Akeelah and the Bee

by James W. Ellison

  Ted Saunders said, “Dylan and Akeelah are trying to stage a miracle here. They seem unaware of the degree of difficulty these words present.”

  “That’s true,” Margaret Russell replied. “And to make it to the finish line, they need each other to succeed.”

  But suddenly, for the first time, Dylan was struggling. He ran a finger across his brow and frowned. He cleared his throat and said, “Would you repeat the word, please?”

  “‘Scheherazadian.’”

  “‘Scheherazadian,’” Dylan repeated.

  Seconds passed. Akeelah leaned forward in her chair, muttering, “Come on, come on….”

  Finally Dylan said, “S-c-h-e-h-e-r-a-z-a-d-i-a-n. ‘Scheherazadian.’”

  “Yes!” Akeelah said out loud.

  Dylan let out a sighing breath and returned to his seat, giving Akeelah a quick eye roll as though to say, Whew! I just dodged the bullet.

  “Go get ’em,” he whispered.

  Akeelah took the mike.

  “‘Palynological.’”

  She started tapping her thigh and then hesitated. She stared at Dr. Larabee, who sat perfectly still, not moving a muscle.

  “Definition, please?”

  Dylan shifted in his seat nervously and lifted his crossed fingers to his lips.

  “Concerned with pollen or pollen grains.”

  Akeelah swiveled her hips slightly, rolled her eyes, and said, “Oh, that sure helps.”

  There was a whisper of strained laughter from the audience.

  “Is the origin Greek?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said the Pronouncer.

  Her hand started tapping in regular rhythm. “P-a-l-y-n-o-l-o-g-i-c-a-l,” she spelled slowly. “‘Palynological.’”

  There were cheers and whistles from the audience. Dylan rose from his chair, applauding, and even his father was clapping, but then he looked around selfconsciously and quickly gripped his knees with his hands.

  Ted Saunders turned to his co-host. “Now, Margaret, knowing the word was of Greek origin, did that help her?”

  “I’m sure it did,” she replied. “It told her that the ‘i’ sound in the middle was a ‘y’ rather than an ‘i.’”

  The Head Judge walked to the mike and adjusted it upward with his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are down to the final two championship words. One—or both—of our finalists will walk away with the first-place trophy. I want to thank both spellers for providing us with the most exciting National Spelling Bee we’ve ever had.” He motioned to Dylan to take the mike. “You’re up,” he said.

  Dylan shot a nervous glance at his father before gripping the mike.

  “The word is ‘logorrhea,’” said the Pronouncer.

  “Could I have a definition, please?”

  “It means excessive talkativeness, especially when incoherent and uncontrollable.”

  Dylan took a deep breath. “‘Logorrhea.’ L-o-g-o-r-r-h-e-a.” He stared hard at the Pronouncer.

  “Congratulations!” said the Head Judge. “You have won the Scripps National Spelling Bee.”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and Mr. Watanabe did a little jig in front of his seat for joy. When the crowd quieted down, the Head Judge said, “Now, Dylan, let’s see if you’ve got someone to share the prize money with.”

  He turned to Akeelah and, with a smile, gestured toward the mike.

  “Bring it home,” Dylan whispered to her.

  “The word is ‘pulchritude,’” the Pronouncer said.

  Again Akeelah’s remarkable memory came to her aid. She recalled Dr. Larabee in the school auditorium at the very first bee. She misspelled “pulchritude” and he corrected her, and of course she never forgot. But for a moment she seemed frozen in place. This was the final word, the word that could make her a national champion. She knew it cold, and yet she hesitated. She thought of all the people on whose shoulders she had ridden to this one special moment in time—her mother, Terrence, Derrick-T, the Crenshaw football team, Steve and the Korean grocer, and so many, many more.… She then said calmly, “‘Pulchritude.’ P-u-l-c-h-r-i-t-u-d-e.”

  The auditorium burst into thunderous applause. Dylan rushed up to the mike, took her hand, then put his arms around her and held her close. He whispered to her, “We’ve made history. It wouldn’t be half as good if just one of us won.”

  Akeelah nodded her head. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, congratulations, Dylan.”

  “Congratulations, Akeelah….”

  They looked up at the ceiling simultaneously. Colored confetti was drifting down. Police sirens were blowing. Dylan and Akeelah accepted the trophy from the Head Judge and, with faces beaming, held it high above their heads. Dr. Larabee, Tanya, Georgia, Devon, and Mr. Welch made their way through the fans and photographers to join Akeelah onstage. Tanya threw her arms around her daughter and then gravely shook hands with Mr. Watanabe.

