Javier strolled to the mike, grinning to cover his nervousness.
“The word is ‘Merovingian,’” said the Pronouncer.
Javier scratched his head, drawing a titter from the audience. “Could you use the word in a sentence, please?”
“The Merovingian kings were known for having long red hair.”
Akeelah bit her lip, feeling Javier’s tension.
“Okay…uh…M-a-r-a-v-i-n-g-i-a-n? ‘Merovingian.’”
The bell sounded and Akeelah gasped. Mrs. Mendez put her hands to her mouth.
“The correct spelling,” said the Pronouncer, “is M-e-r -o-v-i-n-g-i-a-n.”
Javier gave the audience a showman’s bow, deep and with a sweep of the hand. The audience laughed and applauded one of their favorite contestants. As Javier left the stage, he turned to Akeelah.
“I forgot to spell how it sounds. The very thing I told you never to do, and then I go and do it. But hey—thirteenth last year, no worse than fifth this year—next time I take it all! Now it’s your turn. I’m depending on you.”
Akeelah smiled and her eyes followed Javier as he shuffled off the stage.
Now Mary Calveretti, a brunette with a thick Southern accent, minced up to the mike and offered a subtle curtsy as she smiled out at the audience.
“‘Mithridatism,’” said the Pronouncer.
You could see her face fall as her mind grappled with the word’s various possibilities.
“Could you give me the meanin’?”
“Tolerance for a poison by taking ever larger doses.”
“M-i-t-h-r-o-d-a-t-i-s-m. ‘Mithridatism.’”
The bell went ding! and the girl slouched offstage, her eyes glued to the floor.
Dylan was up next and made short work of “resipiscence.” He shot a quick glance at Akeelah as he returned to his seat. She saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before—something speculative and thoughtful. She wondered if it was respect.
Rajeev Subramonian approached the mike, rubbing his hands nervously. With a slight Indian accent, he slowly spelled “vitrophyre,” spelling the last four letters as “f-i-e-r.”
Dylan glanced at Akeelah, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, “Rajeev blew an easy one.”
The Indian boy obviously didn’t agree. “That sucks out loud,” he grumbled as he left the stage.
Finally it was Akeelah’s turn, and the importance of this round did not escape her. If she spelled the word correctly, it would be between her and Dylan.
“The word is ‘serpiginous,’” the Pronouncer said.
“I would like a definition, please.”
“A spreading skin eruption or disease,” said the Pronouncer.
Akeelah nodded and said calmly, “S-e-r-p-i-g-i-n-o-us. ‘Serpiginous.’”
The bell did not ring, and Akeelah returned to her seat. Devon stood up and gave a shrill whistle through his teeth, and the audience clapped much more boisterously than for Dylan. She was clearly the audience favorite. She sat down and closed her eyes. I’m here, she thought. I’m knockin’ on the door. Don’t lose your cool, girl. Just don’t you dare lose your cool.
The Head Judge stood at the mike and said, “As we’re down to our final two spellers, we’re going to take a small break before Ms. Anderson and Mr. Watanabe commence with the championship-level words. We will resume in fifteen minutes.”
Akeelah raced to the bathroom and dashed cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled proudly at her image. “Daddy, how’m I doin’?” She pursed her lips in a kiss and then turned and left.
Outside the door she heard voices raised and she recognized the loud angry ranting of Mr. Watanabe coming from the men’s room.
“This is your last spelling bee, Dylan. Just remember one thing. You let that girl win and you’re second place your whole life. But there’s no way we are going to allow that to happen, is there? You hear me? Look at me when I’m speaking to you. We didn’t work this hard for this long for second place. No way, do you understand me?”
The harshness in his tone made Akeelah flinch.
“You listening in on conversations?”
Akeelah turned with a start and saw Dr. Larabee standing there.
Trying to grin she said, “I’m wishing Dylan good luck. I mean mentally. His dad gives him a real rough time.”
“He’s a typical stage parent. They invest their lives in their children and it becomes a disease.” He paused and then reached for her hand. “You’ve done a superb job. I’m very proud of you, Akeelah.”
