Boo shrugged. “We lied, but it was for a very good cause.”
India looked back at the audience settling into their seats, waiting to hear her spell. She felt a wave of sickness and whispered, “I don’t think I can do it.”
Boo smiled at his sister. “India, you know you’re my favorite person in the world, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you’re wrong. You’re amazing, and we want the world to know it.”
“You bet your sweet patootie!” Nanna Flo said, even though India wasn’t sure what a patootie was.
“And remember,” Mom said, wearing an exaggerated grin, “a smile will make you feel better!”
India tried, but her face looked more like she’d just stubbed her toe. She would definitely need more practice to get it right.
The crowd fell into an eager silence.
“India,” Boo said. “Your first word is embarrassed. This is an adjective meaning to be self-conscious or shy.”
At that moment, Daryl stood up in his cow suit.
“If I were to use it in a sentence,” Boo continued, “I could say, Daryl was embarrassed when he tripped in front of his friends.”
Daryl strolled in front of the audience, swinging his tail, until he fell in a spectacular, hoof-waving tumble. The audience laughed.
India smiled briefly before trying to focus on the word.
“Embarrassed,” she began. “E-m-b…” She seemed to lose track and began writing on her hand. “E-m-b…”
She paused and then looked up at the costumed audience. India was surprised: it did make her feel better.
She began again with a little more confidence. “E-m-b-a-r-r-a-s-s-e-d. Embarrassed.”
“That is correct!” Boo cried.
Nanna Flo rang a cowbell with gusto and shouted, “Yee-haw!” The audience went wild, but this time they pulled posters from underneath their seats that read, “You can do it, India!” and, “Go, India!”
There was even a sign that said, “India for Prime Minister.”
“Your next word,” Boo said, suddenly serious, “is songstress. This is a noun meaning a female singer.”
A woman in a koala suit stood up. India couldn’t be certain, but she thought it looked a lot like her teacher.
“Mrs. Wild?” she asked.
“Hello, dear.” She waved her paw. “When your dad asked if we could help you get over your jitters, we were happy to. Weren’t we?” She turned to the costumed crowd around her, which India now realized were the kids from her class.
“You can do it, India!”
Boo continued. “If I used it in a sentence, I could say, Mrs. Wild is a wonderful teacher, but sadly, she’s a terrible songstress.”
Mrs. Wild burst into a high-pitched, operatic squeal. The audience plugged their ears and groaned. Some even fell to the floor.
India giggled. “Songstress. S-o-n-g-s-t-r-e-s-s. Songstress.”
“That is correct!” Boo declared.
Nanna Flo rang the cowbell. “I knew you’d nail it!”
Boo read out more words. Audience members sprang from their seats to help act out each one. There was Hector, the policeman; Lois and Edna, the grocery store owners; and Ahmed, the bus driver—all here just for her. Gradually, India felt more at ease, almost as if she were in her living room on a Friday night.
The words became harder, but India didn’t flinch, right up until Boo’s very last word. “Aficionado,” he said carefully. “This is a noun meaning a person who is very knowledgeable about an activity or subject. India was a spelling bee aficionado.”
India looked straight into the audience, each of their hooded faces willing her to get it right. “Aficionado. A-f-i-c-i-o-n-a-d-o. Aficionado.”
“Correct-o-mundo!”
Nanna Flo rang her cowbell in one continuous clang-lang-lang.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Boo announced, “India has spelled fifty words without one mistake.”
The crowd sprang to their feet, cheering and hugging each other in a wild animal rumpus.
Dad scrambled onto the stage, his tail flopping behind him, and knelt before India. “So what do you think? Would you like to give the competition a try?”
“Do you really think I can do it?”
“I know you can do it,” Dad said. “We all do. You just have to convince yourself.”
A town hall filled with friends and family was one thing, but could she be onstage, in front of an audience of strangers, with cameras broadcasting her face into the living rooms of millions of people?
Even thinking about it made her dizzy.
“Will you, India?” Daryl asked, straightening his cow horns that had drooped a little to the side. “Anytime you get nervous, just think of us.”
A gathering of birds, frogs, and bears stood beside Daryl and nodded their costumed heads. India had known most of them all her life. Each one was there just for her, waiting for her decision.
Even though being in front of a crowd normally made her feel queasy and scared, India realized she didn’t feel completely terrified, and that’s why she answered, “OK.”
This time, there was no stopping them. Everyone in the hall was dancing and throwing their wings and paws in the air.
Nanna Flo and Mom joined in the hugging, while Boo simply smiled at his sister. “See?” he asked. “You’re amazing, just like I said.”
For the first time since that Friday night in front of the TV, India thought she might—just might—have a chance of being the next Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee champion.
6
Trepidation
(noun):
Fear, apprehension, the heebie-jeebies.
She lay awake most of the night, full of trepidation.
Dad’s plan had worked.
