The Friendship Riddle

by Megan Frazer Blakemore

  “There will be other quests,” Coco said.

  Which was easy for him to say since he had a whole life planned around adventures digging up bones.

  “But not this quest,” I said. “Not these clues. I just wanted to see it through. I wanted to see where it led and I wanted—” I had already told them so much—too much, maybe. “I wanted those answers.”

  “What was the question?” Lucas asked.

  “I guess I wanted to know that, too.”

  We came around the corner to Lena’s warm house, all lit up from inside.

  No finish. No prize. No nothing. Without those last two clues, the rest were just slips of paper.

  Twenty-Seven

  Graupel

  Mum’s plane was delayed again, until Monday, the day before the bee. “Big bummer, I know,” she said over the computer. “But the snow is coming down in pellets, is what I heard.”

  I looked out the window, but it was hard to tell if the snow was any different. “You’ve been gone over a month,” I told her.

  “Don’t I know it!”

  I’d been counting on her to distract me from the stupid, pointless circle I had made with the clues. I’d led my friends all over town when there was no way we could have solved the final riddle. Some quest; Taryn Greenbottom never would’ve gotten caught up in something so foolish.

  “What did you do for underwear?” I asked her.

  “Underwear?” She laughed. “You can drop off your laundry at the hotel.”

  “Laundry. Room service. It’s no wonder you don’t want to come back.”

  The screen flickered and when it un-pixelated, Mum’s face seemed to have been cast in shadow. “Ruth, you know that isn’t true, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Of course. I’m just suffering from angst. A-N-G-S-T. Angst.”

  She didn’t smile, not even a little at the corners of her lips. “It’ll be different when I get home. You’ll see. I’m working on some changes and—”

  The screen froze with her face contorted like a Halloween mask: eyes looking up, eyebrows to the sky, her lips pressed forward like she was chewing something really tough.

  “Mum,” I said. “Mum? Can you hear me? You’re frozen.”

  Her goofy-twisted face stayed on the screen. “Well, if you can hear me, I love you. See you soon.”

  I waited another moment, and when she made no noise, I clicked on the red button to send her back into cyberspace.

  Mum and Mom made plans for me to go to Lena’s after school on Monday while Mom went to the airport, but when Mom came to pick me up, she was alone. The spelling bee was the next day and Mum’s flight had been delayed again. My mind started jittering on the car ride home from Lena’s house. It was like I had a whole bunch of letter tiles in my head and they were all bouncing around. “She’ll be here,” Mom said. “In the morning, when you wake up. She’ll be here.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “She’s at the airport. They haven’t canceled the flight yet.”

  “Sure,” I said again, and watched the snow fall onto our windshield.

  We talked to her on the computer again when we got home. She sat on the floor in the airport in front of the big windows that looked out on the tarmac, so it looked like she was floating in space.

  “I will be there,” she insisted.

  “It’s supposed to snow again,” I told her.

  “I will be there,” she promised. “If I have to commandeer a pack of sled dogs, I will be there.”

  Mom sat next to me, her knees drawn up toward her chest with a cup of tea resting on them. She was wearing a purple robe that was made of fleece at least three inches thick. On her feet she had bunny slippers that Mum gave her as a joke, but which she had worn so much, the bottoms were nearly gone and the bunnies’ pink noses had turned a grayish brown. “And I will definitely be there. I have the day off of work, and Margie knows not to even think of calling me.”

  “Tenet,” Mum said.

  “Tenet?” I repeated back to her. A tenet was a belief or principle. Was she trying to tell me it was a matter of principle that she would be back? Beliefs can’t control the weather.

  “It’s on the Words You Must Know list, not to be confused with ‘tenant.’ ”

  “T-E-N-E-T, ” I said. “Tenet.” I had studied the word with Coco—the whole list, actually. “I’m all set, Mum. I’ve been studying like crazy.”

  “With Coco,” Mom said. “I can’t wait to meet Coco. I could stay awake at night wondering what type of parents named their child Coco.”

  “It’s not his real name. That’s Christopher.”

  “Oh. That’s a bit of a disappointment.”

  “Well, I’ll have to thank Christopher for filling in for me. Tomorrow. When I meet him. Because I will be there.”