“Thank you.” She felt a blush on her cheeks but fought to keep her cool. They started walking back to the ballroom together.
“This is the ninth inning now,” Dr. Larabee said. “Or maybe extra innings is more apt. You think it’s been hard so far—just wait. They’re going to hit you with every trick word they’ve got now. No mercy. But you’ve studied them all, or words akin to the words they’ll give you. You’ll do fine.”
Akeelah turned back and saw Mr. Watanabe lead a sullen Dylan out of the men’s room.
“But, Dr. Larabee, if I don’t beat Dylan—I still have next year, right?”
“Of course you do. But I don’t know how much time we’ll have to train together. I just accepted an offer to go back and teach at UCLA.”
“Really? That’s fabulous!” She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. “Maybe I’ll sit in on one of your classes. Could I?”
“Of course you could. But knowing you, you’d want to take over and start teaching the course.”
Her grin grew wider. “Maybe….”
As Mr. Watanabe and Dylan marched by them, without a glance in their direction, Watanabe sternly lectured his son. Akeelah looked down and sighed.
“Akeelah, what is it?” Dr. Larabee said, sensing her stiffen.
She hesitated before saying, “Nothing, Dr. Larabee. I should get back. No matter what happens—win or lose—I just want you to know I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”
Before he could respond, she scampered off to the staging area. Dr. Larabee looked perplexed; he sensed that something was wrong but he had no idea what.
Ted Saunders was saying to the TV audience, “Now keep in mind, if either speller misses a word, the other has to spell the missed one plus another to win.”
Margaret Russell nodded. “And, of course, they could exhaust all twenty-five championship words.”
“Has that ever happened?”
“No, not all twenty-five.”
“But for argument’s sake, let’s say they managed to spell all the championship words correctly. What would be the next step, Margaret?”
“Well, they would be co-champions,” she replied, “but that’s never happened before, as I said. The championship words are just too difficult.”
As Akeelah and Dylan took the stage, the crowd burst into applause. The seats were packed with spectators; the atmosphere was electric with anticipation. Everyone was expecting an exciting battle to the end. Akeelah smiled at the ovation, bowing her head slightly. But Dylan stood there stiffly, unsmiling, watching his father staring at him with his arms folded. Akeelah saw Watanabe’s icy demeanor and glanced worriedly at Dylan. Akeelah’s feelings toward Dylan had changed since they arrived in Washington. She was no longer bothered by his arrogance, which she considered a front, a protection against his father’s cold perfectionism. More and more she had come to realize how hard it must be to live Dylan’s life, how little joy he was allowed to feel, and her heart had begun to go out to him. Did she like him? Yes. In a strange way she had come to appreciate his intelligence and to take on his problems as her own—a sure sign of friendship.
The Head Judge said, “Ms. Anderson, you’re up first.”
She looked from Dylan to Dr. Larabee, whose eyes were on her intently, and then to the Head Judge. She moved slowly to the mike.
“The word is ‘xanthosis,’” said the Pronouncer.
Akeelah looked at him, startled, a
nd then glanced back at Dylan, who was peering at her sharply. Her mind suddenly flashed back to the chemistry room in Woodland Hills. “Spell ‘xanthosis,’” Dylan had demanded, and Akeelah had said, “z-a-n—” and Dylan had said, “It starts with an ‘x.’”
It was as clear to her as though it had happened yesterday. Akeelah never forgot a misspelled word—and especially that word under those circumstances.
She continued to stare at Dylan and she could tell from his expression that he knew she knew the word.
“Would you like me to repeat the word?” said the Pronouncer.
She cleared her throat nervously. “‘Xanthosis’?”
“That’s correct.”
Akeelah saw Mr. Watanabe, arms crossed over his jacket, burning holes into his son with his dark eyes. She struggled with what to do. Her body was uncharacteristically still.
“Ms. Anderson,” the Head Judge said. “Akeelah?”
“‘Xanthosis,’” she said. And then slowly started to spell: “Z-a-n…”
Dylan looked up with a start, his mouth open. This wasn’t possible. Something was wrong.
