The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  “Spelling bees can be very stressful.”

  “Stressful? When I was a kid, you almost had to lose a limb before adults paid you any attention, and even then, you weren’t allowed to cry.”

  “That seems kind of cruel,” India said.

  “Toughened us up. Prepared us for all the rotten things that would happen in life.” Esmerelda raised an eyebrow. “And the rotten jobs we’d be stuck with.”

  She glanced up as if she were staring out an imaginary window. “I should have been a pig farmer, like I planned. Cute snouts and curly tails. Spelling bee director? A dream job? Pah!”

  Ping!

  The doors opened, and Esmerelda stomped out without another word, leaving India with the feeling that she’d been dropped into a pile of snow. She hadn’t even gotten to the part about trying to make the woman laugh. She rubbed her arms to warm them up and stepped into the busy lobby, which was bubbling with music and the excited murmurings and laughter of its guests.

  Ping!

  Another elevator opened beside her, and the Trifles swaggered out in matching black sweat suits and fluorescent yellow sneakers. The young girl with braids crept out behind them.

  Mr. Trifle was munching on a strip of beef jerky. “This spelling bee thingamabob is very impressive.” He surveyed the packed lobby with a satisfied grin.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Trifle said. “We’re very proud of you, Molly.”

  Holly looked over her shoulder in case her mom really was talking to someone called Molly. “Me?”

  “Of course! Look at all these people hoping their kid is going to win, when we know it’s going to be you.”

  Holly smiled. Her mom had never once said anything nice thing to her, but here she was, telling her she was proud.

  Maybe being at the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee would bring them closer together after all. Maybe she could prove to them that, even though she wasn’t like Gertrude and Benedict, they were still a family, and that was something to be cherished. Those were the kinds of endings that often happened in the books she’d read.

  Maybe it was going to happen to her too.

  Mrs. Trifle rubbed her hands together. “Not only will you collect that prize money, but the publicity is going to bring in a flood of new customers. We’re going to make a very tidy profit for Beaut Butts and Guts.”

  “What?” Holly didn’t even try to hide her disappointment.

  “This place is a gold mine.” Mrs. Trifle flung her arm across the room. “Just look at all these sagging arms and flabby bellies.”

  “The poor level of fitness is magnificent,” Mr. Trifle beamed. “We’re going to make a killing.”

  Holly worried that she was about to be sick all over her parents’ sweat suits and brand-new sneakers.

  “But most of the spellers are from overseas,” Holly argued. “They won’t want to sign up to a gym in Canada.”

  “It’s not a gym, Molly,” Mrs. Trifle snapped. “It’s a fitness and beauty lifestyle, which will one day be worldwide, but until then, people can sign up for online classes and buy our stylish workout clothes, personalized squat routines, and a wide range of healthy snacks.”

  Mr. Trifle waved his beef jerky, which Holly thought smelled like an old leather shoe. “Like the Beaut Butts and Guts Protein-Packed Jerky, made from the finest strips of beef and dried to perfection. Who can resist that?” He threw the remaining piece in his mouth. “Mmm-mmm. De-licious,” he mumbled. “And you brought us here, sweetheart, and made it all possible.”

  Holly was regretting that fact with each passing moment.

  She stared at her parents, who were wide-eyed with glee at the prospect of so much money within tantalizing reach. Her whole body sank in misery.

  “Stand up straight,” Mrs. Trifle ordered. “Why do you slouch all the time? It’s like you’re trying to hide from something.”

  Holly did as she was told, even though hiding from her family sounded like the perfect idea.

  “You’re a Trifle, and that’s something to be proud of,” Mrs. Trifle said. “Especially when you look around this room. Look at all these out-of-shape, roly-poly porkers just crying out for our help.”

  Holly’s skin prickled with fear. She hoped no one could hear what her parents were saying.

  Mrs. Trifle took a stack of business cards from her fanny pack.

  “Please.” Holly tried to stop her. “Maybe this isn’t a good time.”

  “Ah, but you see, Molly, that’s where you’re wrong,” Mrs. Trifle said. “That’s why we’re the parents and you’re the child. This is the perfect time. As people stuff a cream puff or hot dog in their mouths, we’ll innocently walk up beside them and make them feel so guilty that they’ll immediately sign up for our classes.”

  And as it happened so many times in Holly’s life, just as she thought her parents couldn’t get any more embarrassing, her mother began doing jumping jacks.

  “Go and play with the other children,” she ordered. “You might even make a friend.”

  “A friend?” Holly asked.

  “Yes, a friend,” her mother said. “But focus on the pudgy ones so you can drum up business.” She stopped her jumping jacks and turned to Mr. Trifle. “Ready, darling?”

  “Ready.” He kissed his daughter on the head. “Have fun.”

  As they strode headlong into the crowd, Holly remembered: “Don’t forget to wear white.” Holly wasn’t very tall anyway, but being with her parents often made her feel even smaller. She wanted to slink away to her hotel room and was about to get back in the elevator when she heard a voice behind her.

  It was India. “Are you OK?”

  Holly nodded as she watched her parents approach another victim. “They mean well. They can just be a little…” she struggled to find the right word, “…fixated, sometimes.”