After facing the audience of friends in their finest costumes, India’s nerves had settled down and preparations for the Spelling Bee began in earnest. The Wimple family helped her practice, just as Dad had promised. The first round was only a few weeks away, and he drew up a plan, so every spare second was devoted to spelling.
They practiced over dinner and breakfast and on the way to school, and Mrs. Wild made sure to have extra spelling games in class every day. India’s favorite way to practice was bouncing on the trampoline while Boo sat in a chair calling out words. With each jump, she had to say another letter, without missing a bounce.
She also loved when they’d lie on the picnic blanket in the backyard and Mom would tell them stories, stopping at unexpected moments for India to spell the last word she’d said.
Her favorite story was one Mom made up called “Brave Boo and Ingenious India,” about two courageous children who fought villainous baddies and ravenous monsters. Mom would throw in as many difficult words as she could, and India would spell them all.
Perfectly.
While she was at school, Nanna Flo, Boo, and Mom would stick words on the fridge, along the hall, on her bedroom ceiling, even on the back of the bathroom door, so that the whole house was wallpapered with words.
In the mornings, Nanna Flo, who was an early riser, would sneak into India’s room, lean in only inches away from her granddaughter’s face, and wait for her to wake up.
When India woke to see Nanna’s giant eyes staring down at her, she’d squeal.
“Morning, sunshine,” Nanna Flo would say. “Ready to spell?”
It was something India never quite got used to.
At night, Mom, Dad, and Boo would practice with her until none of them could hold in their yawns any longer. They’d say good night, and Dad would switch on the night-light in the hall, which sent a faint beam linking Boo’s room with India’s.
“Night, Boo,” India whispered.
“Night, India,” Boo whispered right back.
India would slip under the blankets, s
neak her flashlight from her bedside drawer, and flick through the dictionary to choose the hardest words she could find.
Pertinacious.
Tenacious.
Temerarious.
When Dad crept in to check on India, he often found her asleep, head resting on the dictionary, the creased pages making lines on her cheek. Dad would carefully slip the book out from under her head and settle her back onto the pillow.
Roused from sleep, she’d groan and mumble more words: “Camouflage, fluorescent, slumberous.”
“That’s right, sweetheart. Now it’s time to sleep.”
When she heard Dad’s voice and felt his kiss on her head, she’d finally fall into a deep, wordless slumber.
But the night before the first round of the spelling bee was different. The house had long settled into sleep, but even Dad’s voice hadn’t worked, and India was still awake. She stared at the luminous, green numbers on her alarm clock.
3:23.
She worried about being with the other kids, about whether she would freeze in front of the crowd, if she’d even be able to spell her own name. What if she just wasn’t good enough?
3:45.
She tried to make herself drift off by quietly reciting words, but every time she promised herself it would be the last one, her brain jumped to another: punctilious, perseverant, persistent.
4:15.
Fatigued.
Weary.
Exhausted.
Until…
A small, muffled cough drifted across the hall, and India was instantly awake.
She leaped from her bed and into Boo’s room. She found him slumped forward and short of breath. His shoulders rose and fell in waves, and he was gasping for breath.
India grabbed his blue inhaler and gave it a shake before popping on the spacer.
“Sorry,” Boo said between strangled breaths. “For waking you.”
“Don’t be silly.” India handed him the inhaler. “I couldn’t sleep. At least this way I get to be useful.”
By now everyone was up—disheveled and rumpled but fully awake—just as they always were when Boo needed them at night.
When Boo had a flare-up, it usually started with a quiet whistling. Each time he took a breath, it sounded as if someone were sitting on his chest, crushing all the air out of him, making it hard to breathe. Then came the coughing.
Mom sat by Boo’s side. India pressed another puff of medication into the spacer, and the Wimples silently counted each of his four breaths.
“That’s it, honey,” Mom said. “You’ll feel better any minute now.” She was an expert at sounding calm when Boo had a flare-up.
Dad stood behind them, silent and still. He wasn’t as good as Mom at hiding how scared he was. Nanna Flo linked her arm through Dad’s. “Your mom’s right,” she said. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”
Everyone knew she said it more for Dad than Boo.
Last year had been especially bad for Boo, and this was the main reason Mom had left her job, so she could be near him during the day—in case.
She never said in case of what, and the rest of the Wimples were happy that she never did.
Mom gently stroked his back, still using her same calm voice. “Nice, steady breaths.”
They could never tell what would trigger a flare-up. It could be running, laughing, smoke, or dust. Sometimes it seemed to be nothing at all.
What the Wimple family did know was that these were the scariest times of their lives.
Slowly, Boo was able to fill his lungs, and the feeling of his chest being squished finally eased.
“I’m OK now.”
And just like that, every uptight shoulder in the Wimple family relaxed.
“We knew you’d be fine,” Dad said, even though he hadn’t believed it until right then. He gave Boo one of his Dad hugs, one that lasted a little longer than usual, and tucked him in. “Would you like me to stay?”