In the audience, Dr. Larabee rose from his chair, shocked.
“…-t-h-o-s-i-s. ‘Xanthosis.’” Her eyes were glued to the mike.
If I don’t beat Dylan, I still have next year…right?
The bell sounded. A groan of disappointment rose from the audience, with the exception of Mr. Watanabe, who pumped his fist in elation.
“I’m sorry, Akeelah,” the Head Judge said, and he did look sincerely sorry. “That is incorrect.”
She nodded and then glanced at Dr. Larabee. Seeing his shock, she quickly looked away and then went to stand next to Dylan.
The Head Judge waited for Dylan to approach the mike and when he didn’t, he said, “Dylan? It’s your turn.”
The stupefied Dylan was still staring at Akeelah, but she wouldn’t look at him. He wanted to read her expression, to understand what was happening. He was skilled at processing events and analyzing them, but now he was completely confused. Finally she turned to him and gave a little gesture to take the mike. He could read nothing in her eyes. He hesitated and then stepped to the microphone.
Ted Saunders said gravely to the TV audience, “Dylan Watanabe could take it right here.”
The Pronouncer said, “‘Xanthosis.’”
Dylan glanced back at Akeelah, but her eyes were glued intently to the floor. He tried to slow his racing mind. He now understood what Akeelah had done. He turned back to the mike.
“‘Xanthosis.’” He paused for a long moment and then began to spell: “X-a-n-t-h-o-s…e-s…. ‘Xanthosis.’”
There was a ding! and the room was deafeningly silent after an initial intake of breath. Mr. Watanabe sprang up from his chair, outraged. Akeelah shook her head when Dylan turned to her.
“‘Xanthosis’ is spelled x-a-n-t-h-o-s-i-s,” the Pronouncer said.
“Um…could I get some water, please?” Dylan showed no emotion, no disappointment. He simply stood there as though nothing at all had happened, as though he was not aware that his dream once again might have been thwarted.
The Head Judge waved a hand. “Can we bring both spellers some water?”
Dylan took advantage of this brief pause to walk back to Akeelah. He whispered furiously in her ear.
“What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?”
“You threw that word. You threw it.”
“So did you.”
“Come on, Akeelah. ‘Xanthosis’ with a ‘z’? I gave you that word and you misspelled it, and I know you. There’s no way in the world you’d misspell it twice.” He locked his eyes onto hers. “You’re just gonna give this away? Is that what you plan to do?”
“Your dad will be happy.”
Dylan drew in a deep breath and whispered, “Who cares? Who cares? He never won anything in his life. I’ve got three Regional first-place titles and two seconds in the Nationals. I’m doing okay.”
“And now you can have a first,” Akeelah said. “I can do it next year.”
“No way. I don’t need any help from you.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You’ve got to do your best this year. There may never be another chance.”
“Dylan…” She implored him with her eyes. “We’re even now, okay? Whatever happens from now on, that’s up to us. But I couldn’t spell that word.”
“I couldn’t spell it, either.”
Her lip curled in the hint of a smile.
“Well, you see?”
He gripped her elbow. “You do your best or I don’t want it. I mean it, Akeelah.”
“I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Ted Saunders leaned toward the TV monitor and intoned, “Pretty amazing. Both spellers stumbled on the same word.”
Margaret Russell nodded. “I think we have a couple of very nervous kids up there. Trust me on this, Ted. The stress is simply unbearable.”
Akeelah came back to the mike and her word was “effleurage.”
She looked at Dr. Larabee, who had returned to his seat, gave a slight nod, and began tapping on her thigh. “E-f-f-l-e-u-r-a-g-e. ‘Effleurage.’”
The applause was deafening. As she stepped behind Dylan he nodded as if to say: “That’s more like it.” He took the mike.
Ted Saunders said, “Well, now it’s like watching two star tennis players at the net returning volleys, everything on the line. You can cut the suspense with a knife.”
“The word is ‘lagniappe,’” said the Pronouncer to Dylan.
He frowned and closed his eyes for a moment. “A definition, please.”
