The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  “Yes, Mom.” Peter was nervous too, but he tried to sound calm so his mother wouldn’t worry even more.

  “And your toothbrush?”

  “Got it.”

  “I should get you more underwear. You can never have enough underwear.”

  She was about to turn to go back inside when Peter said, “We’ll be fine, Mom. If we need anything, we’ll get it in London.”

  Peter’s mother held her son’s cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, Peter. Have I told you that?”

  “About ten times this morning.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t come with you. It’s a busy time at the warehouse.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  Peter turned to Grandpop, who was looking at the house as if all he wanted to do was run back inside and shut the door against the world. Grandpop hadn’t been out much since Grandma died three years ago. He was a tall man with a spark in his eye, but losing Grandma had made his shoulders hunch and took away that spark. He’d become quiet and withdrawn.

  Peter knew Grandpop was uneasy about going to London, but when he’d asked him to be his chaperone, he had agreed instantly, which made Peter love him even more.

  They all stood there feeling a little afraid. Peter’s mother was worried about them being so far away, Grandpop was worried he’d have one of his health problems and not be able to breathe, and Peter worried if they didn’t leave soon, his mother might not let him go.

  He was going to need to be strong for all of them.

  “We’ll be OK, won’t we, Grandpop?”

  Peter’s question seemed to wake the old man up. He looked at his grandson’s eager face. “Yeah,” he said a little shakily before adding, “of course we will.”

  Luckily, at that moment, the taxi turned into the street and stopped beside them.

  Peter’s mother hugged her son. “Are you sure you have enough underwear?”

  “I have everything I need,” Peter said, even though it wasn’t quite true. He loved his mom and his granddad and their life in the drab apartment, but there were two things he wanted more than anything: for the bullying to stop and for his dad to come back.

  But he would never say this out loud. Instead, he stood as tall as he could and said, “I’ll make you proud, Mom.”

  Unfortunately, what was supposed to make his mom feel better made her cry even more.

  She hugged him tighter. “You always do.”

  Peter sent Grandpop a rescue me look.

  “We better go, Maggie,” Grandpop said, “or we’ll miss our train.”

  Peter waved to his mom as they drove away, past the gray apartments, the broken fences, and the litter lying on the sidewalk.

  He would never, ever tell his mom, but leaving made him feel light and happy. For ten whole days, he wouldn’t be picked on or punched or called a namby-pamby. For ten whole days, he’d be far away from it all.

  It was going to be monumental.

  • • •

  In Yungabilla, Australia, Boo and India crouched outside their parents’ bedroom door. Mom had been nervous for weeks about their trip, and the day of their departure was no better.

  “London is a big city,” she told Dad, “which means more pollution and asthma attacks, so we have to be prepared.”

  When it came to Boo’s asthma, Mom was always prepared, but being on a plane for so long, far away from medical attention, made her anxious.

  Dad was doing his best to calm her down. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”

  “How can you be sure after what happened last time?” Mom snapped.

  India flinched. Mom never snapped at Dad.

  By “last time,” she meant Boo’s asthma attack before the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee Grand Final—the one that sent him to hospital and they thought he might not survive.

  Dad remembered it well. He sometimes had nightmares about it.

  “Just being somewhere new can trigger an asthma attack, or dust mites in pillows, or changes in temperature. What if it happens again?” Mom asked.

  The Wimples had lived with these questions since Boo was young: What if the next asthma attack was even worse? What if they weren’t prepared? What if he didn’t make it?

  Dad’s voice was calm and sure. “I’ve called the hotel in London and let them know about Boo. They’ve sent me details of the nearest hospital, doctor, and pharmacy. We have his medical records if anyone needs them, and we have his bag of medication. The moment Boo doesn’t feel well, we’ll be on it.”

  Boo slowly got up and tiptoed back to his room.

  India followed and sat on his bed beside him. “I’ve never heard her so worried.”

  “She doesn’t need to be,” Boo said. “I have my asthma plan and inhaler, and Dr. Fiona said I’m fine for me to travel.” He sighed. “I’m not a baby anymore, India.”

  “I’m sorry if we’re a little over the top sometimes.”

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “Anything,” India said.

  “I want to go back to school.”

  “Have you told Mom?”

  “No, but she misses being a real teacher, and I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

  “She won’t like it.”

  “And I want to get a dog.”

  “She’s definitely not going to like that.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll help.”

  India felt her body tense as she imagined Boo playing soccer on the grassy field at school, or running in the park with a dog—then bent over and struggling for breath.

  And she wouldn’t be there to help.

  For years, India had said no to parties and sleepovers—not because she didn’t want to go, but because she didn’t want to be away from Boo.

  In case.

  Those two words looked so innocent, but for the Wimple family, they meant so much.

  What Boo was asking really was monumental. But India knew he was right. It was time they all let him grow up.

  “I promise I’ll help.”

  “Thank you,” Boo said. “You really are the best sister in the world.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” India said. “Because Mom is not going to like it one little bit.”

