“But, Ma, the State Regionals happen during the summer.”
“Then you’re just gonna have to wait to do it next year. Getting a passing grade is more important than a buncha words.”
“But that’s not fair!”
“Not only is it fair,” Tanya said, “it’s final.”
Beside herself with frustration and anger, Akeelah turned and stomped off to her room and flung herself down at her desk. She was seething now, all sleepiness gone. She looked at her father’s picture, studied his face closely as she had done so many times before.
“You’d let me do it,” she said out loud. “I know you would. You always encouraged me to do everything. ‘Sky’s the limit,’ you used to tell me.”
She sat there fuming for a long moment, looking at her father expectantly, as though she was waiting for him to talk, to ease her pain. Then it occurred to her what she needed to do. From her notebook she pulled out the parental consent form for the Southern California Regional Spelling Bee. She studied it and then looked up at her father’s picture.
“You know I have to do this, Daddy. I don’t have a choice.”
She took a deep breath and slowly signed the bottom of the form, forging her father’s careful handwriting.
Samuel Anderson….
Seven
Akeelah stood in front of Dr. Larabee’s house the following Monday, the first day of summer vacation. She took a deep breath, muttered “Good luck, girl,” then rang the buzzer. After a few moments, Dr. Larabee answered the door. They stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to start the conversation.
Akeelah said finally, “1979. ‘Maculature.’ M-a-c-u-l-a-t-u-r-e. 1990. ‘Fibranne.’ F-i-b-r-a-n-n-e. 1996. ‘Vivisepulture.’ V-i-v-i-s-e-p-u-l-t-u-r-e.”
She took a breath. He looked at her, his head cocked to one side, the trace of a smile turning up the corner of his mouth.
“I learned all the winning words since 1924. Just like you said I should.” She waited for him to respond, but when he didn’t she rushed on, saying, “I’m sorry for being so insolent last time. That’s not gonna happen no more—anymore. I promise.” Again she waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. “So I was wondering…I was wondering if you might reconsider coaching me for the State Bee. ’Cause I need a coach. Bad.”
There was a long pause as he seemed to consider what she was proposing. Then he let out a long, deep breath.
“Badly,” he corrected her. “You need a coach badly.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”
He stepped back into the house, leaving the door half open behind him. Akeelah hesitantly ventured into the foyer and was immediately impressed by the antique wooden moldings and by how immaculate and well kept the house was. He might live in a bad neighborhood—her neighborhood—but his house was really cool.
“Wipe your feet,” he said.
She turned back to the doormat and did as she was told. Dr. Larabee disappeared through an office door at the end of a long hall. Akeelah hesitated and then followed him. Swallowing back nervousness, she entered the impressive room flanked by two towering bookcases made of polished walnut. On the wall were framed university degrees from Yale and UCLA, as well as photographs of Dr. Larabee as a younger man on the Yale football team and with a pretty black woman with a dazzling smile.
Dr. Larabee moved behind his desk, every inch the professor. Standing hunched over his computer, he finished typing something and then, without looking up, said, “So tell me, Akeelah. What guarantee do I have that I can trust you?”
“’Scuse me?”
“I don’t want to squander my time on someone who’s not committed. Commitment is crucial for success. Work, hard work, work all the time, practically in your sleep. That’s what it’s going to take.”
“Well, I’m committed.”
He finally looked up at her, but she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. She thought she detected a hint of warmth.
“How do I know that? You’re a very unpredictable little girl. Blowing warm, then blowing cold.”
“All I can do is make you a promise,” Akeelah responded calmly. “And if that’s insufficient, well, I’m sorry, sir. All I have is my word.”
She held Dr. Larabee’s gaze as he slowly nodded. After a pause, he sat down behind his desk and gestured for her to take a seat. Akeelah saw a more recent photo of Dr. Larabee and the pretty woman with the dazzling smile.
“She’s beautiful,” Akeelah said, nodding at the wall. “She your wife?”
Ignoring her question, Dr. Larabee said, “Listen—you got lucky at the District Bee. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “I’m aware of it.”
“The competition’s much stronger at the state level. You’re up against kids who have practiced for years, kids who can afford private tutors. So if we were to prepare for that, we’d do it on my schedule. I administer online classes in the afternoon”—he glanced at his computer—“so that means we’d work in the mornings. Can you handle that? You must know by now that I won’t tolerate tardiness.”
“Well, I’m supposed to have summer school, but Mr. Welch said workin’ with you could take the place of it.”
“Summer school? Isn’t that for students who fail to perform satisfactorily during the year?”
“Yes,” Akeelah said evasively. “But sometimes it’s for kids who wanna get ahead for next year.”
She smiled, but could tell he wasn’t buying it. His eyes had that steely look that was a little scary.
“Do you have any goals in life?” he said. “Something you feel passionate about?”
“Huh?”
“Goals. What do you want to be when you grow up? A doctor? Lawyer? Stand-up comic? You’re only eleven, but you must have given this some thought.”
“I dunno. The only thing I’m good at is spelling.”
Dr. Larabee studied her again at length.
“Go over there,” he said. “To that plaque on the wall. Read what it says.”
