The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  Harrington was rigid with anger. He took one small, threatening step toward Peter. “Is that so?” His voice was dangerously low.

  Peter recognized in Harrington’s face the same look in his eyes, the same turned up lip as when Bruiser loomed over him.

  But this time, the bullying wasn’t going to work.

  India and the others moved to Peter’s side.

  “Yeah.” He felt bolstered by them just being there. “That’s so.”

  The air was charged with Harrington’s quiet rage. Then a strange thing happened: he sank back into his throne, defeated.

  “OK,” he sighed.

  “OK? You mean you did it?” Holly made sure to keep her phone out of sight, in case he ordered her to stop recording.

  “I never meant to hurt anyone. I just wanted to ruin things a little.”

  “Ruin things a little?” Summer exclaimed. “You ruined several of my brand-new designer dresses!”

  “I think what Summer meant,” India said pointedly, “is that people could have been hurt.”

  “Well, of course, there’s that too,” Summer admitted.

  “To think my dad wanted me to be like you.” Rajish’s glare was cold.

  “He did?” It seemed only then that Harrington realized what he’d done.

  “How could you?” came an unexpected voice from the back of the room.

  “Elwood?” The color drained from Harrington’s face when he saw Mr. O’Malley at the door.

  The butler scurried in behind him. “Sorry, sir. He barged in.”

  Harrington waved him off. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with them.” Mr. O’Malley held up his phone. “And I heard every word.”

  “Oh.”

  “They’re just kids,” Mr. O’Malley said. “You did this to them to ruin me?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I never meant to…”

  All of Harrington’s excuses melted away.

  “When I discovered the Queen needed a new representative for the bee, I knew there’d be no greater endorsement for my business. I was the champion, but she chose you instead. I thought if I messed things up and made you look incompetent, she’d realize she’d made a mistake and give the position to me.”

  “Instead, the competition is canceled, and no one wins,” India said.

  Mr. O’Malley frowned. “All those years ago, you were a superlative speller. You probably would have won instead of me.”

  “I had to make sure,” Harrington said.

  “Why?” India asked. “When you’d already won twice?”

  “My dad was a famous soccer player. He’d broken many records. To him, life was all about winning and being the best. I grew up in a house full of his trophies and medals. I wasn’t any good at sports, much to his disappointment, but I was determined to make him proud. When I heard about the spelling bee, I knew that was how I could do it.” Harrington smiled. “It took a lot of hard work—I practiced every chance I got—and I won two international finals. But it had been done before. I knew I needed to win one more to truly impress him. Then I came up against Elwood. He was a natural and had a knack for spelling words I’d never seen before. I had to make sure he wouldn’t win.”

  “So you planted the cards in his room?” India asked.

  “Not me, of course. I couldn’t risk being caught. Not the son of the great Harold Hathaway.” Harrington laughed, a sad, ironic laugh. “It’s surprising how easily some people can be bought off.”

  India had heard enough. “We have to tell Esmerelda and convince her to let the bee go on as scheduled.” She turned away until she remembered one last thing. “Oh, and by the way, Mr. Hathaway, there’s no such word as encountenance.”

  They hurried from the room, leaving Harrington hunched over in his throne, in his very large mansion, surrounded by his trophies and medals.

  They scrambled into the limousine, and Holly immediately sent the recording she’d made. “Once Esmerelda hears this, she’ll have to let the bee continue.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. O’Malley said, teary eyed. “All of you.”

  “You’re welcome.” India looked quite pleased with herself. “It was time everyone knew the truth, and someone had to put a stop to Harrington’s bullying.”

  “Which Peter did!” Holly said, nudging him with her elbow.

  The crested gecko climbed out of Peter’s pocket and leaped into his hands. Peter stroked his back.

  India laughed. “Prince Harry thinks so too.”

  “You really stood up to him.” Rajish patted Peter on the back.

