The mother was now flustered, her voice shaking. “You’re darn right this is serious. You’re giving these kids ulcers with the tension, the stress—all the hours they spend learning to spell words. And they have all their other work to do—and—and they’re driven crazy. You know how long she’s been studying for this? I’m telling you, she would’ve gotten the word by herself. I was just trying to help. There was no actual cheating here.”
Her daughter shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t have gotten the word without your help. I didn’t have a clue about the extra letter.”
There was dead silence in the auditorium. The girl wiped her eyes and bowed her head. Then the Judge said, “I’m sorry, Number thirty-four. According to the rules, you’re disqualified from the competition. Which means Number one-oh-eight”—he pointed to Akeelah—“you’re the tenth finalist, and you’re going to the State Regionals.”
Akeelah stood there looking stunned and then slowly rose to her feet. Soon she was surrounded by a proud Mr. Welch and a whooping Kiana.
“Way to go, girl,” Mr. Welch exclaimed. “I knew you could do it.”
“But I missed a word.”
“It doesn’t matter—we’re in! Thank God for eagle-eye Kiana.” He gave her a hug. The baby was finally sleeping peacefully—now that the contest is over, Akeelah thought to herself. Wouldn’t you just know.
Moments later, as Akeelah and Javier moved toward the exit, he handed her a piece of paper.
“Here’s my number,” he said. “We’ve got a spelling club at my school. You should come and practice with us sometime.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“You’re good, Akeelah. You really are. I think you’ve got a great chance to get to D.C.”
“I sure hope you’re right. I’ve got a lot to learn.”
“We all do,” Javier said, showing a new seriousness. “The thing about spelling is, there’s no end to the learning. Sometimes I feel like I’m one yawning pit of ignorance.”
“Me, too. I feel exactly that way.”
“Hey, there’s my folks,” he said. “I’ll catch you later.”
Javier scurried off with his parents, leaving Akeelah waiting for Mr. Welch to finish chatting with the Judge. Suddenly Dr. Larabee was looming over her. It was impossible to read his expression.
“Why didn’t you ask if ‘syn’ was the Greek root meaning ‘with or together’?”
“Excuse me?”
“Or ‘ekdoche,’” he continued, “meaning ‘interpretation.’ Syn-ecdoche. The only difficult word you were given all day and you missed it.”
“Well, maybe if I had a coach I woulda done better. I’m really surprised you’re here. I thought you didn’t have time to waste on this kinda thing.”
“You’re wrong. I have all the time in the world for someone with talent who wants to learn. What I don’t have time for are rude little girls.” He paused and then said, “Spelling bees are terrific entertainment, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But more for the audience than the speller.”
He nodded. “Anyway, good luck to you. You’ll need it.”
He put on his hat and walked out of the auditorium. Akeelah stood there, tapping her foot and looking perturbed.
Six
Mr. Welch drove back to South Los Angeles, much more slowly than earlier, in an ebullient mood. He had bought double-dip ice cream cones for Kiana and Akeelah (chocolate for Kiana, vanilla for Akeelah), and they were busy licking them in the backseat and replaying the bee.
“That little Hispanic kid,” Kiana said. “You like him?”
“Javier Mendez,” Akeelah said. “He’s nice. Really a cool kid.”
“Seems like a funny little dude. He kind of makes you smile.”
“He invited me to join his spelling group in Woodland Hills.”
“Whoa. Look at li’l sister, movin’ up in the world.”
“I need to do anything I can to improve my spelling skills.”
“You’re right,” said Mr. Welch enthusiastically. “You’ve got the right attitude, Akeelah.”
She sighed. “What bothers me is, I’m only movin’ on because that woman cheated.” She reached for Kiana’s hand and squeezed it. “You made it happen.”
“A little luck never hurt nobody.”
“I second that,” Mr. Welch said. He drove in silence as they entered their neighborhood—back to a big dose of reality, Akeelah said to herself—then he said, “Just think, Akeelah, if you can place in the top three at the State Regionals, you’ll go all the way to D.C. How great would that be!”