  The room buzzed with people and pooches from the bee and the dog show, laughing and barking. Holly stood in the middle of it all as if she was lost.

  India knew exactly how that felt.

  This time, she was determined to make her family’s friendship advice work.

  She smiled. “I’m India, from Australia.”

  “I’m Holly, from Canada.”

  It’s going well so far, India thought. Now I need to find something that we have in common.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it? How being here can be so exciting and yet so terrifying at the same time?”

  Holly’s eyes widened. “You feel that too?”

  “Most of the time, I waver between wanting to laugh and wanting to throw up.”

  Holly laughed. “I thought it was just me.”

  It worked, India thought. The Wimple friendship advice worked. “Do you want to go in together?”

  “Yes, please.”

  And just like that, Holly Trifle and India Wimple both made a new friend, and they entered the Imperial Dining Hall for the opening of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee.

  11

  Serendipity

  (noun):

  A happy coincidence, good luck, or fortuitous encounter.

  Their meeting was the result of pure serendipity.

  Walking into the Imperial Dining Hall erased any unpleasantness Holly and India had just experienced. Hundreds of lights dangled from the roof and were fashioned into the shape of letters, while the walls were lit with moving words of all sizes, revolving over the surface like a mirror ball, giving the effect of being inside the pages of a glowing, oversize dictionary.

  Wondrous.

  Extraordinary.

  Fantabulous.

  Holly and India burst into giddy smiles.

  In the center of the hall, rows of banquet tables shimmered with candles, and bouquets of white letters bloomed from vases, but what caught India’s and Holly’s attention next were the tables of
crystal cake stands piled with cupcakes, each with a chocolate letter nestled on swirls of colorful icing.

  Holly felt her knees weaken. “Mom and Dad would never let me eat any of this.”

  “Yes,” said India with a knowing grin, “but they’re not here, are they?”

  “I guess one wouldn’t hurt.” Holly chose a plump cupcake with pink, creamy icing topped with the letter H. Her cheeks bulged after her first mouthful, and she smiled in delight.

  “It’ll be our secret.” India bit into her own.

  “Oh no.” Beside them, a boy stared down at his shirt, which was now covered in splotches of ruby-red icing. “This often happens,” he explained. “It’s like food jumps out at me, no matter how careful I am.”

  India handed him a napkin, but it only spread the mess farther across his chest. “Oh dear.”

  “Does anyone know if these letters are Belgian chocolate?”

  It was Summer. Of course.

  “I only eat Belgian chocolate.” She noticed the boy’s stained shirt and stepped back in case her brand-new dress was smudged too.

  “I had a small accident.” The boy wanted to get rid of the look of horror on Summer’s face. “I’m Peter,” he said as he held out his hand, until he remembered it was also smeared with icing.

  Rajish ran in, puffing. “Oh good. It hasn’t started.”

  “Where have you been?” India asked.

  “Mom went to the art gallery, so Dad decided to cram in some spelling practice. I only just got away.”

  India thought she saw something move beneath Peter’s jacket. Growing up in the country, creatures sometimes crept into unexpected places. The Wimples had found snakes in closets, mice in shoes, and spiders under the toilet seat, so she said calmly, “I don’t want to worry you, but I think there might be an animal in your pocket.”

  Peter smiled. “That’s Prince Harry.” He opened his jacket, and out poked the head of what looked like a miniature dragon with feathery yellow spines running down his back and head. “He’s my crested gecko, loyal friend, and fellow traveler. He’s trying to tell me it’s dinnertime.”

  Peter took a cricket from his other pocket and fed it to Prince Harry.

  Summer wasn’t sure what horrified her the most—the reptile or the fact that she’d just seen it eat a bug. “You brought a lizard to the spelling bee?”

  “He’s very tame.” Peter held him out. “You can pat him if you like.”

  Summer reeled back. “No, thanks.”

  “Can I?” Holly and India both asked.

  “Me too,” Rajish said.

  Prince Harry arched his back, enjoying all the attention.

  “They were discovered in New Caledonia in 1866 and were thought to be extinct until they were found again in 1994,” Peter said.

  “My dear champion spellers,” Mr. O’Malley announced, beaming like a beacon of happiness at the front of the room. “It is time to begin.” He stood in front of a grand fireplace and beneath a portrait of the Queen.

  Peter slipped Prince Harry back into his pocket.

  “As you know, I am Mr. Elwood O’Malley, the Queen’s royal representative for the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee.”

  There was a spontaneous round of applause.

  “It is one of the greatest honors of my life to be here on behalf of Her Majesty and to be in the company of the world’s masterful spellers. You are about to experience some of the most remarkable days of your life. The competition will provide moments of exhilaration and apprehension and will create new and treasured friendships and memories that will linger in your hearts forever.”

  Mr. O’Malley’s effervescence washed over the room. It swept India up in a wave of excitement, while Holly clung to every word.

  Mr. O’Malley took a hanky from his pocket and dabbed his eyes.

  “Is he crying?” Summer frowned.

  “I think so,” India said.