  “And with style.” Summer sat opposite Peter, her arms folded, nodding in admiration. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Neither did I,” Peter confessed with a laugh. His heart hadn’t quite settled since he’d left Harrington’s mansion. “It felt good, but I couldn’t have done it without you all there.”

  “We were like the three musketeers,” Holly said. “Except there are five of us…and we’re not musketeers.”

  Rajish held out his hand. “All for one!”

  The others stacked their hands on top of his, one after the other. “And one for all.”

  Peter held Prince Harry in the air until the gecko bounded onto the pile of hands.

  “Sorry,” Holly apologized. “The six musketeers.”

  “Now that we’ve dealt with Mr. O’Malley’s nemesis,” Summer said, “let’s make sure this spelling bee goes ahead. I’ve bought a dress especially for the finals, and the whole trip’s going to be a disaster if I don’t get to wear it.”

  “I think you mean we’ve worked so hard to be here that it would be a shame not to compete,” India suggested.

  Summer flicked her blond locks over her shoulder and wore an imperturbable smile. “That too.”

  23

  Dudgeon

  (noun):

  A feeling of offense, anger, or resentment.

  She stormed from the room in a fit of high dudgeon.

  When they arrived at the Royal Windsor Hotel, Esmerelda was waiting for them, her face a sickly shade of gray. She’d been pacing the lobby, her clipboard gripped to her chest as if it were a life jacket.

  “Mr. O’Malley,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “I’ve spoken to Reko and watched the footage from Holly. I am truly sorry and would like to invite you back as the Queen’s representative.”

  “It would be my absolute pleasure,” Mr. O’Malley said before nervously adding, “And the Queen?”

  “She knows everything and is more than relieved to have you back.”

  A bright glow seemed to fill his whole body. He stood taller and tried to smooth out his sweat suit. “As am I.”

  “What will happen to Harrington?” India asked.

  The icy expression on Esmerelda’s face said it all. “He is being dealt with.”

  “And the grand final?” Peter was almost too scared to ask.

  “Will be going ahead tomorrow.” There was a note of relief in Esmerelda’s voice, followed quickly by her usual no-nonsense tone. “Which means we have a lot of work to do. Ready, Mr. O’Malley?”

  Even though he was in his sweats and crumpled shirt, his hair a curly, unkempt mess, Mr. O’Malley somehow resumed a regal air. “Ready, Ms. Stomp.”

  The two were headed for the elevators, locked in deep discussion, when a screeching voice tore through the lobby.

  “Where is she? I demand you find her now!”

  It was Mrs. Trifle, who eventually laid eyes on her daughter. She strode across the lobby in a sparkly pink leotard with Beaut Butts and Guts emblazoned in sequins across her chest. “Where have you been?”

  “I’m sorry.” Holly wasn’t sure where to start. “But we have some great news.”

  Mrs. Trifle continued as if Ho
lly hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour.”

  “I know you must have been worried, but—”

  “Worried? Of course I was—worried you were ruining a life-changing opportunity that I’d created! We had an important interview set up with the BBC to talk about our fitness center—”

  “And about Holly,” Mr. Trifle said, finally catching up to his wife.

  “But now it’s not going to happen, because you were nowhere to be found, and we’ve missed our chance.”

  “Sorry, but we had to do something very important, which means the grand final is going to happen!”

  “It was the BBC!” Her mother simply wasn’t listening.

  “I’m sorry.” Holly cowered before her mother’s blotchy red face.

  Peter’s heart quickened. It was the third time Holly had said sorry, but this didn’t seem to do anything to calm down Mrs. Trifle. If anything, it seemed to make her angrier.

  Prince Harry poked his nose out of Peter’s jacket. He’d been woken by the pounding of Peter’s heart, but he was also hungry, and there was a smell—something delicious and beefy.

  And it was coming from Mr. Trifle’s pocket.

  Before Peter knew what was happening, Prince Harry leaped onto the floor. He scooted across the lush carpet and sprang onto Mr. Trifle’s bright-blue sneakers before disappearing up the hem of his pants.

