“Even as a young girl, music was a huge part of my life. I didn’t care what was on, as long as it was playing. Classical, jazz, rap, country, punk … It never mattered. I grew up idolizing all the greats. So, I begged my parents for a guitar. I practiced every day. When most kids were outside playing tag, I was in my room, strumming away to Prince. When girls were out having crushes on boys, playing spin the bottle at parties, I was home, crushing on Siouxsie and Hendrix. When other teenagers turned sixteen and wanted a car, I wanted a Strat. But it didn’t matter how good I got, how badly my fingers bled, or how well I could sing, because there is one thing that holds me back from my dream,” she says.
“And that is?” Niimi asks.
“An absolutely crippling case of stage fright,” she says.
“Prove it,” Niimi says.
Lulu reaches over and picks up the guitar. She holds it like a mother holds her baby. She adjusts the strings, secures it on her lap, and takes a deep breath. STRUM.
The melody is beautiful. And she knows it. It’s catchy. But the expression on Lulu’s face completely kills the vibe. She looks scared. She wants to sing, but she doesn’t. Her mouth opens on every break, but no words come out. She just looks like a deer staring at an oncoming truck. She stops playing. “It’s always the same,” she says as she sets the guitar down.
“What are you afraid of?” Niimi asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Have you tried—”
“I’ve tried everything. I tried closing my eyes, I tried turning around with my back to everyone, I even pictured everyone naked. Nothing works.”
Niimi scratches her chin, thinking …
“How do we know you just don’t suck?” I ask.
Niimi and Lulu glare at me like I suggested drowning a kitten.
“I’m serious. Maybe she shreds the guitar, but can’t sing?”
Lulu hisses, “I can sing!”
“Forgive my assistant, Lulu. He has a hole in his heart,” Niimi says.
“I do not. I am asking a valid question,” I add.
“Follow me. I’ll show you how good I am,” Lulu says, and leads us to the back bedroom.
Her bedroom has been transformed into a small recording studio. There is a mic stand, a couple guitars against the walls, and a desk. Atop the desk is an open laptop and synthesizer. The walls are covered in egg cartons, stapled from floor to ceiling, completely encasing the room.
“Wow. That’s a lot of eggs,” Niimi says.
Lulu laughs. “It soundproofs the room.”
“Having all this stuff still doesn’t prove you can sing,” I say.
Lulu walks over to her laptop and mashes a few keys and flips the volume up. A buzz hums across the room from the large speakers placed in each corner.
“But this does,” she says, and hits one last key. A guitar melody fills the room. “This is me,” Lulu says.
Lulu directs the laptop screen to face us.
Dressed in a black gothic dress, fashionably torn and hugging her body, she stares into the camera and sings … Lulu’s voice floats out of the speakers, beautifully, like a butterfly fluttering off a flower.
I’ve been dreamin’ of a dragon
Draggin’ me down, underground
To its lair.
But I didn’t care
I thought I deserved it
I thought I was worthless
But I was wrong.
So I wrote this song
And now care, I do
Because I am anew
A new Lulu
And tonight, I’ll fight back
And tonight, I’ll bite back
I’ll slay the dragon, I’ll slay my dragon
My song of fire—
Lulu closes her laptop, abruptly ending the song.
She stares at me with a cocky smirk. “So, you still think I suck?” Lulu asks.
Niimi claps. “No. You’re the opposite of suck. I mean, I don’t condone slaying dragons or any animals for that matter, but Lulu, you are the perfect medicine for struggling ears.”
“What does your assistant think?” Lulu asks, and they both look at me as if I were a judge letting her know if she made it to the next round of a talent competition.
“Honestly … I think … you’re amazing,” I add. “In a real fight, I think a dragon would defeat you easily, but for a song, it was really good. It definitely belongs on the radio.”
“Right?” Lulu smiles. “And this song has a million views. I have two other videos with double that. And next week I’m supposed to perform at the North House Folk School in front of a room full of music executives flying in from Nashville. I’ve packed my entire life in boxes to move to the Twin Cities. My career is out there, just waiting for me, but I can’t … As hard as I try … If there’s a crowd, my birds won’t fly,” she says.
Niimi approaches her and circles like a vulture. Lulu shifts uncomfortably in her chair, “What are you doing?” Lulu asks.
“Thinking. Tell me, Lulu … When did you first discover this fear?”
“I used to perform for my parents when I was your age. I loved the attention. Imagine that. They’d watch me for hours. I’d change outfits and lip sync to Red Hot Chili Peppers, Dolly Parton, Radiohead, Sheryl Crow … I knew every song by heart. My mom and dad even helped me with my hair and makeup. Everything was in its right place … But then … at my eighth-grade talent show, the day after my parents separated, I was going to perform a Lady Gaga song, but … I just stood there. I couldn’t sing. I was Lady Nada. Nothing came out. And it’s been like that ever since.”
“But if you’re alone?” Niimi asks.
“If I’m alone, I can sing to the moon and back.”
“Interesting … My assistant and I are going to head back to our office and—”
“We don’t have an office,” I add.
“Correction. My assistant and I are going to take a walk and come up with a game plan. We’ll be back shortly.”
“So, you think you can fix me?” Lulu asks.
“There’s nothing to fix, because you are not broken. There’s just a villain inside you, and that villain conquered your mind and kicked you offstage. Your songs are held captive somewhere near your throat. But the superhero inside of you is in there too. We just need to wake her up and let them fight it out. That’s the only way for your voice to be free,” Niimi says.
I stifle my laughter. Who does this girl think she is?
“Miigwech,” Lulu says, her voice soft with relief. “Your mother bloomed my uncle a few years ago. If you’re even half as gifted as she was, then I’m in good hands.”
Lulu and Niimi walk out of the room. “You coming?” Niimi asks.
“Yeah, I just wanna write that down. I’ll be right there,” I say.
Once I hear them talking in the front of the house, I turn to the microphone case behind Lulu’s desk. This looks expensive. I could get some serious cash for it. My blood begins to rush. It’s the familiar adrenaline coursing through me. The need to take something that isn’t mine. The need to prove I can. To show this boot camp, whenever it starts, that I can do whatever I want, including taking whatever I want, whenever I want, from whoever I want. I open my backpack and stuff a shiny black microphone inside.
Lulu walks us to the front door and hugs Niimi goodbye. She offers me a handshake. I’m not sure if she likes me or not, but to be fair, I don’t think making new friends is a high priority for her. Or me. She just wants to sing. I just want to get this over with.
Niimi passes our bikes and continues down the street. I rush over to join her.
She turns off the sidewalk path and heads into the forest. I stop.
“Aren’t there wild animals in there?”
“Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you.”
“How? I’m bigger than you.”
“Yeah. But I’m smarter.”
Okay. I guess when she’s trying to outsmart the wolf, that will buy me enough time to run. So I hurry to keep up with her.