Akeelah and the Bee (20 page)

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.

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.”