeal to readers who enjoy the intergenerational family relationships of Heart Finds by Jaime Berry and the friendship drama in Hidden Truths by Elly Swartz.
Sandwiched between an accomplished, older sister and a brother with Down syndrome, 12-year-old, idiom-loving Ivy is tired of being stuck in her siblings’ shadows. When prickly Grams moves in, Ivy is relegated to the guest room in the barn, crammed between a dusty mannequin and the rest of Mom’s antique shop relics. Feeling more ignored than ever, but not wanting to make waves, she confides her not-good-enough feelings to the mannequin that she rolls from the shop to her room every night.
With Mom coordinating a school talent show to raise money for the Special Olympics, Ivy sees her chance to finally stand out. Pressured by her BFF-turned-frenemy to join a dance routine, Ivy’s two left feet land her BFF on crutches and their friendship on ice— a problem even her mannequin friend can’t help her solve. Luckily, Ivy’s slowly warmed up to Grams and together they devise a plan for Ivy to shine in an act with just the two of them. But when Grams ends up in the hospital the night of the talent show, Ivy must dig down deep to find the confidence she needs to finally stand in the spotlight for herself.
I am the co-founder of the SCBWI Whispering Pines Writers' Retreat, a member of The Manuscript Academy, a participant in Christy Yaros' Kidlit Writing Program, and a winner of the Kids’ Choice Kidlit Writing Contest. As a former elementary teacher, I worked with students with special needs. Currently, I teach writing to fifth graders, lead a monthly poetry group, and am active in several critique groups. Growing up on Cape Cod, where this story takes place, I worked in my mom's antique shop in a barn attached to an old sea captain’s house, just like Ivy.
I appreciate your consideration and would love to send you the full manuscript.
First Five Pages
Chapter One
The Last Straw
Mom was the straw that broke the camel’s back. But in this case, it wasn’t the camel’s, it was mine.
“Bye posters. Bye desk. Bye books. Bye window overlooking the beech tree!”
I gazed lovingly around my room and hoisted up the laundry basket crammed with all my favorite—essential-for-a-desert-island—things: my collection of license plates, a string of Christmas lights, stuffed unicorn, a jar full of shells, and my favorite pink Cape Cod sweatshirt that I always wore inside out, so nobody would ever think I was a tourist.
My arms trembled under the weight. If only I had focused on my bicep curls in PE.
Rolling the vacuum into my room—what used to be my room— Mom clicked it on. It roared to life.
“Yup, I’m leaving!” I leaned on the peeling door frame with the pencil markings of my height from age three. “Adios!” Sweat dribbled down my neck. Was this really happening?
Mom rammed the vacuum back and forth under my bed, not bothering to look up. I knew the dust bunnies were hopping around under there, but did she have to do that right now?
“How could you banish your middle child to the barn? I’m always the one who has to compromise.” My voice caught like tangled twigs and grew softer and softer. “What’s wrong with Brooke’s room?”
But Mom wasn’t listening. She couldn’t hear anything anyway with the ancient vacuum rumbling so loud. Besides, she didn’t care that Grams wanted my room. She hadn’t even asked if it was okay with me. After the year my family had, I shouldn’t have been surprised. And I know I’m not supposed to complain. I headed out of my former room, my heart hammering in defeat.
Lugging the basket down the hallway, my eyes stung with tears. If Grampie was here, he’d see the tears making my eyes shiny and the way I pinched my lips together like I did when I was upset. He’d know. He always did.
With the basket thumping behind me—clunk, step clunk, step clunk—I trudged down the steep steps thinking about how many straws it would take to actually break a camel’s back. There were plenty of straws this week alone. Now I was the camel, legs splat on the ground, buried under mounds of hay.
Straw #1: Clutching stinky, smelly poop bags while I walked the dog in the rain Monday when no one else volunteered. (Thank you very much!)
Straw #2: Watching the antique shop on Wednesday so Mom could take Sam sneaker shopping for school. (I loved my cowboy boots, but why couldn’t I get new shoes?)
Straw #3: Yesterday, ironing the mannequin’s long lacey antique dress when it was ninety degrees outside. (Who cared if it was wrinkled? Mom, of course.)
By the time the basket kerplunked on the hard living room floor, I was fuming. Giving up my room was the last straw.
