The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  The audience chuckled.

  “Your word is devotee, a noun meaning an enthusiastic fan or admirer.”

  There are moments in every speller’s bee when they hear their next word and are filled with either fear or relief. For India, this was a moment of wonderful relief.

  “D-e-v-o-t-e-e. Devotee.”

  “Which you are lucky to have,” Fozdrake said. “And spell correctly.”

  Nanna Flo let out another cheer. Esmerelda Stomp poked her head out from behind the curtain and scowled into the audience. It seems cheering was something else she’d liked banned from the bee.

  “I now call Peter Eriksson.”

  A bolt of panic gripped Peter. This was it. This was his chance to make his dad proud. He did his best to look confident and took his position at the microphone. As he smiled for the cameras—and secretly for his dad—he silently begged, Please, please get this right.

  “Peter, your word is…triskaidekaphobia. This is the—”

  “Fear of the number thirteen,” Peter blurted. “It’s one of my favorite words. It has been since I was little. I’ve always thought it’s odd to have a word for something so specific, don’t you think?”

  Esmerelda glared at the garrulous boy.

  “I agree.” Fozdrake smiled. “Now let’s hear you spell it.”

  Peter took a calming breath and began. “T-r-i-s-k-a-i-d-e-k-a-p-h-o-b-i-a. Triskaidekaphobia.”

  “And that, Peter Eriksson, is correct!”

  The audience applauded. Peter waved at the camera, hoping his dad knew he was waving at him.

  Rajish was next with charisma, while Holly hesitantly spelled pusillanimous. Summer breezed through insouciance, and India took her time with elucubrate. When Peter was asked to spell forefather, he took it as a sign that his father must be watching.

  After only a few more spellers, Fozdrake announced, “With the next misspelled word, we will have our grand finalists.”

  He let the possibility of those words hang in the air. Each remaining speller knew they were one step away from the grand final but only one incorrect letter away from leaving.

  “Millie Olsen, it’s your turn.”

  It was the girl India had seen in the lobby with the yellow ribbons and overzealous mother.

  “Your word is harangue. This can be a noun or a verb, meaning criticism or to be lectured or berated.”

  The girl was shaking so much, her dress quivered. “Harangue.” She looked into the audience, as if searching for an answer.

  Come on, India thought. You can do this.

  “Fifteen seconds, Millie,” Fozdrake tried to say as gently as he could.

  “H-a-r-a…” She wrote the word on her hand. “…n…g…” She shook her head and started over in her mind. “…e?”

  Fozdrake took longer than usual to reply. “Millie, I’m afraid that is…incorrect.”

  Millie nodded and almost immediately stopped shaking.

  The pronouncer looked at the crestfallen girl. “Millie Olsen, let me congratulate you for your courage and praise you for your poise. You are spectacular for having succeeded this far into the competition. Don’t we agree, audience?”

  The crowd rose to their feet, applauding and cheering Millie, who attempted a brave smile, when a woman ran down the center aisle, waving her arms and screaming. “Nooooo!”

  A furious look planted itself on Esmerelda’s face.

  “She deserves a second chance!”

  Esmerelda was not having it. She jabbed her finger at two security guards, who hurried toward the distraught woman, trying to intercept her before she reached the stage.

  “All those tutoring fees!” the woman cried, crumbling to the floor, sobbing. “Wasted! I’ll sue! Mark my words!”

  The guards struggled to help her to her feet; her body was weighed down by disappointment. They gently redirected her to the exit, followed by the diminished figure of Millie. Her voice faded as the door closed behind her.

  Fozdrake carried on with unflappable ease. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee Grand Finalists!”

  The audience sprang from their chairs again. There was no stopping them. Mr. O’Malley lost himself momentarily and threw his arms around Esmerelda, who couldn’t decide what made her more furious—the unruly audience or the uncalled-for hug.

  “We did it?” Holly wanted to make sure.

  “Of course we did,” Summer said through closed teeth, making sure to beam at the cameras before they stopped filming.

  Rajish leaned over to India. “Nice work.”

  “You too.” India felt so happy, she thought she might float out of her chair.

  Fozdrake let the cheers whirl around him as he made his final farewell. “Tune in tomorrow for the grand final, when we discover who among these finalists will be the spelling champion of the world! I’m Fozdrake Magnifico, and until then, may your evening be most marvelous.”

  He blew the audience a kiss, which sent them into a frenzy.

  When the broadcast was over and the music had ended, Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor were the first parents onstage, smothering Rajish in hugs and kisses.

  “My son!” Mr. Kapoor was crying. “My beautiful, clever son!”

  The Wimples raced up the steps, with Dad equally teary.

  Mr. Eriksson swept his grandson off his feet. “I knew you could do it, Peter! I just knew it!”

  “I made it through!” Summer was on the phone with her parents. “I’m in the grand final!”

  Holly watched all the hugging and crying, and her heart ached just a little. She was used to seeing other parents make a fuss over their kids—at debate tournaments, school plays, or sports contests. It always happened. It’s not that she didn’t enjoy other people’s happiness, but these were the times when she thought about her real parents. The ones who would have swung her into the air and cheered like mad about how proud they were.

