Before he could say anything, Mr. O’Malley’s face was lit by a flashlight, hollowing out his cheeks and eye sockets and giving him a strange, haunted look.
“Could I have your attention?” Even though he was trying to be cheerful, India knew from the tremble in his voice that he didn’t have good news. “I’m afraid there’s been a major power surge that will take some time to fix, so it is with a heavy heart that I announce tonight’s first round of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee is…postponed.”
Sighs of disappointment rose into the air like a thick fog. As well as a few disgruntled complaints.
Mr. O’Malley deflated like an old party balloon until he lifted himself higher and tried to sound more upbeat. “You have my solemn promise that this is merely a temporary setback. We will have the power restored and everything in readiness for one of the most marvelous days of your lives.”
As everyone in the room gathered their things and began to leave, India couldn’t stop thinking about what Rajish had said. The idea that someone would deliberately sabotage the spelling bee was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Why would someone want to ruin a competition for kids, one that was loved around the world and by the Queen of England herself?
It didn’t make any sense.
But no matter how much she tried to convince herself it couldn’t be true, her suspicions just wouldn’t budge.
17
Predicament
(noun):
A difficult or tricky situation, being in a pickle.
It was a predicament that would take a lot of creativity to solve.
The Wimples sat on the couch in their hotel suite, and as Nanna Flo stood before them in an apricot dress and matching jacket that she only wore on special occasions, she held up different scarves, wondering which one worked better.
“What about this one?”
“That looks very elegant,” Dad said, positive that Nanna Flo had shown them that one already.
She chose another. “Or maybe this one?”
“That’s my favorite.” Boo was sure they’d also seen this one already.
“I could always go with Daryl’s red scarf to match the belt.”
“That’s good too.” India had never heard Nanna talk so much about clothing.
Nanna Flo still couldn’t choose. “Maybe it’s the dress that’s all wrong.”
The Wimples secretly sighed. They’d spent an hour watching Nanna Flo parade all the dresses she’d brought to London before finally deciding on this one. They couldn’t go through it again.
“I like that dress the best.” India tried to sound resolute, even though she thought Nanna Flo looked perfect in whatever dress she wore.
“Me too!” Boo added. “It brings out your natural charm.”
Boo had never said this to anyone before—he’d only ever heard it in movies—and was really hoping it would do the trick.
It didn’t.
Nanna Flo flopped beside them on the couch. “Maybe this is a bad idea. I should stay here instead. Yes, that’s it,” she decided. “I’ll stay and help India practice.”
“There’s no need,” India said. “I have Mom, Dad, and Boo.”
Mom picked up the blue scarf and gently draped it around Nanna Flo’s neck. “I think this one suits you best.”
Boo picked up her purse. “And you’ll need this for any treats you sneak home for us.”
Nanna Flo still didn’t look sure until Dad kissed her on the cheek. “All you need to do now is have fun.”
The Wimples stood in front of Nanna Flo.
“And tell us all about it when you get back,” India added.
“But I—”
The doorbell rang. No one moved, including Nanna Flo, who looked up as if she’d heard a huge explosion.
“I’ll get it.” Boo jumped up from the couch and opened the door to find Mr. Eriksson. He was wearing a very fine suit and holding a bunch of flowers.
“Mr. Eriksson,” Boo said. “Come in. Nanna’s waiting for you.”
“Good evening, Wimples.” He handed the flowers to Nanna Flo. “Lovely to see you again, Florence.”
Nanna Flo held the flowers and said nothing.
“She thinks it’s lovely to see you too.” India looked at her grandmother pointedly. “Don’t you, Nanna?”
She nodded, still not saying a word.
This was going to be trickier than the Wimples thought—Nanna Flo was rarely at a loss for words.
Dad broke through the awkward silence. “Where are you off to?”
“I’ve booked a horse-drawn carriage ride around Hyde Park, followed by dinner at a karaoke restaurant.”
“Karaoke?” Nanna Flo finally spoke up.
Mr. Eriksson shared a sneaky smile with the Wimples. “A little bird told me you are quite the singer and once even sang at the Sydney Opera House.”
“It was just one time and—”
“She was magnificent,” Boo said.
India nodded. “Some say it was the best performance the Opera House has ever seen.”
“Oh stop.” Nanna Flo waved a hand.
“As your family, we have the right to boast,” Dad said.
“It’s part of the deal of being a Wimple.” Mom kissed Nanna Flo on the cheek.
Mr. Eriksson held out his arm. “Shall we?”
The Wimples stood together in that huddling penguin way and smiled, which seemed to make Nanna finally relax. “Yes, we shall.”
• • •
That night, the Wimples ordered Chinese takeout and held a mock spelling bee, which left India’s head swimming with words. Boo was the pronouncer, and Mom and Dad were the adoring crowd. They cheered and whooped, and at times, Dad even burst into song, which, luckily for the Wimples and their neighbors, didn’t last long.
As Boo and Mom dragged themselves to bed, India and Dad sat in the glow of her bedside light and practiced with her favorite dictionary, a present from the prime minister.
