Molly Moon Stops the World by Georgia Byng Page A

flapping books under their chins.
    The atmosphere of Los Angeles was also heating up, because the Academy Awards were the following night. Already, in the hotels and smart houses, famous directors, producers, actors, actresses, screenwriters, musicians, lawyers, and agents were getting their beauty sleep and preparing themselves for the big event. The clothes designers, hairdressers, beauticians, jewelers, limousine companies, flower shops, image therapists, and speechwriters of the city were working overtime. All over town, parties were beingorganized, and the names of the Oscar nominees were on everybody’s lips. Except Molly’s.
    She hurried through the lobby. She’d braved the sizzling midday streets to visit a photo lab to have the film developed. Now the precious information was in a large envelope under her arm. She kept her head down, because every time anyone crossed the hotel floor, the whole lobby looked up to see whether they were famous or not. Molly didn’t want to be recognized again, and with the knowledge they’d gleaned the night before, she felt very vulnerable. She half expected to find two heavy-duty Cell protectors waiting for her outside their bungalow. But she rejoined Rocky in her cool, air-conditioned bedroom without incident and sat down to look at the photographs.
    “That’s 217
not
hypnotized, but
542
already under his power,” Rocky said.
    “And then, hypnotized or not, alive or dead, there’s Davina,” Molly solemnly reminded him.
    “How do you think Cell does it?” asked Rocky. “Does he use a pendulum, or do you think he does it like me and uses his voice? Or mainly his eyes?”
    “We just don’t know,” said Molly with a shudder. “What’s for sure is we’re never going to be able to dehypnotize over 700 people.”
    “All their addresses are here,” said Rocky.
    “Maybe. But even if we manage to dehypnotize two a day, there’s only 365 days in a year. We’d be at it for over two years. And what if Cell goes and hypnotizes them all over again? Anyway, how are we going to dehypnotize them without him realizing we’re doing it? He’ll be onto us. He’ll snap us up like … like a crocodile snapping at …”
    “Wading toddlers?”
    “Yes,” said Molly, finding the image sickening.
    She collected the pictures and locked them in her room’s safe. She could hear Mrs. Trinklebury outside telling Roger not to climb quite so high in the tree. Molly wandered onto the lawn to watch the others in the pool below. She looked down at them enviously.
    “We’d better call Lucy. She might have a good idea about how to dehypnotize these stars. Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely to have nothing to do, no work, no … mission.”
    They could see Mrs. Trinklebury in an old-fashioned bathing suit and a broad-brimmed hat, lounging on her sun chair, with a pile of celebrity magazines on her lap. She was throwing bits of cookie to nearby blackbirds. A white-suited pool waiter was placing a tall green drink on the table beside her. Mr. Nockman was on the diving board about to jump. Roger’s feet were dangling from the big-boughed tree near the wall. He was hanging blue paper airplanes on its leaves.
    Mr. Nockman bombed into the water, making an almighty splash. This was followed by a yell from Mrs. Trinklebury.
    “Simon, how
could
you? You’ve soaked my
Oscars Special!”
    Molly suddenly brightened. She turned to Rocky. “When are the Oscars, Rocky?”
    “Molly, haven’t you noticed? The whole place is buzzing with Oscar fever. The Oscars are
tomorrow.
I can’t believe you didn’t know.”
    “Well, I kinda did,” said Molly thoughtfully. “I just hadn’t really realized they were so soon. Who goes to the Oscars, Rocky?”
    “Everyone goes. All the important movie people.”
    “Yes,” said Molly. She remembered all the television clips she’d seen of the Academy Awards. There were so many awards. Prizes for the best actors, directors, cameramen, screenwriters, soundtrack