  The snow in the backyard weighed the boughs of the pine tree down so far, they touched the ground. Could someone make a home under there? “A tree fort,” I said. “We should make a tree fort when you get home. Instead of a snow fort. A snow tree fort.”

  “Okay,” Mum said. Her eyes flicked over to Mom’s face.

  “Something we talked about,” Mom said.

  “Let’s talk about your birthday,” Mum said. “If this friend of yours is really a foodie, we ought to go down to Portland. The airline magazine had a whole feature on the restaurants of Portland. I had no idea! It’s a real food paradise.”

  “Sure,” I said, as if that hadn’t been the plan all along. Mum was too far away to know what was going on anymore.

  “I’ll send you a link to the article, and you pick one. We’ll go Saturday.”

  “Okay,” I said again. I still thought it would be fun to have a party with everyone—Lena, Coco, Dev, Adam, and Lucas—but didn’t feel much like celebrating. Anyway, I didn’t want to start the inevitable discussion broaching such an idea would bring. Their joy would be just a little too much to bear.

  “ ‘Nauseous,’ ” Mum said.

  Coco and I had wondered why this was on the commonly confused word list. It was the definitions that were the problems. Most people say they feel nauseous when they are feeling sick, but really “nauseous” means “causing nausea.” “Nauseated” is the word you should use. Maybe Mum would find this interesting. Maybe she already knew. “Nauseous. N-A-U-S-E-O-U-S. Nauseous.”

  “Perfect!” she said. “I’m trying to keep you on your toes. I imagine up there on the stage under the hot lights, it would be easy to get distracted, to lose your flow.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “You’ll be more than okay. And I will be there. And Mom. I promise.”

  Sometimes the more someone promises, the less you believe them.

  Twenty-Eight

  Quell

  The twelve chairs were in a semicircle on the stage. Our names were printed on paper and taped to them so we knew where to sit. We were all jumbled up. My seat was between Coco’s sister, Emma, and a seventh-grade boy. Charlotte’s seat was across from mine. We were standing off to the side of the stage, in the wings, because Dr. Dawes was going to announce our names the way Ms. Wickersham did at pep rallies.

  I stood in Wonder Woman stance, just like Lena had made me promise.

  Mum had made it back in the night, after all, well after I’d gone to sleep. She’d driven me to school that morning. We didn’t talk, just practiced words. She and Mom sat in the front row with Alan and Eliot. Mum had a piece of paper, ready to write down all the words so we could study them for the county bee. She was so sure I would be one of the top two to make it.

  Lucas stood next to me. He bounced from foot to foot. Charlotte stood off to the side, all by herself. Her eyes blinked slowly like a toy doll’s.

  “Look at this,” Lucas said. He pulled something golden from his pocket. He held it up right in front of my nose so I could see it in the scant light: a bee encased in amber. “It’s my good-luck charm.”

  “I thought you didn’t need luck.”


  “Coco told me I didn’t have it in the bag, after all.”

  Coco. He sat out in the audience, too, with Adam and Lena. Behind them was Melinda. She had written CD for “Charlotte Diamond” on her cheeks with blue marker and wore a blue ribbon in her ponytail. All the girls in that group did. They had pom-poms, too. Were pom-poms even allowed at a spelling bee?

  Dr. Dawes snaked her way through the crowd of spellers, then turned to look back at us. “You all ready?” she asked.

  We nodded and mumbled yes. Because what else could we do? Run screaming for a dictionary?

  She raised her fist in the air and then flipped it into a thumbs-up before striding across the stage in her red suit. The podium was on the far side. When she reached it, she held up one hand, and everyone in the audience did the same as they quieted down. Lucas, too. “Pavlov,” he mumbled.

  “Welcome to the Frontenac Consolidated Middle School Spelling Bee.”

  Then she explained the rules. The most important rule, the one most people don’t understand, is that even if you miss a word, you might not be out. You have to wait until the whole round is done. If everyone else misses their words, too, then the round starts over. That’s not very likely in round one or two, but when you’re down to three or four spellers, it can happen. When you get down to the final round, the rules change again, but Dr. Dawes waited to explain that.

  And then we began.