“I’ll stay,” India said. “Just until Boo falls asleep.”
India often did this after a flare-up. She did it to make sure Boo really was OK, but Dad also knew it was to send away the worried thoughts in her head that would grow bigger if she went to bed right away.
“OK,” Dad said, “but not for long. We’ve got a spelling bee to get to.”
Boo held up his blankets and India climbed in beside him.
“Are you sure you feel OK?” she asked.
“Much better.” His voice was scratchy. “Tell me a story.”
“Which one?” India didn’t really need to ask—she knew exactly what he’d say.
“The story of when I was born,” he whispered.
“OK.” They nestled in closer and India began. “When Mom told me she was having a baby, I screamed and danced around the kitchen for five whole minutes, but when she said we’d have to wait six months, I sat down on the floor and cried. We counted down, marking off every day on the calendar, but it still felt as if you’d never get here. Then, you came six weeks early. It happened so fast, Mom thought you’d be born in the back of Dad’s car. Nanna Flo said you were in a hurry because you couldn’t wait to meet us.”
“Then what happened?” He knew the answer but he asked anyway.
“The doctors told us your lungs were too small and that you might not make it. Nanna Flo said, ‘Fiddlesticks! He’s a Wimple, and we Wimples never give up! He’s going to be just fine.’”
“The doctor showed us into the nursery. You were in a plastic crib, crying and covered in all these wires and tubes that were attached to a machine that groaned and hissed beside you. The nurses said you weren’t strong enough to breathe on your own, so the machine was doing it for you.”
“What did I look like?”
“You were wrinkly and purple. But when we were finally allowed to see you, you stopped crying, as if you’d been crying out for us, and when I reached through the small, round window to touch you, you grabbed my finger. The doctors said you were weak, but you squeezed my finger so hard it was sore for days.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is, and I had the bruises to prove it! I knew then that no matter what the doctors said, you weren’t going anywhere.”
“Except to bed.” Dad poked his head around the door. “Because I need to make sure my champion spelling team has enough sleep.”
India slipped out of bed and carefully fixed the blankets beneath Boo’s chin. “Night, Boo,” she whispered.
“Night, India,” Boo whispered right back.
India crossed the hall to her room, leaving her door open, as she always did, to let the glow from the night-light connect Boo’s room to hers.
7
Precarious
(noun):
Uncertain, unsettled, a little rocky.
What seemed like a good idea suddenly felt very precarious.
India felt as if she’d only been asleep for a few minutes when the house rang with alarm clocks, and she woke on the floor beside Boo. This sometimes happened when she worried about him. She never remembered going there, just waking up beside him.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Fantastic,” Boo said.
The wheezing was there, lurking behind every word he said.
“We don’t have to go if you’re not up to it.”
Boo threw off his blankets. “No offense, India, but it took a lot of work to get you here. There’s no way I’m letting you back out now. Plus, I feel fine, like I said.”
India scowled. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“No I’m not. I’m Brave Boo, who fights merciless monsters and is about to escort his preposterously smart sister into one of the most tremendous moments of her life.”
“As long as I don’t pass out or throw up.”
“You won’t,�
�� Boo said with a grin. “You’ll be fine. As your little brother, I know.”
The house filled with the chaos of getting ready and last-minute spelling drills over breakfast. Mom made sandwiches and packed drinks for the trip, while Dad sang in the shower at the top of his voice.
He was happy—happier than he’d been in a long time.
The rest of the house would have been happier if Dad were a better singer.
When they were all ready, they scrambled out the door.
But something was missing…or someone.
“Where’s Nanna Flo?” Dad looked at his watch.
“In her bedroom,” Mom said. “She needed a few more minutes to get ready.”
“Ready?” Dad’s face reddened, which also happened when he got nervous. “All she has to do is put in her teeth and she’s done. How long does that take?”
Nanna finally appeared at the door.
“She’s got Ernie,” Mom sighed as Nanna hobbled toward them.
“The van’s pretty crowded,” Dad said as gently as he could. “Do you think we really need to bring Ernie along?”
“Of course we do! Who will protect me if I leave him behind?”
Sometimes Nanna Flo said things that didn’t make much sense. This was one of those times.
Nanna squished into the back seat next to India. She sat Ernie on her lap and clicked the seat belt around them both. “If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late,” she scolded Dad.
“Yes, Ma.”
After a few choked rumbles, the van finally kicked to life.
“Ready, Team Wimple?” Dad called over his shoulder.
“Ready!” the Wimples cried.
Dad shifted the van into gear, and with a noisy sputter, they were on their way.
“And we’re off!” Dad said. “On the road to India’s championship run.”
“Honey.” No one could mistake the warning tone in Mom’s voice. “You said you wouldn’t be too—”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Dad apologized. “We can’t get our hopes up too much. It’s going to be a tough competition.” He paused before adding, “But I can’t help it if our daughter was born to spell.”
The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee Page 3