  8

  Nonchalant

  (adjective):

  Calm, relaxed, and completely unruffled.

  Despite her nerves, she tried as hard as she could to appear nonchalant.

  The Wimples were ready. After weeks of planning, practicing, and packing, they were buckled into their plane seats and settling back for their journey to London.

  Dad helped Mom feel better by making absolutely sure they were fully prepared if Boo had an attack. He gave inhalers to each of the Wimples, who promised to have them on hand at all times. They recited Boo’s asthma plan over breakfast until they knew it by heart, and in the evenings, Dad led spelling bees using asthma terms.

  Symptoms.

  Allergens.

  Antihistamine.

  In true Yungabilla style, the town had rallied to help India prepare for her big moment. Every day, new words appeared on storefronts and on Mrs. Rahim’s front window at the hub, while Mrs. Wild held spelling bees every afternoon in class. The townsfolk gave them travel gifts they thought would be useful, like fanny packs and homemade candies. Mrs. O’Donnell and Gracie Hubbard made India a white chiffon dress with three pearl buttons down the front so she could have something special to wear to the final. They even included a pocket for her lucky hanky.

  But the Wimples’ favorite gift was from Daryl.

  He’d secretly joined the Craft Society to learn how to knit so he could make the Wimples matching red scarves. “That way, you can find each other in a crowd and think of me cheering you on.”

  India threw her arms around his bi
g, lanky body. “Thank you.”

  Daryl blinked back tears. “You’re welcome.”

  India was packed and ready to go, but just before they left, she had one last thing to do.

  She snuck into Dad’s shed with a small present.

  “What’s this for?” he asked. “My birthday’s months away.”

  “It’s to remind you that you’re a brilliant journalist, no matter what anyone says.”

  Dad tore off the paper and stared at a notebook with a purple velvet cover. He opened his mouth before closing it tight without a word.

  “You’re welcome,” India said, “but I want to be first to hear what you write.”

  “How about this as a headline: Small-town Girl Becomes International Spelling Champion?”

  “And if I don’t win?”

  “Small-town Girl Is Champion to Proud Dad.”

  India laughed. “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  India took a deep breath. “Boo wants Mom to calm down about his asthma.”

  “She just worries.”

  “We all worry,” India said, “but Boo’s tired of being treated like a little kid.”

  “He said that?”

  India nodded. “And he wants to go back to school.”

  Dad sighed. “Oh boy, that’s serious.”

  “There’s something else.” India bit her lip. “He wants a dog.”

  “It might be easier to get him to the moon.”

  “Please, Dad. Boo needs our help.”

  “He’s got it, but we have to take this slowly.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. This is going to take some work.”

  On the day they left, there was a big send-off, and the entire town lined the streets, cheering and waving signs that read:

  We'll Be Watching, India!

  India—Our Hero!

  As Dad drove slowly past in the Wimples’ battered old van, they waved at every well-wisher until they saw Daryl, who stood at the very end of Main Street, wearing a red scarf. He shouted, “See you soon, Wimples!”

  “You will!” India cried, and the Wimples didn’t stop waving until Daryl was a small dot on the horizon and Yungabilla had disappeared behind them in a haze of dust.

  • • •

  When they finally arrived in London, disheveled and tired after the long flight, they stepped into the frantic, crowded airport. Walking in a daze, they managed to find their luggage and were shuffled into lines and past customs booths before being spat out into the chaos of the airport terminal.

  The Wimples huddled together like penguins in a snowstorm, which often happened when they felt overwhelmed.

  Nanna Flo groaned at the sight of so many people. “What do we do now?”

  “We need to find the driver.” Dad wore what Mom called his “worry wrinkle.”

  Nanna Flo was elbowed in the head by a passing stranger. “Can we do it before—”

  The crowd seemed to close in like a wave. The Wimples huddled even closer until Boo saw a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black cap holding a sign with their name on it. “Over there!”

  They waved their red scarves to get his attention, and when they did, he expertly waded through the throng of passengers.

  “My name is Beecham, and I’ll be your driver. Welcome to Old Blighty. How are you finding England so far?”

  “Busier than a bull at a rodeo,” Nanna Flo said. “Can you get us out of here?”

  Beecham snickered. “Certainly, madam.”

  He pulled a Union Jack umbrella from his jacket and opened it in front of him. “Stay close, everyone. I’ve done this many times before, but things can get hairy.”

  With the Wimples scurrying in his wake, Beecham cut a path through the crowd like an icebreaker in the Arctic and led them outside, where he stopped beside a shiny black Mercedes.

  Dad stared wide-eyed. “Are you sure that’s for us?”

  Beecham held open the door. “Nothing but the best for our special visitors.”

  The Wimples climbed into the luxury car to find it lined with shelves of souvenirs.