Grunting, I hauled the basket through the living room and into the den with the wall-to-wall bookshelves and long trestle table that Mom said belonged to the old sea captain who built our house over a hundred years ago. My older sister Brooke was sitting shoulder to shoulder with the cute boy in her geometry class, a math book and papers spread across the table. My sister tutored Josh every Saturday. Her only victim.
Brooke and Josh kept their heads down, like they were actually working, not noticing me at all.
Don’t worry about me, I thought as I kicked open the swinging door to the tiny hallway by the kitchen, wishing it was my sister. The door swung back and bumped me, urging me to be more careful next time.
In the kitchen, Grams sat at the round oak table fanning herself with a faded newspaper, her sneaker furiously tapping the scratched linoleum. Why was Grams mad? I was the one whose room she was taking. I was the one who wasn’t allowed to get upset, so why was she? My brother Sam sat next to Grams, fanning himself, trying to copy Grams’ movements. Copying people was one of Sam’s cute quirks. “Talking about middle school,” he said, bouncing in his chair. “Can’t wait.”
“Good. Keep talking!” I veered around the fridge and was about to escape to the breezeway, when Sam jumped up, knocking down the large monthly schedule. Magnets and drawings and family pictures scattered everywhere. Typical Sam disruption.
“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I know you didn’t mean it.” My fingers twitched with impatience. But then the guilt swirled around in my stomach like a whirlpool. “I’ll help you pick it up.”
Sam leaned into me, giving me his crooked smile. “You always do.”
My heart melted; his smile erased everything. He was the best part of me. The best part of all of us.
We kneeled by the fridge and scrounged for all the pieces, making a big pile. I placed his schedule back on the fridge, then Sam and I planted magnets on everything else.
“What happened over there?” Grams asked, still fanning herself, still reading the paper. “You two are making a racket.”
Really, Grams? You can’t look over to see what happened? She’d always been demanding and blurted out whatever she was thinking, but without Grampie here to give her a look or put his hand on her shoulder, she let her thoughts fly. At least that’s what Mom said, and I believed her. Sam piped up. “My chart fell!”
“You know, Sam’s schedule. For OT, PT, speech therapy, doctor’s appointments, track practices, track meets—”
“Got it.” Grams broke in. “Did you put fresh tape on it?”
Sam rushed over and found the tape in the junk drawer. “Here it is.”
I added new tape to the schedule and gave Grams a thumbs-up. “Now you give me a thumbs-up since you have Sam. Our signal, remember?” I forced a smile.
Grams knew the taking-care-of-Sam signal. We’d only been using it as long as I could remember. She finally peered over, her thumb pointing away. Was it that hard? I did love my grandma, but she didn’t make it easy.
“She’s got me!” Sam laughed.
Noticing the New Hampshire State magnet had skidded across the floor, I bent down to grab it.
“Wait. What’s this?” I picked up a wrinkled flyer peeking out from under the dusty fridge. “There’s a talent show at the middle school? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“It’s for me. Special Olympics,” Sam cried. “You know, get on stage and do something fun!”
Swallowing hard, I knew this was a big deal. Mom had been trying without success to raise money for Special Olympics for years. And now it was happening. But a talent show? I thought about the last time I was on stage. The dance recital. I was six. I froze. Forgot all the steps. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. And I knew how disappointed Mom had been. And how much money my parents had spent on dancing lessons and the costume. My heart felt like a sinking Titanic. No wonder no one wanted me on stage again.
Ivy Winslow, it takes courage to be seen, and you’ve got a bushel full, whispered Grampie.
He always seemed to know just how I was feeling. And even though he was no longer here, he was still cheering me on with encouragement and hope.
Someday you’re going to show the whole world who you are—and this talent show could be just the ticket.
The old linoleum floor creaked beneath my cowboy boots in agreement.
But even Grampie wasn’t right about everything, was he? Rubbing my sweaty hands on my shorts, I squinted at Sam’s expectant grin. “I’ll think about it, Sam the Man. You know I’d do anything for you.” My heart clenched like a clam shell shut tight.
I had never made a promise to my brother that I didn’t keep. So, I’d just have to come up with a talent, find the courage to perform it, and not make a fool of myself.
How hard could it be?