Akeelah hesitated and then walked across the room to a small brown plaque with an engraving on it. She started to read it to herself.
“Aloud,” Dr. Larabee said. “Read it aloud.”
“Uh… ‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.’” She frowned before going on, wondering if those words could be true. She had never seen fear that way. Fear diminished you, and it diminished you because it made you face your shortcomings. She was sure of it, and yet…. She continued to read: “‘We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be those things? Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.’”
She looked at Dr. Larabee, wondering what he would say, what he would ask her, how she would respond.
“It’s a quote from Marianne Williamson’s book A Return to Love. Does it mean anything to you?” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Akeelah. It’s written in plain English. What does it mean? You’re an intelligent girl. Use your intelligence.”
“That I’m not supposed to be afraid, I guess,” she said.
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of… me?”
“You’re close.”
He waved. “Come here.”
She approached his desk, tapping lightly on her thigh.
“This bee, this National Spelling Bee, it’s a tough nut. You don’t have any idea how tough it is. I’ve seen it chew kids up and spit them out. And if you want to get there, you can’t be a shrinking violet. You have to stand up and show people what you can do. All right?”
Akeelah nodded.
“And I’ll brook no nonsense,” he continued. “You show up every day, on time. With no attitude. Otherwise it’s over. Agreed?”
&nbs
p; “Agreed.”
“The quote was telling you that you’re afraid of your potential. You have no need to be. If you work hard your potential will manifest itself, and my guess is, slowly you’ll lose your fear. Think about it.”
Dr. Larabee rose from his desk and said, “We start tomorrow. Nine a.m. sharp. You’re going to learn to visualize words, because words are not ethereal. They’re pictures. Pictures of ideas. And if you can see the picture, you can see the word.”
On the day of Javier’s birthday party, Kiana drove a nicely dressed Akeelah through Woodland Hills. Kiana had borrowed the car, an old red Mustang, from her current boyfriend. Georgia sat in the backseat, and they were listening to rap on the radio while Akeelah monitored the passing house numbers.
“Mama’d trip if she knew I borrowed the car from Maurice. She hates Maurice.”
“Well, you got to admit, Kiana, he’s a little slow on the uptake.”
“I don’t care about that. I don’t need no rocket scientist. He’s a good guy. That means a lot to me after the experiences I’ve had. Anyway, what Mama ain’t gonna know ain’t gonna hurt her.”
“Stop!” Akeelah said suddenly. “Here it is.”
Kiana pulled up to the curb in front of Javier’s house, festooned with balloons. The house was a large white Colonial with four columns, and Georgia whistled. “That’s some crib, girl,” she said, nudging Akeelah. “These folks must be filthy rich.”
Akeelah got out of the car, but Georgia was not budging. She looked warily at Javier’s house—and the backyard party in full swing, mostly full of white kids.
“You coming, Georgia?”
“I guess I’ll go to the mall with Kiana instead.”
“I thought you were excited about this party.”
Javier had spotted them and came running out from the backyard, waving his hand and grinning.
“Hey, Akeelah!”
“Okay, whatever,” she said to Georgia. “I’ll see you later.”
Georgia looked uneasy as she watched Akeelah scamper off with Javier. She couldn’t understand Akeelah’s attraction to Woodland Hills and all these white kids. Their neighborhood wasn’t much, but at least it was their neighborhood. It was where they belonged, where they felt comfortable and they were with their own kind.
In the backyard Javier introduced Akeelah around. A blindfolded young girl took a whack at a piñata with a baseball bat. A group of kids threw beanbags into a cardboard clown’s mouth. Others played soccer, doing more screaming than kicking and ball-butting, and Dylan Watanabe deftly maneuvered the ball through his opponents.
Akeelah turned to Javier with a frown. “Why’d you invite him? You don’t even like him.”
They each had grabbed a slice of birthday cake and were eating at a table under a ginkgo tree.
“My dad’s friends with his dad. I’m surprised he showed up. I know he’s not exactly crazy about me.”
“Hey, Javier,” Roman shouted, “we need another player!”
“No, that’s okay. Count me out. Old war injury.” He tapped his hearing aid and grinned.
“You can’t play ’cause of your hearing aid?” Akeelah asked.
“That’s just an excuse. I suck at soccer. But the hearing aid gets me off the hook. Come on—I’ll show you my house.”
He took Akeelah by the hand and led her up the stairs and down the hallway. She noticed the paintings on the walls. The house was like a miniature museum.
“Dang, this place is like a mansion,” she said.
“I guess it is a mansion, though I’ve never thought of it that way.”
He opened the door to his father’s office. The walls were decorated with plaques and awards for journalism. There were a number of framed war photographs. Javier proudly showed Akeelah the display.
“I guess it’s obvious my father’s a journalist. A foreign correspondent. That’s what I wanna be.” He walked to the bookcase behind his father’s desk and picked up a book. “My dad’s written three books. This one was a New York Times bestseller.”
Akeelah noticed a picture of Javier with his father on a speedboat, their arms around each other, clowning for the camera. She swallowed with emotion as she looked at the two of them, so obviously happy to be together.
“Is your dad as goofy-funny as you are?” she said.