  “You were really good.”

  Holly turned to the voice behind her. It was her dad, who seemed a trifle shocked. “And under so much pressure.” He shook his head in wonderment. “My daughter. A champion speller.”

  And in that moment, Holly saw something in her father’s eyes that she had never seen before. It looked like pride. And it was because of her.

  “You really could win this,” he said, as if he only just now realized.

  Making it through the first round made Holly feel dizzy, but hearing her dad call her a champion made her feel as if she were flying.

  “Can I have your attention?” Mr. O’Malley stood beside Fozdrake, positively ebullient with how smoothly the first round of the bee had run. His face was a beacon of admiration for the spellers before him. “Congratulations to all of you and to Mr. Magnifico for his usual perfect pronunciation! We look forward to more moments of brilliance during the grand final when—”

  Mr. O’Malley said no more, because a whooping alarm bellowed throughout the ballroom.

  “Fire!” a voice wailed.

  Fear quickly spread, and people rushed from the room.

  Mr. O’Malley watched on, rigid with fright, until Esmerelda shoved him out of the way and snatched the microphone. “Head to your closest exit and make your way to the assembly point outside the hotel,” she barked.

  Parents scrambled to reach their kids and fled the stage. Arms and legs flew in all directions. The edge of a boot struck the glass podium holding the trophy. It toppled back and forth for a few precarious seconds, as if determined not to fall, but another escaping parent slammed into it with his full body, sealing its fate. The trophy flew from the stand and tumbled through the air, hitting the stage in a series of sickening thuds.

  Mr. Eriksson spied their nearest exit and took charge. “Stay calm, everyone, and follow me.”

  Mom and Nanna Flo took Boo’
s hands while Dad held onto India.

  Summer looked lost until India reached out. “Come with us.”

  Mr. Trifle held tight to Holly, and the Kapoors nestled Rajish between them.

  The pandemonium of panic was only added to by the activation of the fire sprinklers.

  Water sprayed over the entire room to frantic shrieks and cries. The television crew threw jackets on the cameras, and parents bundled their children to safety. Some slipped in puddles of water; others tripped over forgotten handbags.

  A little girl fell in front of Mr. Eriksson and was in danger of being trampled. Grandpop held onto Peter while scooping her up with one arm.

  As the crowd inched toward the doors, trying to stay on their feet and avoid flying elbows, India felt her anger rise. She was sure that this was no accident. The banner, the destroyed dinner, the blackout, and now this—someone was behind these acts of malfeasance.

  Of treachery.

  Of chicanery.

  When they reached the exit, India turned back to see Mr. O’Malley still onstage, his suit dripping with water, his silvery black hair plastered against his face, looking like a captain about to go down with his ship.

  19

  Sabotage

  (verb or noun):

  Deliberate damage or causing damage for political, military, or personal gain.

  It was an act of sabotage that threatened to ruin everything.

  “Canceled?” Nanna Flo cried.

  “That’s what it says here.”

  It was much later, after the Wimples had gone back to their room and changed into dry clothes, that Boo saw a note had been slipped beneath their door.

  “What a load of piffle! They can’t just cancel the competition. These kids have worked too hard!”

  If it was possible that a heart could sink, India’s did just that. “What else does the note say?”

  Boo read on. “It is with great sadness that, due to several misfortunes that have occurred during the opening days of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee, it has been decided, for the safety of all participants, to cancel the competition.” Boo looked up. “I’m sorry, India.”

  “Who wrote the note?”

  “It’s signed Esmerelda Stomp.”

  “Fiddle-faddle and balderdash!” It was Nanna Flo again, and she was angry. “I’m going to go down there and give her a piece of my mind.”

  India sent a pleading look to Dad, worried that Nanna Flo may not be the best person to work things out. “Maybe it’ll be better if I go with the other spellers?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Dad agreed.

  “He’s right,” Boo joined in. “It’ll be more convincing coming from kids.”

  Nanna rolled up her sleeves. “Oh, I can be pretty convincing, believe me.”

  “You sure can,” Mom said, “but it’ll be harder to say no to kids.”

  Nanna still had her doubts. “All right, but the second you need me, you call.”

  India kissed Nanna Flo on the cheek. “I will.”

  India phoned the others, and they met in a secluded lounge area in the hotel lobby. They leaned in close so they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Rajish is right,” India began. “These accidents aren’t accidents at all. I think they were meant to sabotage the bee so it’d be canceled.”

  “And it worked.” Peter sighed.

  “For now,” India said. “But what if we discovered who’s behind it? Then maybe the bee would go on.”

  Holly wondered where they’d even begin their search. “It could be anyone.”

  “Not just anyone,” India said in a conspiratorial tone.

  Rajish moved in even closer. “Who do you think it is?”

  India waited a moment before she revealed her suspect. “Esmerelda Stomp.”

  “Why would the spelling bee director ruin her own bee?” Peter asked.

  “Before our meeting yesterday, I met her in the elevator. She told me she didn’t like spelling bees or kids and that she wouldn’t mind if the competition was canceled.”

  “Someone’s in the wrong job,” Summer quipped.