  “Prince Harry!” Peter cried.

  “What?!” Mr. Trifle jiggled and jogged on the spot, not sure why he had the sudden sensation of something crawling up his leg. He tried to shake it out, but the something only crawled higher. “Aaah!”

  “Dad?” Holly tried to help, but he was flailing his arms and wobbling his hips.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mrs. Trifle took a wary step back.

  Mr. Trifle twirled like a dog chasing his tail. He wriggled and shook, but nothing helped. “There’s something…a creature… I can feel it… It might be a spider or a snake…” he realized with horror. “It might be poisonous.”

  Mr. Trifle did the only thing he thought would save him, something Holly was sure she would never fully recover from.

  He undid the zipper on his trousers, dropped his pants, and tossed them aside as if they were infested with spiders.

  The entire lobby stared aghast as he stood in his underpants, patting down his legs, trying to find the culprit, which now seemed to be inside his shirt. He was twisting and turning, spinning around frantically, desperate to rid himself of this beast, when he bumped headfirst into a marble pillar.

  He stopped and clutched his forehead, dazed and confused.

  Mrs. Trifle ran to his aid. “Terry! Are you hurt? Should we call an ambulance?”

  That’s when Mrs. Trifle spotted the beady eyes of a bright-yellow lizard perched on her husband’s shoulder, chewing happily on a piece of Beaut Butts and Guts Protein-Packed Jerky, only inches from her face.

  Her scream rose into the ceiling and echoed through the hotel. She turned to run, but her shoe caught on the carpet, and she fell to the floor with a great arm-waving thud!

  “My ankle!” Mrs. Trifle clutched her leg. “I think I’ve broken my ankle.”

  Prince Harry vaulted from Mr. Trifle’s shirt onto the floor and dashed back to Peter, who quickly scooped him up.

  Mr. Trifle, still a little discombobulated, made a shaky attempt to kneel beside his wife. “Darling? Are you OK?”

  “No!” she shrieked. “I most certainly am not OK.”

  Peter inspected his lizard to make sure he wasn’t injured by all that jolting and twisting.

  Mrs. Trifle spotted them both. “You!” She shot Peter a deadly stare. “You brought vermin to a spelling bee?”

  “He’s not vermin,” Peter explained. “He’s a crested gecko, and he—”

  “I don’t care what he is.” Mrs. Trifle pushed herself to sit up. “He’s a menace! And he could be diseased, or carrying germs, or—”

  “Not Prince Harry,” Peter interrupted. “Crested geckos are very clean.”

  The hotel staff appeared by Mrs. Trifle’s side and lifted her carefully into a wheelchair.

  “Take me to my room,” she ordered before shooting one last look of disdain at Peter.

  “I’m so sorry.” Peter tried to follow her. “Prince Harry didn’t mean it. He’s normally very calm, but beef jerky is his favorite.”

  “Stay away from me,” Mrs. Trifle snarled over her shoulder as she was wheeled away.

  Mr. Trifle’s vision was still a little blurry from the blow to his head. He fished around the floor for his pants and followed after his wife.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter said to Holly.

  “It’s not your fault.” She offered a weak smile. “The jerky is pretty popular.”

  “Molly!” Mrs. Trifle bellowed from the open elevator door, a bitter scowl seared across her lips.

  “I better go.” Holly ran toward her mother and slipped inside the elevator just before the doors slid shut.

  • • •

  After the hotel staff had gently lifted Mrs. Trifle onto the couch and the in-house nurse had treated her ankle, giving Mr. Trifle an ice pack for his forehead, the Trifles were left to themselves.

  Mrs. Trifle was in a fit of high dudgeon, madder than Holly had ever seen. Her ankle was bandaged, but despite the nurse confirming it was not broken, Mrs. Trifle insisted she was in utter agony.

  “Who brings a rodent to a spelling bee?”