Dad opened the book and searched each page for the trickiest words he could find.
Antidisestablishmentarianism.
India spelled it perfectly.
Bibliothecarial.
This was harder, so India took her time, imagining each of the letters before she began.
Eudaemonia.
India folded her arms and gave her dad a skeptical look. “You’ve made that up.”
“No, I haven’t. It means a contented state of being happy, healthy, and prosperous, which perfectly describes me.”
“You’re not that prosperous.”
“Ahhh, but you see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m as rich a man as ever lived.”
“Have you had a chance to talk to Mom about Boo?” India asked.
“I thought it’d be easier to tackle world peace first, then move on to Boo.”
“He needs us, Dad.”
“I know. I’ll figure something out.”
They heard the door of their suite open. It was Nanna Flo. And she was humming.
She poked her head in India’s room. “Can I join in?”
Dad patted the bed. “How was it?”
Nanna Flo put down her purse and made herself comfortable. “Fun. He’s not a very good singer, but don’t tell him I told you. How are things here?”
“We need your help with a tricky predicament,” India said.
“Anything.”
“It’s about Boo.”
“Boo! Is he all right? Did he have another attack? I knew I shouldn’t have gone out.”
“He’s fine, but he wants us to stop worrying about him—like now.”
“We care about him.”
“I know,” India said, “but he’s tired of being treated like a little kid.”
“I guess he is getting older.”
“And he wants to go back to school.”
“Holy cow’s udder, that’s serious.”
“That’s not all.” Dad’s worry wrinkle was back. “He wants a dog.”
“It might be easier to get him to the moon.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Please, Nanna,” India pleaded. “Boo needs our help.”
She nodded. “And he’ll have it. I might need a good strong cup of tea before I do it, but count me in.”
18
Tenterhooks
(noun):
Commonly used in the phrase “on tenterhooks,” meaning to be nervous, apprehensive, or worried sick.
The contestants were on tenterhooks as the competition finally began.
“Welcome to the fiftieth anniversary of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee!”
It was the next day, and Fozdrake had spruced himself up for the second attempt at round one. The theme music played, the cameras rolled, and a single spotlight glimmered off the silver sequined letters sewn into his blue suit.
He waited for the applause to fade.
“And welcome to our wonderful viewers watching from around the world. Over two evenings, you will behold a battle of bravery from superlative spellers. It will be demanding, it will be draining, but most of all, it will reveal our supreme spelling superstar.”
Fozdrake basked in the applause, teeth twinkling, eyes sparkling.
“And now, it is time to welcome our spelling supremos.” He flung out his hand, and the stage lights snapped on, revealing rows of apprehensive children seated onstage.
When the clapping died down, Fozdrake continued. “This is a knockout competition, which means when the word is spelled incorrectly, the contestant, sadly, must leave the stage.” He leaned toward the camera, and his voice grew serious. “By the end of tonight, only half of our wondrous wordsmiths will remain.”
India felt as if a rock had fallen on her stomach. She worried that she might be sick, until Rajish flashed her a comforting smile.
Holly pulled at the tip of her braid, and Peter was the color of a bedsheet. Summer’s gleaming smile, of course, never faltered. Not once.
“The valorous victor will receive a check for the tantalizing total of”—Fozdrake raised an eyebrow—“ten thousand dollars.” The audience oohed. “And that’s not all. They will be the proud proprietor of this!”
With a deft flick of his hand, Fozdrake removed a dark cloth from a stand beside him. Beneath it was the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee trophy.
The audience gasped.
Perched on a glass stand, it seemed to float above the stage. The lights gave it a golden glow that made it look more like one of the crown jewels than a mere trophy.
“There it is.” Peter gazed at the polished cup, which rose from the pages of an open brass book.
“It’s beautiful.” India thought it looked even more impressive in real life than on their TV in Yungabilla.
“It’s so much bigger than I imagined,” Holly marveled.
“But who will possess this prestigious prize?” Fozdrake turned to the spellers, his eyes wide and searching. “Which one of you will walk away the winner?”
Peter sat on his hands to stop them from shaking. He knew the person who won that trophy would be in all the magazines, splashed up on millions of TVs and across the internet.
His dad would have to see him then.
Prince Harry wriggled inside his jacket. Peter glanced down to see his shiny nose poking out. “Thanks, Prince Harry.”
“Spellers.” Fozdrake’s melodious voice reverberated throughout the hall. “Are…you…ready?”
“Yes…we…are!” The children cried out in unison.
“Then let the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee…begin!”
Music played, and spotlights beamed over the crowd as Fozdrake plucked the official word cards from his pocket.
India spotted Mr. O’Malley in the wings, nervously pacing and brushing invisible fluff from his jacket. Esmerelda stood beside him, holding her clipboard. She wore a stony expression and seemed thoroughly unperturbed, if not a little bored.
“I call the first contestant: Freya Rose.”
A girl with a mop of bouncy orange curls almost ran to the microphone.
“Are you ready, Freya?”