“It won’t happen if I can’t spell ‘synecdoche.’”
“Uh-oh, look,” Kiana said, pointing out the window.
A police car was parked in front of their house, its lights flashing. Two police officers were taking handcuffs off Terrence. He looked mildly bored. They walked him up to the porch where Tanya was waiting for him, hands on hips.
The police drove away, after a quick conversation with a very annoyed Tanya. The two sisters thanked Mr. Welch for the ride and cautiously approached the porch, where Tanya had Terrence by the arm and was shouting at him. He hung his head but his face was a blank, as though he were somewhere far away.
“As long as you’re living in my house you’re gonna do as I say. That means no drugs, no gangbangers—and no three-hundred-dollar watches. It’s my way or the highway, Terrence, and you better believe I’m dead serious.” She punctuated her angry outburst by ripping the watch off Terrence’s wrist.
“Hey,” he said. “Chill out, will ya? Derrick-T gave that to me. What are you doin’?”
“I’m giving it back.” Aware of the girls, she waved a hand toward the front door. “You two go inside.”
“Mama, I made it,” Akeelah said.
Tanya looked at her blankly. “Made what?”
“The cut,” Akeelah said. “At the District Bee? I’m goin’ to the State Regionals.”
“You’re what?” Tanya was torn between disciplining Terrence and listening to Akeelah. “Well, fine,” she said, without enthusiasm. “But while you’re off doing these spelling bees, we might be visiting your brother in the morgue.” Suddenly she turned on Terrence and slapped him across the face.
He backed up a step and held a hand to his cheek. “Why’d you do that? You’re one crazy lady, you know that?”
She grabbed Terrence by the arm and dragged him into the house, followed closely by Kiana, leaving Akeelah standing out on the porch alone. She shook her head sadly, then slowly entered the house and locked the door. Akeelah could hear Tanya and Terrence continuing to argue in the living room. She went into her room and plopped down at her desk, trying to block out the shouting. She looked at the picture of her father.
“Guess what, Daddy? I’m going to the State Bee. I might not get no further, but at least that’s something, isn’t it? I think it is.” She smiled, then looked up as a police siren passed by the house, followed by the piercing wail of an ambulance rushing to the usual South Los Angeles disaster, mixed in with the sounds of Tanya and Terrence shouting at each other in the next room.
Akeelah’s eyes returned to the photograph of her father. His eyes seemed to stare back into hers. She nodded, as though something of importance had passed between them. She lay on her bed fully clothed and closed her eyes.
“‘Synecdoche,’” she said in a whisper. “S-y-n-e-c-d-o-c-h-e….”
The next day, Akeelah sat in a window seat on a bus, looking out at the streets passing by. In her lap was a city map on which she had marked out the bus routes leading to Woodland Hills. She had Googled Woodland Hills the night before and the information she downloaded confirmed what she already knew: the community where Javier lived was a world removed from South Los Angeles. It was a community of well-maintained houses and well-run schools. It was a rich community, full of professional people—doctors, lawyers, and entertainers.
It was a place that, most of all, existed only in Akeelah’s dreams
and fantasies.
She had skipped her afternoon classes to take Javier up on his invitation. She had brought along a copy of The Catcher in the Rye but was too excited to open it. Through the window she watched South Los Angeles become Mid-Wilshire become Koreatown become Hollywood. When the bus entered the Valley, Akeelah’s nose was to the window as she tried to take in the changing scene as it went by in a blur. She watched Studio City become Sherman Oaks become Encino. She was bemused by a group of rich white teenage girls who passed the bus in a convertible BMW, bouncing their heads to a rap song.
The bus deposited Akeelah directly in front of the Woodland Hills Middle School. It was clean, well maintained, and affluent—a dream school, Akeelah thought. The kind of place you would be eager to go to each morning. The kind of place where you would love to learn.