  “Also, the night the dogs ran through the Imperial Dining Hall, Esmerelda didn’t help one bit and instead stood back, smiling, as if she were enjoying every minute.”

  “That doesn’t prove she did it,” Rajish said.

  “I know, but it makes her a suspect.”

  “How do we prove it?” Holly asked.

  Summer leaned her elbows on the table and clasped her hands in front of her lips, like a detective in a movie. “What if we got her to admit it? We could pay her a visit, distressed that the competition has been canceled and that all our dreams have been shattered.”

  “Go and see her?” Peter turned pale. “When?”

  “Now,” Summer decided. “Who’s in?”

  They all held up their hands. Except Peter.

  “She seems kind of angry all the time.”

  “It’ll be fine,” India said. “We’ll be together.”

  Prince Harry appeared from Peter’s coat.

  “You think I should go too, don’t you?” The crested gecko poked out his tongue. “All right, I’m in too.”

  • • •

  “I’m terribly sorry you feel that way,” Esmerelda’s voice said through her door, clearly irritated. “But if your daughter is that upset, I suggest calling room service and ordering a new box of tissues!”

  Whatever small amount of patience Esmerelda had was clearly gone.

  The five spellers stood outside her door. India threw back her shoulders, wriggled her fingers, and tried to ignore the increasing urge to run away.

  She knocked.

  The director’s voice snarled from within. “What now?” Her footsteps thudded closer.

  Peter slipped behind Summer.

  Esmerelda wrenched the door open, her face puce with anger.

  “See?” Peter whispered. “She’s angry.”

  Prince Harry buried himself deep inside Peter’s pocket.

  “If you’ve come to complain about your ruined clothes, send your dry cleaning bills to hotel reception, and we’ll pay for the damage.” She was about to turn away when she added, “Oh, and we’re sorry for any upset caused.”

  Esmerelda did not look sorry at all. Actually, she looked more like someone in need of a very long vacation.

  “Now, I have to go. I’m very busy.” She began to close the door.

  “Ms. Stomp.” India stuck her foot in the doorway.

  Esmerelda scowled as if a muddy dog were trying to barge its way into her home.

  “We’re sorry to disturb you, but we wanted to tell you…” India found it hard to keep her voice steady with her heart beating so fast. “We think someone is behind all the accidents at the bee.”

  Esmerelda released the door and slowly crossed her arms. “Do you now?”

  India wasn’t sure exactly how Esmerelda did it, but she sounded even more unwelcoming than before.

  “Yes.” India knew she had to be careful. “And we were wondering… We wanted to ask…if it was you.”

  “Me?” The director moved closer, like a spider crawling toward a moth trapped in its web. “What makes you think it was me?”

  India gulped. She glanced at Rajish, who gave her an encouraging nod. “When I first met you in the elevator, you told me that you didn’t like spelling bees or kids and that you wouldn’t mind if the bee was canceled.”

  “That’s true.” She loomed even closer, her jaw clenched. “What else?”

  “When the dogs ruined the dinner, you stood back and smiled, as if you were enjoying every minute.”

  She nodded. “That’s true too. I was enjoying it very much.”

  Holly was puzzled. “So you did it?”

 
“I don’t believe in dog shows and dressing up animals to be something they’re not. When I saw those dogs chasing that cat, I was happy because that’s how dogs are supposed to act—not prancing about with ribbons in their fur. It’s been the highlight of all the spelling bees so far.”

  “So you didn’t do it?” Holly was still trying to decipher what Esmerelda was saying.

  “Of course not,” Esmerelda insisted. “It’s true I’m not fond of children—or adults for that matter—but I’d never sabotage the bee to avoid them. I agree that the ‘accidents’ were cleverly disguised attempts to ruin everything, but what I also know is that the venue is no longer safe. That’s why the bee has been canceled and Mr. O’Malley has been fired.”

  “Fired?” India was having trouble believing what Esmerelda was saying.

  “Of course. Mr. O’Malley swore an oath to the Queen that as her representative, he would make sure the bee ran without a hitch, and he has failed miserably.”

  “But he loved the competition,” Peter argued.

  “Not enough to do his job properly, and he’s left a giant mess, which I now have to clean up. I knew we should have given the position to Mr. Harrington. He applied too, but the Queen wanted Mr. O’Malley. She was insistent.”

  “Where is Mr. O’Malley now?” India asked.

  Esmerelda looked as if she had a million other things she’d rather be doing than answering annoying questions. “Hotel security has taken him to his room so he can pack his things and be removed from the property. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had my fill of whiny children for today.”

  India pulled her leg out of the way just in time for the door to slam shut. A lock clicked into place.

  No one moved. India stared at the door, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. “We have to find Mr. O’Malley before he leaves.”

  They ran to the elevator and hurried to his room. When they got there, his door was slightly ajar. India knocked softly. “Mr. O’Malley, may we come in?”

  “Yes,” a weak voice floated from inside.

  Two burly security guards looked on as a disheveled Mr. O’Malley gathered his things and dropped them into his suitcase. His hair had dried but was in a tangled mess. He was wearing mismatched socks, and his shirt was wrinkled and untucked over a pair of gray sweat pants.