“Yeah. On his best days he’s goofier and funnier.” Javier turned to her and studied her face. “What’s your father do, Akeelah?”
“My daddy?” She looked away, her mind racing, wondering how much to tell him. She had never confided in anyone, even Georgia, about the facts of her father’s death.
“Uh…he used to work for the city parks.”
Dropping the subject, she walked to the window and looked down at the birthday party below.
“Man, you got a lot of friends, Javier. I never had a birthday party half this big.”
Javier took her hand and squeezed it. “Really? I’d think you’d have lots of friends.” He stared into her eyes, then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
Akeelah held her hand to her cheek and stared at him, caught in a swirl of emotions. “Why’d you do that?”
“I had an impulse,” Javier said. He grinned. “Are you going to sue me for sexual harassment?”
Akeelah tried to keep a straight face as he fluttered his eyelashes at her, then she broke up laughing. Finally Javier was laughing, too, and the laughing fit lasted until tears were streaming from their eyes. She finally stopped laughing when she noticed something outside.
“Hey, what are they doin’?”
The kids were all gathered on the patio. Dylan was opening up several blue boxes.
“Oh, no,” Javier said, rolling his eyes. “Dylan brought his Scrabble games. I hate to admit it, but he’s a genius at Scrabble.”
Akeelah looked at him with interest. “I really like Scrabble,” she said.
They went into the backyard, where Dylan had poured out tiles next to each of the six rotating game boards on two picnic tables. He paced between the tables, his dark eyes serious beyond his years.
“I get thirty seconds for each board,” he said. “That means each of you gets up to three minutes per turn.”
His opponents were seated at five of the six boards. Dylan looked around. “We need one more. Who else wants to play?”
Akeelah stepped forward. “I will.”
Dylan swung around to see Akeelah standing next to Javier. He forced a laugh. “Promise not to cry when I beat you?”
“I promise,” she said, “if you promise.”
Dylan abruptly stopped laughing and looked daggers at some of those who had found her comment funny. He gestured to the remaining game board and did a mock bow in Akeelah’s direction. She nodded and sat down at her board.
“I’ll keep score,” Javier said. “We want to make sure this game’s on the up-and-up.”
He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. Dylan’s six opponents each pulled seven letters from their respective batches of tiles. Akeelah lined her letters up on her rack and studied them. She sensed Dylan’s eyes boring into her, but did not look up.
In a sportscaster’s voice, Javier said, “Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the birthday party Scrabble extravaganza. I’m your host, Javier ‘the Dude’ Mendez, a k a the birthday boy. So let us now proceed….”
Dylan’s first opponent, Roman, spelled out “birch.”
“And right out of the gate, Roman scores thirty-two points with ‘birch’ on the double-word score. Way to go, Roman!”
Javier scribbled down the score, while Dylan quickly built off Roman’s “c” and spelled “crazy.”
“But not to be outdone,” Javier continued, “Dylan counters with an immediate use of the ‘z’ for thirty-eight big ones! The master is doing his usual magic.” He flashed a look at Akeelah, wrinkling his nose.
She nodded and shuffled her letters around on her rack, while Dylan went up against Polly, who was seated next to her.
“Polly tests the water with ‘acorn.’ And the wily Dylan answers with a body blow—‘beacon’ for twenty! And now…a first-time player in our group—Akeelah Anderson.” Everyone’s eyes moved to Akeelah’s board and watched as she quickly assembled “placebo,” using all her letters. They all seemed stunned.
“Holy cannoli!” Javier yelled out. “A bingo right off the bat! Akeelah uses all her letters, getting fifty extra points, for a whopping…eighty-two big ones.”
The partygoers murmured their approval. Dylan was not well liked and he had lorded it over the others for too long. They were eager to see someone bring him down to earth.
Dylan shook off his surprise at Akeelah’s fast start and concentrated on his letters.
“What will Dylan do?” Javier said. “He’s fighting the clock. You can cut the tension with a butter knife, folks.”
Dylan looked up, his eyes bright with fury. “Shut up, Mendez. How can anybody think with you babbling away?”
Javier made a face when Dylan turned back to the board. There was a tense moment as the clock ran down to the last seconds, and then Dylan smiled as he slowly spelled out the word “sharpens.”
“Shazam!” Javier shouted. “Dylan gets his own bingo for seventy-six points. The old master coming up with new surprises.”
Dylan stared at Akeelah with a smirk and she let out a long breath as she squinted at the board with fierce concentration. She couldn’t believe he had countered her brilliant opening move so effectively, wiping out most of her advantage. She wasn’t aware that Kiana and Georgia had come around the corner of the house and joined the other kids clustered around the picnic tables watching the games.
Dylan moved from board to board, making his moves quickly, almost disdainfully. One by one he eliminated the other players, building lopsided scores at each table. Polly, who was way behind, made a sudden comeback, enough to draw a frown from Dylan. But she, too, fell short.
Dylan now sat across from Akeelah (no longer standing, as he had at the other boards—a symbol of disdain for their abilities) at the only remaining Scrabble game. Twenty minutes of hard concentration had brought a sheen of sweat to his face.
Akeelah and the Bee Page 6