She slowly entered the school grounds, went in the main door, along with some stragglers rushing back from lunch (the bell for class had already rung), and walked down the school’s center hall. She noticed that most of the kids were white, but there were some minority students—black, Hispanic, and Asian. She examined the students, looking for a familiar face. She spotted Dylan Watanabe through the open door of a classroom, seated behind a chemistry lab station. He was writing down numbers from a series of thermometers in four containers of liquids. Akeelah watched him for a moment before quietly approaching him.
“Dylan?”
He looked up to see her standing in front of him.
“Hi,” she said. “My name’s Akeelah Anderson. I was in the District Bee with you last week.”
Dylan hesitated and then said, “I remember.” His tone was cool and distant. He quickly looked away from her and returned to his work.
“Uh…Javier said I could come and join your study group today. I hope that’s okay.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “All the rejects do that. My father coaches me privately. Who’s your coach?”
“I don’t got one.”
“You don’t have one?” he said, deliberately correcting her grammar. He sized her up, from head to toe. “How many spelling bees have you won?”
“Just the one at my school. I’ve only been in two bees.”
He continued to stare at her and then said suddenly, “Spell ‘xanthosis.’”
“ Ah …z-a-n—”
“It starts with an ‘x,’” Dylan said. “If that idiot girl hadn’t been caught cheating, you wouldn’t have made the cut. Give it up. I hate to break it to you, but you don’t have what it takes.”
Dylan disregarded her and started to pack up his stuff. Stricken, feeling sick to her stomach, Akeelah ran out of the classroom. She rushed through the crowds of students, making a beeline for the front gate. She had made a mistake, a stupid, awful mistake. She didn’t have what it takes—that’s what Dylan had told her and she knew he was right. She would wait for the next bus and go back to her own neighborhood, where she belonged.
“Akeelah!”
She stopped and turned to see a smiling Javier approaching.
“Hey, my mom told me you called. I’m glad you could make it.”
Dylan came out of the chemistry lab at that moment, saw Akeelah and Javier together, chuckled, and walked on.
“He said I don’t have what it takes,” Akeelah said, on the verge of tears.
“Don’t listen to Dylan Watanabe. He’s a jerk. Come on….”
He took Akeelah by the hand and led her down the walkway. “We have this game we do while we spell. You’ll love it.”
A bunch of students, all spellers, were congregated at the basketball court.
“‘Euphoric,’” Javier said and passed the basketball to a frizzy-haired twelve-year-old girl named Polly.
“It’s an adjective,” Polly said. “The origin is Greek.”
She passed the ball to Roman, a short, chubby thirteen-year-old.
“It means, like, feeling great and everything.”
The ball then went to Akeelah, who stood under the basket, not sure what to do.
“You either spell the word,” Javier said, “or take a shot. If you miss either one, you get a strike. Three strikes you’re out.”
She looked up at the basket, feeling doubtful, and said, “‘Euphoric.’ E-u-p-h-o-r-i-c.”
She sensed that the others seemed impressed and she began to feel a little better. She passed the ball to Javier and said, “‘Psoriasis.’”
“It’s a noun, origin Greek. Are you taking Latin at your school?” He passed the ball to Polly.
“Are you kidding? My school’s barely got enough money for kickballs. There’s no Latin class. You wanna know how bad it is? Half the bathrooms don’t work.”
“That really sucks,” Polly said. “Latin really helps you understand words. Uh… ‘psoriasis’ is, like, itchy skin.” She passed the ball to Roman.
Javier looked at Akeelah, no longer smiling. “Maybe your mom could drive you up here so you can take some classes with us.”
“I don’t know,” Akeelah said. “To be honest, this is all startin’ to sound real heavy.”
“It is heavy,” Roman said. “Spelling bees are serious. I think I’ll take a shot.”
He tried a two-handed shot, the old-fashioned way, and it fell woefully short of the basket.
“On second thought,” he continued, “could I spell the word?”
