The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  She stared at her phone. “The pollution reading is high. Maybe Boo and I should stay here.”

  Boo had missed out on a lot of excursions because of his asthma; he didn’t want to miss out on today. Luckily, Dad came to the rescue.

  “Team Wimple,” he said, assuming the voice of an army captain, “do we have our inhalers?”

  Nanna Flo, India, and Boo whipped inhalers from their bags.

  “Yes, we do,” they chorused.

  “Will we be prepared in the event of an asthma attack?”

  “Yes, we will.”

  “Does Mom need to worry?”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  Dad gently took Mom’s phone and dropped it in her purse. “We’ll be here if Boo needs us. OK?”

  “OK, but I want you to stay with us at all times.”

  Dad adjusted his checkered jacket and matching tie—gifts from Mr. Butler, who he’d rescued from an angry emu. In his pocket was his purple notebook. “We better hurry, or we’ll miss that bus. Ready, Wimples?”

  They all wore their Sunday best and, of course, their red scarves. “Ready!”

  Before they could move, they heard someone cry, “Florence!”

  They turned to see Mr. Eriksson leading Peter through the crowd, waving. “Florence,” he puffed. “Thank you for what you said last night at dinner. And for standing up for my grandson.”

  “You’re welcome. I’d have done it for anyone at the mercy of those two fitness fanatics. Plus,” she said as she flashed a knowing smile, “I enjoyed it.”

  Mr. Eriksson smiled back. “Then it was doubly worthwhile if it made you happy too.”

  “Oh, it did! And thank you for the fireman’s rescue. That heavy banner could have done some damage. I’ve never been swept into someone’s arms and out of great peril before.”

  Mr. Eriksson bowed his head. “All part of the service.”

  Then Nanna Flo did something the Wimples had never seen her do.

  She giggled.

  “All aboard!” The driver called.

  Mr. Eriksson held out his hand to Nanna Flo. “After you.”

  “Why thank you.” She giggled again as she boarded the bus.

  “What’s wrong with Nanna Flo?” Boo asked India. “Why does she keep laughing like that?”

  “I’m not sure,” India said.

  “She might be coming down with something,” Dad said. “We should keep an eye on her.”

  “Could be the jet lag,” Mom added.

  They climbed aboard the bus, and they heard Nanna Flo giggle once more as she moved down the aisle.

  • • •

  “The Houses of Parliament!” Boo almost jumped out of his seat when the golden clock tower and regal building came into view.

  Cameras and phones clicked as the chimes of Big Ben sounded and the buses trundled across Westminster Bridge and over the River Thames.

  They drove alongside the lush trees and lawns of St. James’s Park and turned into a large roundabout. Little by little, a stately mansion appeared before them.

  India drew in a deep breath. “Buckingham Palace!”

  “Do you think we’ll meet the Queen?” Boo asked.

  “She is the patron of the bee and a keen speller,” Rajish said hopefully.

  Holly’s head began to spin. “I think I might pass out.”

  “But you’ll miss all the fun.” Peter nudged her playfully.

  “The Queen,” Mr. Kapoor said with a wistful look in his eye. “She is a beacon of style and grace.”

  “If I’d known we were coming here, I’d have worn my tiara,” Peter joked.

  They all laughed, except for Summer, who announced with a disappointed scowl, “Me too. Why did they have to keep it a surprise?”

  All the spellers stared, wondering if Summer was joking too.

  “You have a tiara?” India asked.

  “Daddy bought me one for my tenth birthday.”

  “A real one?” Holly asked.

  “Is there any other kind worth having?”

  “I guess not.” Rajish laughed.

  The buses came to a stop by the entrance gates. Streams of spellers and chaperones stepped from the buses in quiet awe.

  “She’s a beauty.” Dad held up his camera and took photos. “Wait till Daryl hears about this.”

  “Your grandma would have loved this,” Grandpop Eriksson said. “She was a big fan of the Queen—collected all the royal souvenir cups and plates.”