  My first word was “alligator.” Easy. Still, I asked for the country of origin just so Coco didn’t blow a gasket.

  “Spanish,” Dr. Dawes told me. Who knew?

  While I spelled, Ms. Lawson and Ms. Wickersham compared my answers to the official spelling lists in special binders they held on their laps. They sat in the first row right in front of the microphone so they wouldn’t miss a single letter. Ms. Lawson was the head judge, and she gave a quick nod to Dr. Dawes who said, “Correct.”

  Charlotte got an even easier word: “unity.” She didn’t ask any questions, only traced out each letter on her hand as she said it. She didn’t hesitate after each letter like some of the kids I’ve seen on television; still, I was surprised she had a strategy.

  When Dr. Dawes nodded that she got it right, the crowd around Melinda cheered. Not just the sixth graders, but the popular kids in all the grades. It was like they decided they were going to take over the spelling bee along with everything else in the school. Then Lucas got “pretzel,” and when he asked for a definition, everyone laughed. Even Dr. Dawes chuckled.

  The seventh grader next to me got out on “access.” He forgot the second c.

  And then there were eleven.

  It kept going like that for four more rounds. The words weren’t too hard. Some people made mistakes. Charlotte didn’t. Lucas didn’t. I didn’t. Emma got the hardest word of the round: “banzai.” She bit her lip and tugged at her blond hair. I tried to see something of Coco in her. She was all round cheeks and an upturned nose. The only thing the same was the way they turned red, starting at the neck and working up to their cheeks. “Can I get the country of origin?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Japanese,” Dr. Dawes told her.

  She looked up to the ceiling. I looked up, too. I couldn’t help myself. In the audience, I saw their dad. He leaned forward. Coco examined his hands in his lap.

  It’s Japanese, I wanted to tell her. The tree. B-O-N-S-A-I.

  “Can I please have the definition?”

  “ ‘A Japanese cheer or war cry.’ ”

  Oh. Not the tree.

  “Banzai. B,” she began, then hesitated. I could feel the audience waiting, waiting for her to fail. “A-N-Z-A-I,” she said all in a rush. “Banzai.”

  “Yes!” Dr. Dawes exclaimed.

  I felt lucky that my word was “magnolia.” If I’d had “banzai,” I’d be right out.

  Dev came right after her. He was doing well. He spoke confidently into the microphone and even joked with Dr. Dawes.

  “ ‘Periphery,’ ” Dr. Dawes told him.

  “Periphery. P-E-R-I-P-E—” He stopped, catching his mistake. It wasn’t his brain confusing him: just a simple mistake, a slip of the tongue. “No,” he said, but he shook his head. Once you start, you have to keep going. You can go back and start over again, but you can’t change anything. “R-Y,” he finished. He was out. When he went to sit in the audience, Adam gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder, which I figured might be the closest Adam ever came to hugging someone. The fifth round was over and we were down to six: Charlotte, Lucas, Emma, an eighth grader named Chloe, a seventh grader named Max, and me.

  Across the circle Charlotte scuffed her feet along the floor and twirled her hair.

  In the audience, Mum gave me a thumbs-up.

  Charlotte stepped up to the microphone.

  “Charlotte, your word is ‘vendetta,’ ” Dr. Dawes told her.

  “Vendetta,” Charlotte said. She traced the letters on her hand. She hesitated. “Can I please have a definition?”

  “Go, Char!” Melinda called.

  “Quiet from the audience, please,” Dr. Dawes said. “Vendetta: ‘a very long and violent fight between two families or groups.’ A secondary definition is ‘a series of acts done by someone over a long period of time to cause harm to a disliked person or group.’ ”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought her gaze flicked over to me. I wanted her to get this word wrong. This word.

  “V, ” she said. I watched her trace the letter on her hand. “E-N-D.” She took a deep breath. “Vendetta, V-E-N-D-E-T-T-A.” Melinda started cheering even before she knew Charlotte got it right, and the crowd around her joined in. Dr. Dawes seemed uncertain about what to do with this newfound enthusiasm for the spelling bee.

  Lucas’s turn was next. “Lucas, your word is ‘dugong.’ ”

  Lucas grinned.