“A small gift presented to a customer who has made a purchase.”
Dylan looked at the ceiling as he said quickly, “L-a-g-n-i-a-p-p-e. ‘Lagniappe.’”
Akeelah stepped to the mike and the Pronouncer said, “The word is ‘sumpsimus.’”
She nodded. “S-u-m-p-s-i-m-u-s. ‘Sumpsimus.’”
“That was just a good guess,” she whispered to Dylan as he approached the mike. “Never heard of the word.”
He returned her grin.
The words kept coming and they continued to spell them correctly: “ophelimity” and “tralatitious” and “sophrosyne” and “parrhesia” and “lyophilize” and “zarzuela” and “vibrissae” and “craquelure.” Sometimes they asked for the correct part of speech or the word’s proper use in a sentence or its language of origin, but they were full of confidence and rarely hesitated. It was an amazing performance and the audience was totally caught up in the contest, applauding and cheering and whistling and stomping their feet.
“These two are chewing through these words like they’re breakfast cereal,” Ted Saunders exclaimed.
“It’s a brilliant display,” Margaret Russell agreed. “Two extremely well trained spellers who have done their homework and then some. But there’s more to it than that. They are intuitive and they can see the words, they have actual shapes, almost like Chinese ideograms. This is not some rote trick, Ted. This is very subtle art you’re seeing.”
Dr. Larabee was now pacing in the back of the ballroom, wearing a nervous smile. Mr. Welch, who could no longer sit still, joined his old college friend.
“She’s holding up, Josh,” Mr. Welch said.
“Yes. If anything, she’s growing stronger, more confident.” He looked thoughtful. “There’s more here than meets the eye.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something between Akeelah and the Watanabe kid. It has to do with the word they both misspelled. I hate to say it, but I think they misspelled it deliberately. ‘Xanthosis’ is not all that difficult a word. They would both see right through the ‘x’-‘z’ trick.”
“But why on earth would they do that?”
Dr. Larabee shrugged. “I have no idea, and I have a feeling we’re never going to know. My guess is, it’s their secret—one they don’t plan to share with anybody.”
; Speaking directly into the camera’s eye, Margaret Russell said, “You know, Ted, they could actually go the distance—all twenty-five championship words. Most people consider that unthinkable.”
“Well, it looks like they’ve got a great chance,” Saunders said. “I don’t see any stumbling or nervousness. They’re in a groove.”
Dylan started to leave the mike after spelling his word correctly when the Head Judge raised a hand. “Just one second, Dylan. We’re thirteen words into the championship and it’s now time to switch the order. You will now get another word.”
Dylan nodded and said, “All right.”
The Head Judge continued, saying, “Now I’m sure you both realize that if you each make it through the remaining twelve words, you will emerge as co-champions. That has never happened before.”
Dylan looked back at Akeelah and something secret, known only to the two of them, passed between them.
“Your word is ‘vinegarroon,’” the Pronouncer said to Dylan.
“‘Vinegarroon.’ V-i-n-e-g-a-r-r-o-o-n,” Dylan answered with no hesitation.
“‘Ecdysis,’” the Pronouncer said to Akeelah.
She started slowly tapping her thigh, but hesitated to begin. Dylan leaned forward in his chair, gazing at her intently.
“A definition, please?”
“The shedding of an outer layer of skin, as in insects or snakes.”
“The language of origin?”
“Greek.”
Akeelah nodded and her tapping grew more rhythmic, her head bobbing slightly. “‘Ecdysis,’” she said. “E-c-d-y-s-i-s.”
She returned to her chair, whispering quickly to Dylan, “Almost had brain lock.”
He smiled and quickly spelled his word: “concitato.”
“The word is ‘puerpera,’” the Pronouncer said to Akeelah.
“‘Puerpera’?”
“That’s right.”
“Fever,” she whispered under her breath.
The Head Judge leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
“‘Puerpera,’” Akeelah said. “P-u-e-r-p-e-r-a.”
Dylan grinned and gave her a high five as he went to the mike.
Akeelah and the Bee Page 13