  “Maybe she’ll give us all one for free,” Mrs. Trifle said. “I bet that’ll be worth a pretty penny.”

  Holly flinched. In her excitement, she had almost forgotten her parents were there. So far this morning, they hadn’t done anything to embarrass her, and she silently pleaded that they wouldn’t. At least they’d worn a dress and jacket as requested and not one of their signature sweat suits.

  When the last of the passengers climbed off the bus, Mr. O’Malley swung his arm into the air and announced, “Welcome to Buckingham Palace.” He seemed to stand taller and was much more like his old, cheerful self. “Home of Her Majesty, the longest reigning monarch in British history. This way, please.”

  The Wimples adjusted their red scarves and followed Mr. O’Malley across the grounds to the Grand Entrance.

  As India’s feet sank into the royal red carpet of the Grand Hall, a quiet hush settled on the group. Walking up the Grand Staircase, she slid her hand along the banister to make sure she was really there.

  “Buckingham Palace has been the official London residence of Britain’s monarchs since 1837. It is simply one of the most beautiful buildings you’ll ever behold.”

  “It is impressive.” Dad took out his purple notebook and began to write.

  “It boasts seven hundred and seventy-five rooms, including seventy-eight bathrooms.” Mr. O’Malley smiled. “So if you need to avail yourselves of the amenities, there are plenty to accommodate. As well as the Throne Room and private quarters, there’s a post office, police station, doctor’s office, cinema, and pool.” He continued his way through a series of drawing rooms. “Over eight hundred members of staff live here, including a flagman, a fendersmith, who looks after the palace fireplaces, and even our very own clockmaker.”

  “That’s more people than Yungabilla,” Boo said.

  “Every year, the Queen hosts special parties at the palace to recognize and reward public service.” Mr. O’Malley turned to face them with a look of pure delight. “And today, she is throwing a party just for you.”

  “For us?” Holly’s eyes widened.

  “Does that mean we’re going to meet the Queen?” India almost dared not ask.

  Mr. O’Malley paused for the smallest of moments. “It most certainly does.”

  “Did you hear that, Peter?” Grandpop Eriksson had a spark in his voice that Peter hadn’t heard in a very long time. “The Queen is coming here to meet us.”

  Mr. Kapoor grabbed his chest. “I think my heart is in danger of exploding with joy.”

  Mr. O’Malley flung open a set of doors. “This is the White Drawing Room, the grandest of all the State Rooms.”

  The room was the color of honeycomb and filled with golden furniture, gold filigree on the walls, and even a gold piano. In the center was a long table laid with trays of perfectly portioned chocolate mousse cakes, caramel kisses, and raspberry tarts.

  “All the gold you can see are layers of real gold, and all the cakes you see are delicious. I guarantee it.”

  He pointed at a large mirror and chest behind him. “And even though this looks like part of the wall, it is actually a secret door to the Queen’s private apartments.” Mr. O’Malley could barely contain his excitement. “And it is where Her Majesty will be entering to greet you today.”

  A murmuring of excited whispers fil
led the grand room.

  “But first, there are a few rules you’ll need to know about being in the presence of Her Majesty.”

  Holly wished she’d brought a notebook so she wouldn’t forget a thing.

  “When you greet the Queen, the correct formal address is ‘Your Majesty,’ and after that, you can simply say ‘ma’am,’ as in ‘jam.’ Men are to bow their heads while women do a small curtsy. You must never, under any circumstances, touch the Queen unless she offers you her hand, in which case you may shake it, but do not grip it tightly or pump it. Do not hug or kiss her, and whatever you do, do not ask about her famous grandchildren. She is very sensitive about that.”

  “I’m sure she’s not as uptight as all that,” Mrs. Trifle declared.

  Holly could feel her chest tighten. “I think it’s very important that we follow Mr. O’Malley’s rules.”