She pushed a bunch of curls behind her ears, but they immediately escaped. “Yes, Mr. Magnifico.”
“Your first word is effervescent,” Fozdrake read with perfect pronunciation. “This is an adjective meaning energetic or bubbly.”
Freya didn’t hesitate. “E-f-f-e-r-v-e-s-c-e-n-t. Effervescent.”
“That is correct!”
Mr. O’Malley and the crowd breathed out in a collective sigh of relief and applauded as Freya and her curls bounced back to her seat.
“Our next contestant is Barnaby Gray.”
Fozdrake craned his head, searching through the rows of children, but no one moved.
“Barnaby? Are you here?”
There was a long pause before a boy raised his head, a deep frown wrinkling his brow. He rose unsteadily to his feet and shuffled across the stage like he were carrying a heavy sack. He played with his tie, which dangled from a tightly buttoned collar.
“Barnaby, your word is lugubrious—an adjective meaning glum, gloomy, or down in the dumps.”
The boy stared at the ground for so long that Fozdrake wondered if he should repeat the word.
“Lugubrious,” the boy began. “L-u-g-u-…”
He tugged at his collar, finding it hard to breathe.
“…b-r-i-u-s. Lugubrious.”
“Oh dear,” Fozdrake said. “I’m sorry, but that is…incorrect.”
The boy nodded. Then began to cry.
“But what an excellent effort to have made it this far,” Fozdrake said, trying to lift his mood.
Barnaby quietly whimpered and dragged his feet as he trudged off the stage.
Ever the professional, Fozdrake snapped back to his chirpier self. More contestants were called, and more words were spelled.
Exertion.
Assiduous.
Industrious.
Some did a little dance when they were correct, while others stormed off or were coaxed from the stage by embarrassed parents.
The number of spellers dwindled.
“Our next speller is Holly Trifle.”
Holly gripped the seat so hard that Peter thought she might not get up.
“You have to leave the chair here,” he whispered, “or Esmerelda will be furious.”
Holly released her grip but still didn’t get up.
“Go get ’em, Holly Trifle,” Peter said.
She stood slowly and focused on every footstep so she didn’t trip on her way to the microphone.
“Holly, your word is tenterhooks. This is a noun meaning hooks used to fix cloth to a drying frame. The phrase ‘on tenterhooks’ means to be apprehensive or nervous.”
“Tenterhooks.” Holly tugged at the end of her braid. She could see the letters laid out in her mind. All she had to do was spell it, just as she saw it. “T-e-n-t…”
But then she faltered. She knew e came next, but what if she was wrong? What if it was an a or an o? She felt her whole body heat up in a rush of dread.
“You have fifteen seconds left, Holly.” Even Fozdrake was on tenterhooks, no matter how you spelled it.
Not a sound could be heard in the auditorium—until Holly heard her mother’s voice in her head: This time, don’t blow it.
The voice entered like a bad wind, blowing the word away so that her mind went blank. As hard as Holly tried, she couldn’t see any letters at all.
Her mouth went dry, and her throat pinched.
Holly knew it was all
over. She was going to fail on the first word; she was going to blow it after all.
She lowered her head and turned to leave but was stopped by Summer, India, Rajish, and Peter, who were staring straight at her. Peter held up double crossed fingers. Rajish and India clasped their hands while Summer gave her a confident nod.
The word reappeared in Holly’s mind.
And it was right. She was sure of it.
She spun back to the microphone before her time ran out. “…e-r-h-o-o-k-s. Tenterhooks.”
Fozdrake’s face was a picture of composure. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Holly tried to read his thoughts, until finally, he cried, “That is correct!”
The audience erupted in applause.
Holly jumped on the spot and pounded a fist in the air. Her friends gave her a thumbs-up in support as she rushed back to her seat.
“I knew you could do it,” Peter said as she sat beside him. Prince Harry stuck his head out of Peter’s pocket and poked his tongue at Holly, making her laugh. “Harry knew it too.”
The competition was now in full swing. The tension sizzled in the air. Mr. O’Malley pulled out his hanky more than once to wipe his brow. Esmerelda yawned.
Conviction.
Fortitude.
Determination.
“The next speller is Summer Millicent Ernestine Beauregard-Champion.”
Summer strode to the microphone, oozing confidence, and waved at the audience. “I’m ready, Mr. Magnifico.”
“Your word is imperturbable. This is an adjective meaning composed, collected, or cool as a cucumber.”
Summer raised her jaw and clasped her hands in front of her, as if she were about to launch into song. “I-m-p-e-r-t-u-r-b-a-b-l-e. Imperturbable.”
“That is correct!”
Fozdrake called more names, and as each word was misspelled, another child departed the stage, leaving more and more empty chairs.
“I would like to call to the microphone India Wimple.”
From the back of the auditorium, India heard a cheer and knew it was Nanna Flo. She gave a discreet wave and walked to the microphone.
“You have a fan?” Fozdrake asked.
“My nanna.” India nodded. “She gets a little excited.”
The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee Page 11