When they completed the workout, Akeelah walked with Javier to the main parking lot, where parents were picking up their kids. The cars ranged from a Mercedes to a Subaru—nothing further down the car chain than a Subaru. The mothers, for the most part, were slender and well groomed. And white. Akeelah tried not to feel intimidated by the kind of suburban glamour she had seen only in movies.
“This is so different from my school,” she said. “At Crenshaw they think I’m a freak.”
“Don’t kid yourself. They think we’re freaks here, too. Maybe they’re just a little more polite about it.”
“Really?”
“Big time. Hey, there’s my mom. You need a ride?”
She saw Javier’s mother waiting for him in a silver Mercedes.
“Nah,” Akeelah said. “My mom’s gonna pick me up. She should be here soon.”
“Okay. Hey, I almost forgot. I’m havin’ a birthday party in a few weeks. You wanna come?”
“I don’t know if I can. I’ll let you know.”
Javier’s mother beeped her horn and gave Akeelah a smile and a wave.
“Ask your mom. I really hope you can come to my p arty.”
“It would be nice.”
“It was cool seein’ you again, Akeelah. Bye.”
“ Bye.”
Javier smiled and rushed to his mother’s car and climbed inside. Akeelah waited for the car to disappear around a corner and then crossed the street to the bus stop. The sun was sinking low in the sky as she boarded the bus back to reality. She replayed her confrontation with Dylan, deciding that even though he might be a talented speller, he was also a conceited jerk and not worthy of all the thought she was giving him. She smiled when she thought of Javier. He was one of the main reasons she felt that she could continue. She fell asleep on the last stretch of the journey. When the bus pulled up to a corner in her neighborhood, the driver woke her up and she practically sleepwalked to her house, unlocked the front door, and came face to face with a furious Tanya.
“Where on earth have you been, young lady? You better have a good explanation.”
“I’ve been studyin’.”
“Studying? Where have you been studying?”
“Woodland Hills,” Akeelah said, stifling a yawn.
She tried to sidestep her mother, who grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Woodland Hills? What were you doin’ there?”
“They got a spelling club and this kid invited me to join it. It’s really good practice, Ma. I learned a lot today.”
“Did Mr. Welch take you? Nobody called me.”
Akeelah hesitated, knowing that what she
said next would not go down easily with her mother, but she was too tired to think up a creative lie. “I went by myself,” she said. “I didn’t think the bus would take so long. I’m sorry.”
Tanya stared at her daughter, shaking her head.
“Akeelah Anderson, have you lost your mind? You’re eleven years old. You don’t take a bus to the Valley by yourself. For a bright girl, you certainly can be stupid sometimes.”
“But there was nobody around to take me. You’re never home during the day.”
“That’s because I’m at work tryin’ to earn enough money to keep food on the table. I can’t be traipsing off to no Valley on a whim.”
“It ain’t no whim.”
“It is to me.”
“It was the same thing on the weekend. You couldn’t come. All the other kids had their parents at the District Bee.”
“Well, maybe the ‘other kids’ got parents with time on their hands. Time and money. Now I will not have another child disappearing at all hours. One Terrence is enough. So if this spelling thing means sneakin’ off to the suburbs by yourself, then you can just forget about it. We’re calling it off.”
“We can’t call it off! I’m going to the Regional Bee.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Akeelah. You’re eleven and I’m still your mother.”
“I’m going, Ma. I have to.”
“Not if you flunk out of school you’re not. I just got a letter that says you gotta take summer school to make up for all the classes you skipped.”
“Summer school? But, Ma, I hate Crenshaw. It’s boring, it’s full of idiots, and nobody cares. I mean the students and the teachers.”
“You think they care about you at Woodland Hills? You think all those rich white folks are gonna welcome you with open arms?”
“Well, at least they got Latin classes and the kids don’t have to study in the stairwells. They’re doin’ things right at their school, and we ain’t doin’ nothin’ right.”
“Good for them,” Tanya said. “Hurray for them. But until you finish summer school at Crenshaw, where last I knew you’re still a student, there’s gonna be no more talk of spelling bees.”
Akeelah and the Bee Page 5