  “Do you need a definition?” Dr. Dawes asked.

  I was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to do that. But Lucas said, “A dugong is like a manatee. You can find them in Asia, Africa, and Australia. When I go to Australia, I’m going to go scuba diving and I hope to see one. Also a cuttlefish. That’s ‘cuttle’ with Ts, not ‘cuddle’ with Ds. They are definitely not cuddly.”

  “That’s interesting, Lucas. But not relevant. Are you ready to spell ‘dugong’?”

  “Yes. Dugong. D-U-G-O-N-G. Dugong.”

  “Correct.”

  Max was given the word “flotilla.” You could tell right away he wasn’t sure of himself. He rocked back and sucked in his cheeks. But he didn’t ask any questions. “Flotilla. F-L-O-A-T-I-L-L-A.”

  I shook my head as Dr. Dawes said, “I’m sorry, Max. That’s not it.”

  He sat back in his seat and waited for the round to end.

  Chloe got the word “robot.”

  Country of origin: Slavic, from “robota,” meaning compulsory labor. I looked down at Coco, who smiled back at me. Charlotte was looking at me, too. I could feel her eyes boring into me, and when I checked, she was indeed glaring.

  He likes you.

  Well, she might feel jealous, but she shouldn’t blame me about stupid Mitchell. She could have him if she wanted to. I was still pretty sure that he’d loved her forever.

  My turn was next. “Ruth, your word is ‘keelhaul.’ ”

  I think they would have kicked me out of town if I didn’t know this nautical word. Still, I asked for the definition because of Coco, and because I just like it.

  “This isn’t a pleasant one,” Dr. Dawes said. “ ‘To haul under the keel of a ship as punishment or torture.’ Thus, also, ‘to rebuke severely.’ ”

  I didn’t know that secondary definition. I wished I could use it in a sentence. Hey, Charlotte, thanks for keelhauling me.

  “Country of origin?”

  Mum nodded in the front row.

  “Dutch,” Dr. Dawes said.

  “Keelhaul. K-E-E-L-H-A-U-L. Keelhaul.”

  “That is correct. Emma, you’re the final speller for this
round.”

  When Emma and I passed, she gave me the smallest of smiles. I wondered what it meant.

  “Emma, your word is ‘mizzle.’ ”

  Emma giggled. “Mizzle?”

  “Yes, mizzle.”

  “Are there any alternate pronunciations?” She was still smiling. I watched Coco. He was biting his lip. Did he really want her to lose? I didn’t think so. And I didn’t want him to.

  “No, just mizzle.”

  She nodded. “May I please have a definition?”

  “Mizzle, ‘to rain in very fine drops.’ Now that is a useful word.”

  “Mizzle. M-I-Z-Z-L-E. Mizzle.”

  “Very good! That ends round six.”

  She should have told Max to return to his seat, but she didn’t, and he didn’t move. She called Charlotte to the microphone. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Max. “Dr. Dawes, I think you—” She was not near enough to the microphone for it to pick up her voice, but we could hear her on the stage. “I mean I think Max—”

  “Oh!” Dr. Dawes called out. “I’m so sorry. Max, please take a seat in the audience. A round of applause for Max.”

  He scowled at Charlotte as he walked by and whispered something under his breath, something that unsettled her. I saw it in the flash of pink on her cheeks and the way she rubbed her hands on her skirt.

  “Charlotte, your word is ‘oolong.’ ”

  Charlotte sucked in her lower lip. I didn’t want her to go out this way, thrown off by whatever Max said. But then again, she’d done far better than I thought she would, and she was making me a little nervous.

  “Country of origin?”

  “Chinese,” Dr. Dawes said merrily.

  “You’ve got this, Char!” Melinda called out, as if Charlotte had somehow absorbed the entire Chinese language in the month she’d spent in an orphanage there.

  “Oolong,” Charlotte said. “O-O-L-O-N-G. Oolong.”

  Correct.

  Lucas got “linseed,” Chloe spelled “boysenberry,” I got “genre,” and Emma spelled “honcho.” And so, another round began. And another, and another. We were up to round eleven when Chloe finally went out on “fennec,” an Arabic word for “a small pale-fawn fox.”