  “After all,” her mother said, as if Holly hadn’t even spoken, “deep down, she’s just like us, except for the castles and palaces and crowns.”

  “The Queen will be here in mere moments.” Mr. O’Malley was doing his best to keep his emotions in check, even though it was obvious that he was jittery with excitement. “Are there any final questions before she arrives?”

  “Can we take selfies?” Mr. Trifle was already thinking of how he could use the picture to promote the business.

  “I’m afraid not. Her Majesty isn’t one for selfies,” Mr. O’Malley said.

  “It’s just an innocent photo,” Mrs. Trifle argued. “I’m sure she’d love to.”

  “Her Majesty would rather you didn’t.”

  “Oh, come on, O’Malley.” Mr. Trifle put his arm around the Queen’s representative’s shoulders and squeezed them tighter than seemed comfortable. “What harm can it do?”

  Mr. O’Malley recoiled as if a python had slithered around him, threatening to squeeze him to death. “It’s not a matter of harm, but of—”

  The wall behind Mr. O’Malley slowly opened, and out sprang two small yapping dogs followed by a small gray-haired lady wearing glasses, a pale yellow sweater set, and pearls.

  “She’s here.” There was a gleam in Holly’s eyes.

  “It’s really her.” Mr. Kapoor’s heart fluttered, and he worried he was in danger of passing out.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the Queen said. “I was hoping to be here when you arrived, but the corgis were having their baths, and it was a tad hard to convince them to get out.”

  Mr. O’Malley held out his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to the Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, and official patron of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee, Her Majesty the Queen.”

  There was a rather awkward collection of bowing and curtsying and a quiet murmuring of “Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you, Mr. O’Malley. That is very kind.”

  Mr. O’Malley blushed from ear to ear.

  “Welcome, everyone, to Buckingham Palace. My husband, the Prince, and I would like to congratulate you all on being part of this most marvelous competition. It takes hard work and intelligence to get here, but also great gumption. We wish you the very best of luck, and we look forward to settling back in our pajamas and watching you all on television. For now, please mingle and enjoy the delicious cakes. They are scrumptious.”

  Holly quickly flicked through her pages of notes to be sure that she wouldn’t forget a single rule Mr. O’Malley had told them.

  The Trifles, on the other hand, seemed determined to break every one.

  “Your Majesty.” Mr. Trifle grabbed the Queen’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. Her glasses slipped a little to the side. Palace security staff moved in to help, but she gave them a discreet nod that she was fine.

  “My, what a strong grip you have!” She straightened her glasses.

  “It’s the muscles, you see. My wife, Mrs. Trifle, and I own our own fitness and beauty center.”

  Holly silently pleaded, Please, please don’t give her your—

  “Card?” Mr. Trifle whipped a card from his pocket. “It’s called Beaut Butts and Guts. Guaranteed to get anyone’s butt and gut in shape in no time.”

  He did it, Holly thought. My dad actually said the word “butt” to the Queen of England. Twice!

  The entire room fell silent—except for the corgis, who growled.

  Holly was sure they’d be kicked out or thrown in prison for their offenses.

  The Queen, however, continued on with perfect grace and politely accepted the card. “You do look exceedingly fit.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The Trifles smiled as if they had just won the lottery, while Holly stood in a mire of mortification, and again, she wished she knew the address of her real parents—the ones who would never embarrass her like these ones. “We can show you some of our moves if you like.”

  Holly literally stopped breathing.

  Mr. O’Malley tried to intervene. “Oh, that won’t be—”

  Before he could finish, Mr. and Mrs. Trifle tore off their outer clothes in one Velcro-ripping move, revealing shiny spandex suits underneath. Mr. Trifle began a series of jumping jacks and squats, while Mrs. Trifle lunged to each side. “These are two of our most effective moves to tone flab.”

  Mr. O’Malley turned white and looked as if he were about to pass out.