  Akeelah managed to take Dr. Larabee aside.

  “We did it,” she said.

  “No,” he said, looking at her with absolute pride. “You did it.”

  She gave him a huge hug and then turned to Dylan. “Can I borrow the trophy for a minute?”

  “Sure. It’s half yours.” He grinned. “We’ll have to work out a custody arrangement.”

  Akeelah and Dr. Larabee held the victory trophy aloft as dozens of pictures were snapped of them in this victorious stance. She looked up at him and said, “The dream did come true, didn’t it?”

  “I always knew it would,” he said. “I never had a single doubt.”

  The Present

  Maybe the word I’m searchin’ for is…what? Maybe it’s ‘magic. ’ Human magic….

  My dreams did come true, and how many people’s dreams ever come true? It was days before I came down from whatever cloud or star I was riding on high above the earth. Two days after Dylan and I won the National Bee, I turned twelve, we had a big birthday blowout—paid for by Mr. Watanabe!—and then we were back in South Los Angeles—Washington, D. C., a beautiful memory that I know will grow even more beautiful with time. And most of all, I will have it forever and ever.

  The day after we returned, I was sitting at my computer puzzling over a starter chess program Dr. Larabee had bought me for my birthday when Mama knocked on my door. I told her to come in and she peeked around the opening holding a letter in her hand. It was wrinkled and coffeestained.

  “I want you to read this,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “A letter your daddy wrote me a few months before he was killed.”

  “I don’t remember him ever going away long enough to write a letter.”

  Tanya smiled. “He didn’t. We never went anywhere without each other. But once in a while he’d have an urge to write me a letter. He said it was another way of communicating. Like the difference between TV and radio—that’s how he put it. Writing the letter was the radio. More intimate. Over the years he must’ve written me a dozen or so. This was the last one he ever wrote. I’ve never shown it to anybody—or any of the letters—but I want you to read this one. After you read it, it belongs to you. I don’t need it. I know it by heart.”

  She blew me a kiss good night and closed the door softly, leaving me alone with the letter. I sat at the computer and removed a lined sheet of paper from the envelope. He had filled both sides of the sheet.

  Dear Tanya,

  Sometimes I have a need to send words to you and through you to the children without seeing your face—or theirs. Words have always been my medium, just as kindness and caring mark you as the person you are. Charm is Devon’s medium, charm and constant good will. Nurturing is Kiana’s (how many dolls has she smothered to death with affection, leaving them in joyous rags?). Terrence’s medium is heroism: he wants to pick up the sword and slay the evil dragon. And Akeelah? What is her medium? I would like to say “words,” like me. But she has a far different relationship to words than I do. She dives into them, into their very architecture, and she’s what—seven years old? How
can that be? She is brilliant, Tanya, but I’ve never told her so because she does not need to know. She will discover this about herself soon enough (I hope not too soon), in her own time, and in case I’m not here to guide her through the complex steps that will follow this recognition, I depend on you.

  I have one important request to make. When Akeelah turns twelve, please buy her a paperback called Three Negro Classics. The classic of the three I want her to read is called The Souls of Black Folk, by W. E. B. DuBois. When she reads this book, she will understand why I asked her to; the layers of meaning will speak clearly to her. I will quote you only one passage to give you a sense of what lies in wait for her. You will find it on page 220. (I have made a few changes to clarify and update it.)

  “The training of the schools we need today more than ever—the training of deft hands, quick eyes and ears and above all the broader, deeper, higher culture of gifted minds and pure hearts. The power of the ballot we need in sheer self-defense—else what shall save us from a second slavery? Freedom, too, the long-sought, we shall seek—the freedom of life and limb, the freedom to work and think, the freedom to love and aspire. Work, culture, liberty—all these we need, not singly but together, not successively but together, each growing and aiding each, and all striving toward that vaster ideal that swims before the Negro people, the ideal of human brotherhood, gained through the unifying ideal of Race; the ideal of fostering and developing the traits and talents of the Negro, not in opposition to or contempt for other races, but rather in large conformity to the greater ideals of the American Republic, in order that some day on American soil two world races may give each to each those characteristics both so sadly lack.”

  Akeelah will absorb the wisdom in this book, and my fervent wish is that, no matter what else she does with her life, she will add a chapter of her own to the unending struggle. That is my dream….