  “But before that,” he sniffed, “it is imperative that you become acquainted with one another. Please turn to the people closest to you and take three minutes each to share a little about yourself, including your favorite word. The person nearest to me will begin.” Mr. O’Malley gave the groups time to form and held up his watch. “Your time starts now.”

  Summer swished her blond locks over her shoulders. “My name is Summer Millicent Ern–”

  “Actually, Summer,” India interrupted, “Peter is first.”

  “Oh.” Summer was a little miffed. “OK.”

  “My name is Peter,” he began shakily, “but most people call me Chubby. I’m ten and live in Wormwood, England, with my mom and grandpop. My dad left a few months after I was born, but I’ve always thought if he’d stuck around a little longer, he might have found I was fun to be with.” He laughed nervously. “I was being picked on at school until Mrs. Wrenshaw, the librarian, thought going to the library at lunchtime might help, but I said, ‘No offense, I wouldn’t be seen dead in the library.’ She told me to come anyway, and I’m glad I did. There was this whole world of books and reading I’d never known before. That’s why I love words so much—they rescued me from being bullied, and now they’re the reason I’m here, meeting all of you.”

  He paused. The others stared, not knowing what to say.

  “Sorry, I’ve said too much, haven’t I?” Peter’s head fell, looking as if he’d just failed a test. “It’s like I have a permanent case of logorrhea.”

  Holly hadn’t heard of the word before but knew logos meant “word” and rhea meant “flow.” “Talking too much?” she asked.

  Peter nodded. “It happens when I’m nervous.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” India said.

  “It is?” No one had ever told him that before.

  “Absolutely,” Holly said. “Words rescued me too. Gave me somewhere to escape from my parents.”

  “But you haven’t told us your favorite word, Peter,” Rajish added.

  Peter thought hard. “Borborygmus. It’s the rumbling sound that comes from an empty stomach. I also get hungry when I’m nervous.”

  “I like gremlin,” Rajish said, “which is what Roald Dahl called the small creatures he thought were messing with the planes he flew during the war.”

  “My favorite Dahl word is biffsquiggled,” Summer added, “which he uses when the BFG feels confused.”

  “I get biffsquiggled quite a lot,” Peter admitted.

  “I like serendipity,” India said.

  “I love kerfuffle and rumpus and bafflegab,” Holly said.

  “I also like flibbertigibbet,” Peter said. “Onomatopoeia and triskaidekaphobia, which is fear of the number thirteen.”

  “Who would be scared of a number?” Summer asked.

  “People who have triskaidekaphobia,” Peter answered with a knowing grin.

  They all laughed at once, like they were thinking the same thing.

  And that made them laugh even more.

  Peter felt braver. It was the first time ever that he was surrounded by a group of children who weren’t laughing at him but with him.

  And he liked it.

  12

  Oblivious

  (adjective):

  Unconcerned, insensitive, and totally unaware.

  They were oblivious to the feelings of everyone around them.

  “And that’s how Daryl saved a busload of schoolkids from being swept into the floodwaters of the Yungabilla Creek.”

  Dinner had been served in the Imperial Dining Hall, and Dad had been telling stories he’d written when he was a journalist.

  “That was very exciting, Mr. Wimple.” Mrs. Kapoor was especially impressed. “You have a real talent for storytelling.”

  “She is only speaking the truth!” Mr. Kapoor was equally impressed.

  “He’s one of t
he best,” India said.

  “Can you tell us another story?” Peter asked.

  Dad was about to launch into one more when he was interrupted by the Trifles. Still wearing their black sweat suits and bright yellow sneakers, they stood out like seals in a pod of pelicans.

  “Ah, there you are, Molly.” Mrs. Trifle sat beside her daughter. She took off one of her shoes and began rubbing her foot, which she’d plonked on the table. “We’ve been run off our feet today.”

  “But it was worth it.” Mr. Trifle said, heading toward the table. “We’ve signed up lots of new recruits. They’re all chomping at the bit to have new butts and guts.”

  A team of waiters approached the table, all expertly balancing plates of food. One waiter leaned over to serve them. “Chicken Kiev with roast potatoes and gravy or pasta Napoletana with parmesan?”

  Mrs. Trifle waved him off. “Heavens no! Are you trying to harden my arteries? I’d like poached chicken with quinoa and Asian greens. Pronto. I’m starving.”

  If the waiter was annoyed by Mrs. Trifle’s rudeness, he never let it show. “And for you, sir?”

  Mr. Trifle opened his mouth, but Mrs. Trifle answered for him. “He’ll have the same, won’t you, dear?”

  Mr. Trifle stared at the plates of chicken Kiev and pasta as they sailed away from him and were placed in front of the others. “Yes, of course.”

  Holly whispered to her mother, “So that means you can relax now and stop handing out—”

  “We’re going to make a killing with these people.” It seemed as if Mrs. Trifle hadn’t even noticed Holly’d begun talking.

  Holly desperately needed them to change the subject. “These are my new friends,” she blurted out. “And their families.”

  “Friends? Really?” Even though Mrs. Trifle had suggested that her daughter make a friend, she was surprised it had actually happened.

  Holly looked around nervously, wondering if she’d spoken too soon.