  The royal guards exchanged puzzled looks, unsure if this was bizarre but harmless behavior or a serious security breach. No one had ever exercised in front of the Queen before.

  “Do these every day, ma’am,” Mr. Trifle said, “and you, too, can have butts like ours.”

  There was a very long pause. No one dared move.

  Finally, the Queen said, “Congratulations to you”—she raised an eyebrow and gave a knowing smile—“and your well-toned butts and guts.”

  The Queen and her corgis moved to the table of cakes.

  “How about that?” Mr. Trifle whispered. “She greatly admires our butts.”

  “They are very fine,” Mrs. Trifle agreed.

  The Queen surveyed the selection of tasty morsels, deciding which one to pick, while the corgis sniffed at the cuffs of Boo’s jeans. “Oh, they like you.” She leaned in closer. “And trust me, they don’t like everyone.”

  Mom tried to discreetly shuffle Boo by the shoulders so that he wasn’t so close to the royal dogs.

  “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Boo Wimple, and this is Mom, Dad, Nanna Flo, and my champion spelling sister, India.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” Boo asked.

  “Certainly.”

  “Do you like being Queen?”

  “There is no greater pleasure or privilege. Even though I must admit that when it gets a bit chaotic, I sneak through the secret door to my room and read. When I come back, I often find no one has even noticed I’m gone.”

  “Is it hard being surrounded by people all the time, watching everything you do?” Boo asked.

  The Queen had a wistful look. “It isn’t all the time. They do let me sleep in peace, but it would be nice to walk down the street or through a park completely unrecognized. I do love being Queen, but if I could have one afternoon of just being anonymous, I think that would be rather nice.”

  “You could come to Yungabilla and be incognito,” Boo suggested.

  She chuckled. “And where’s that?”

  “It’s in Australia. It’s super quiet, and everyone’s really nice. Except Bessie, but that’s only when there are lamingtons around.”

  “Bessie?”

  “Farmer Austin’s cow.”

  “I see. I may have to visit one day.” The Queen turned to India. “And how about you, India? Are you ready for your big day?”

  “I think so, ma’am. I am a little bit nervous.”

&
nbsp; “It’s only natural,” the Queen said. “There have been times when I’ve been terribly nervous, especially when I first became Queen. I used to have this voice in my head that was very negative.”

  “Me too!” India remembered the voice in her head during the first spelling bee. “But it went away.”

  “I suspect it’s because you held up your chin and got on with it. As my good friend the former prime minister used to say, ‘Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.’”

  “Were you always a good speller?” India was curious.

  “My sister and I would lie in bed at night and have competitions. Papa would often come into our rooms and sternly tell us to turn out the lights. He could be very strict, you know, being King and all. We would dutifully say good night, but when he was gone, we’d take out our flashlights and keep playing, and we wouldn’t go to sleep until one of us was the champion.”

  “Who usually won?”

  “I don’t like to boast, but I was quite good.” The Queen chuckled and chose a bite-size chocolate mousse cake. “I better mingle. I wish all the spellers well, of course, but I will especially look forward to watching you.”

  15

  Epiphany

  (noun):

  A moment of sudden realization.

  They experienced an epiphany that changed everything.

  “Ingenious India had never been in a situation that was so perilous.”

  That afternoon, in preparation for round one of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee, Mom told another story of Brave Boo and Ingenious India for some last-minute practice. This time, she’d written it down so Boo could double-check the spelling.

  “Perilous,” India said. “P-e-r-i-l-o-u-s.”

  Boo held Mom’s story in his hands, nodding at every word.

  “She was dangling from a helicopter high above Buckingham Palace, which was ablaze.”

  “A-b-l-a-z-e.”

  “Fire consumed the building, and now the only way out was up. The pilot, Brave Boo, held the chopper steady against the waves of rising heat, while India descended…”

  “D-e-s-c-e-n-d-e-d.”

  “…into a moment that was truly valiant…”

  “V-a-l-i-a-n-t.”