  There was more, but when I got to the word “dream,” I couldn’t take in any more.

  I looked at my father’s photograph. I looked extra hard to see what he was saying to me. “So you were there, Daddy. You were in the auditorium and I know you were proud, but this is only the beginning, right? Is that what you’re telling me? There are other places to go now, other things to do.”

  I don’t have to wait for Mama to buy the book. I’ll pick up a copy tomorrow at the library. There’s no time like the present.

  About the Writers

  In 2000, Doug Atchison won the Nicholl Fellowship in Screenwriting for his screenplay of Akeelah and the Bee, which he later directed as a feature film for Lionsgate Films. He also co-wrote the screen version of Rebecca Gilman’s award-winning play Spinning into Butter. He graduated from the University of Southern California’s School of Cinema/Television and has taught directing and screenwriting at various universities.

  James W. Ellison is the author of seven novels published by Doubleday, Little, Brown, and Dodd Mead, including the award-winning I’m Owen Harrison Harding and novelizations including Finding Forrester, Two Brothers, and Rudy. He lives in New York City with his wife Debra, son Owen, and daughter Brett.

  You’ve read about Akeelah’s amazing journey to the Scripps National Spelling Bee…

  Now you too can organize your own spelling bee—here’s how!

  What you will need:

  • Small, numbered sheets of paper

  • Name tags for the contestants

  • Paper, pad, and pens

  • A bell

  • A 2-minute timer

  • A table and some chairs

  • A dictionary

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  How to prepare your spelling bee:

  • Set up a space for the bee by creating rows of chairs for the spellers, a small desk or table for the judges, and chairs for audience members (your parents and friends).

  • Place numbered sheets of paper in a hat or a box and have each speller pull out a number. This determines the spelling order.

  • Write each speller’s name and number on a name tag. Spellers should then sit in numerical order facing the judges and the audience.

  • Place a 2-minute timer, a little bell, and paper, pad, and pens on the judges’ table.

  • You will need two judges. Judge #1 will be responsible for reading the word and providing the language of origin and the definition. This judge will also write down the letters as the speller is spelling and check it against the correct spelling. Judge #2 is responsible for watching the 2-minute timer and informing spellers when time has run out.

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  Rules for your spelling bee:

  • Each speller has 2 minutes to spell the word. If time runs out, the speller is disqualified.

  • The speller should say the word, spell it, and then say the word again.

  • The speller may stop mid-word and start from the beginning so long as no letters already spelled are changed.

  • The judge may repeat the word multiple times to ensure the speller correctly understands the word.

  • The speller may ask only 2 questions of the judge: 1) Definition of the word, 2) Language of origin

  • If the speller spells the word correctly, he or she sits back down. If the speller is incorrect, the judge rings the bell and the speller sits down with the audience.

  • Once all spellers have had a turn, the next round begins with the remaining spellers until only two remain.

  • The final two spellers will be given words until one misspells a word. The other speller is then given a chance to spell the same word. If he or she spells it right, the judge will supply a new word. If that word is spelled correctly, he or she wins!

  (If the second word is spelled incorrectly, both spellers continue in the competition. The competition is over when one speller has correctly spelled the word that his or her opponent has misspelled, plus one additional word.)

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  Words for your spelling bee:

  You can find words for your spelling bee in your dictionary. It will list the definition and pronunciation for each word. Here’s a list of words to get you started:

  Dissect Pacifier Averse

  Personal Pontificate Pester

  Brink Notion Pontoon

  Traction Underwrite Aisle

  Carnivore Benign Niece

  Nostalgia Stark Corpse

  Dire Brocade Sarcophagus

  Autonomous Pummel Albumen

  Bereft Rebuff Knack

  Nuzzle Scant Condominium

  Elite Pseudonym Initial

  Autograph Inactive Therapy

  Burnish Collect Catamaran

  Beneficial Alchemy Homely

  You can also download lists of words from the Scripps National Spelling Bee website:

  http://www.spellingbee.com/studyaids.shtml

  We hope you have fun organizing your spelling bee! Share your own story with us by sending an e-mail to publicity@newmarketpress.com and join our e-mail list to receive information on Newmarket Press books.

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  NEWMARKET MEDALLION EDITIONS FOR YOUNG READERS

  Media tie-in fiction and nonfiction in paperback editions for middle-grade and young-adult readers

  Finding Forrester

  A Novel by James W. Ellison

  Based on the Screenplay Written by Mike Rich

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