  “It’s not a rodent,” Holly corrected her. “It’s a crested gecko.”

  “I don’t care what it is! It could have killed me.”

  Mr. Trifle held the ice pack against his head with one hand and lightly touched his daughter’s arm with the other. He’d seen his wife in this state before, and he knew it’d be better for all of them if they stayed quiet and let her have her say.

  “And the boy didn’t even apologize.”

  “He did,” Holly insisted. “Maybe you couldn’t hear him over your screaming.”

  Holly didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but the look on her mother’s face told her otherwise.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Holly shrank. “Peter is a nice person.”

  “Who keeps deadly vermin in his pockets.”

  “That’s not true,” Holly said more loudly than she’d intended.

  Mrs. Trifle fixed her daughter with a determined look. “You are not to go anywhere near that boy again.”

  Holly couldn’t help herself; she had to say something. Peter was one of the kindest people she’d ever met. “But he’s my friend.”

  “Not anymore. Not after what he did to me. And your father,” she added, almost as an afterthought. She snapped the blanket up to her chin. “Besides,” and it was here her mother said something that was truly mean, “you might catch what he has.”

  Holly’s back straightened. “What might I catch?”

  “You know.” Her mother waved her hand as if it were perfectly obvious.

  Mr. Trifle again reached for his daughter’s arm in warning, but she stepped out of his grasp. “No, Mother, I don’t know.”

  Mrs. Trifle sighed, exasperated. She whispered as if she were worried she may catch the very same thing if she said it too loudly: “Being overweight.”

  There were many times in Holly’s life when her mother’s words left her speechless. This time, however, Holly knew exactly what to say. “How people look has nothing to do with who they are inside.”

  Mrs. Trifle recognized Nanna Flo’s words. “So you’ll listen to that old battle-ax but not to your own mother?”

  “Nanna Flo happens to be a very wise person.”

  “I’m your mother, and I’m only trying to protect you.”

  “No, you’re not!” Holly could feel a rage inside her that she had neve
r felt before. “You’ve never cared one bit about me from the moment you brought me home from the hospital.”

  In all Mrs. Trifle’s life, her daughter had never, not once, disagreed with her, and yet here she was, doing just that.

  Mrs. Trifle’s cheeks drew in, her lips pursed, and her eyes hardened like two black marbles. “I’ve worked my whole life to give you what you have, and this is the thanks I get. I’m lying here, my leg broken, and you have the nerve to break my heart as well.” Her mother began to whimper. “Terry!” she cried. “Tell her to stop being so cruel.”

  Mrs. Trifle turned back to her daughter with actual fake tears in her eyes.

  Holly felt her whole body wither under her mother’s gaze. She knew what was going to happen, what always happened. To keep the peace, her father would say her mother was right and how Holly should be more respectful. And Holly would half-listen, her mind wandering to what her real family was doing…

  But that wasn’t what happened at all.

  “Holly’s right.” Mr. Trifle took the ice pack from his bruised head.

  Holly spun around and stared at her father, wondering if she’d wanted so badly for him to take her side for once that she’d made it up. But the look on Mrs. Trifle’s face told Holly it really did happen.

  “What?” Mrs. Trifle’s bright-red lipstick sneer made her look like a spooky, deranged clown.

  “I said, ‘Holly’s right,’” he repeated with more confidence. “Nanna Flo’s right too. Being overweight isn’t contagious, and Peter is a nice boy. If you ask me, Holly is very lucky to have him as her friend.”

  Mrs. Trifle eyed them both; she wasn’t about to give up. “Now you listen here—”

  “No,” Mr. Trifle interrupted, which shocked him almost as much as it did Mrs. Trifle, who stared at him openmouthed. “I’ve had enough of listening. The grand final of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee is tomorrow, thanks to Holly and her friends, and I am going to be there for my daughter, who has a good chance of winning, which you’d know if you’d bothered to show up for the first round.”