  “While you enjoy the ride, you may wish to purchase a small memento of your trip. A Tower of London snow dome, a wobbly-headed Prince Charles, or a waving Queen… She’s my best seller. I’ve got Union Jack underwear, hankies, and a London Tower guard sitting on the toilet. You’ll be surprised how many of those I sell.”

  In a haze of jet lag, Dad announced, “We’ll take one of each! And some extras for friends at home.”

  “Thank you, sir. That’ll make my wife very happy.”

  The Wimples each chose a souvenir while India stared at the city as it whooshed past. Everything suddenly felt too big. Cars and trucks rushed by, giving her the feeling of being caught in a raging river.

  Dad put on his best royal voice and held his waving Queen in front of India. “My husband and I welcome you to England.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Dad could do that. Her anxiety sometimes made her feel like she were sinking, but Dad always knew how to bring her back.

  He settled into the seat beside her. “When your mom and I lived in London, we promised that one day, we’d bring our kids here. Turns out, your clever spelling and Boo’s resourcefulness brought us back.”

  As they drove farther into the center of London, the streets brimmed with double-decker buses and black cabs, and boats and ferries drifted on the River Thames. The Wimples pointed out palaces and cathedrals and—

  “The London Eye!” Boo cried.

  Their excitement lifted India even more. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

  “You bet your sweet patootie you’re here,” Nanna Flo said.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Beecham announced, “we have arrived.” He turned into the driveway of the Royal Windsor Hotel. “One of London’s finest establishments and home to the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee for fifty years.”

  It looked more like a castle than a hotel, with its tall, arched windows and steep, peaked roof. Rising from the center stood a regal clock tower, its face glowing like a full moon.

  “Holy sheep dip,” Nanna Flo said. “I never knew hotels could be this fancy.”

  Hotel doormen pulled their luggage from the trunk, while others scrambled to open their doors. The Wimples craned their necks to look outside. When they didn’t move, Beecham poked his head between the seats and said, “This is the part where you go in.”

  “Thank you,” India said.

  “My pleasure.” Beecham doffed his cap. “Good luck.”

  Dad paid Beecham for the souvenirs, and the Wimples slowly climbed out of the car, each of them feeling bedraggled and underdressed in a sea of elegant gowns and dinner jackets of the other guests. They huddled even closer together.

  “Ready, Wimples?” Dad asked, sounding a little unsure himself.

  India picked at the hem of her skirt and tried to push away the feeling that she didn’t belong. A man in a tuxedo and shiny black top hat opened the door, and they carefully stepped inside.

  The lobby lifted high above them like a cathedral, with ornately carved ceilings, gold walls, and rich, red carpets. It was bustling with more tuxedoed staff, and guests milled beneath shimmering chandeliers.

  The Wimples gazed at the splendor of it all, marveling that they, a small family from Yungabilla, Australia, could even be here. All of them except Nanna Flo, who was emptying a bowl of chocolates into her handbag. “They’ll be lovely treats for later.”

  Two banners hung from the ceiling. One said:

  Welcome, Spellers,

  to the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

  while the other announced:

  The Royal Windsor is proud to host

  Crupps Annual Dog Show />
  Mom was horrified. “No one said anything about a dog show. The hotel will be full of pet dander and allergens.”

  Unfortunately, at that very moment, Boo sneezed.

  Mom pulled an inhaler from her purse in one quick motion. “Are you OK? Do you feel wheezy? Should we call the doctor?”

  “I’m fine, thanks, Mom.”

  “We should stay at a different hotel.” She pulled out her phone. “One with no animals.”

  India saw Boo’s face fall and knew she had to help. “Boo will be extra careful, won’t you?”

  Boo nodded.

  “Still”—Mom kept searching—“we can’t be too careful.”

  Boo shot Dad a rescue me look.

  “You’ll tell us if you feel wheezy. Right?”

  “Like always.” Boo nodded.

  Dad put his hand gently on Mom’s. She looked up from her search. “OK,” she said, relenting, “but I want to know the second you feel something’s wrong.”

  Mom put her phone away, and Boo swapped a relieved look with Dad and India.

  Everywhere around them, parents fussed over excited kids, and dogs were preened by their owners. Some pampered pooches were even pushed in baby carriages.

  Beside a giant pyramid of Crupps Gourmet Dog Food, a woman tied a yellow ribbon into a girl’s curly hair. The girl’s body tensed as her mother gave the ribbon an extra-firm yank. “You’re going to outshine everyone onstage. All that extra tutoring is going to win us that trophy.”

  Beside them, the owner of a poodle was adjusting a yellow ribbon in the dog’s curly hair. “Who is Daddy’s little champion, then?”

  Nanna Flo frowned. “I can’t tell who’s the pet and who’s the kid.”

  A young girl buried her head in a dictionary while a boy clung to his mother’s arm, looking as if he were about to cry. “Come on.” She dragged him behind her. “This will be fun.”

  Among all the hubbub, India noticed someone else—a boy standing beside an older man in a sweater that was wrinkled and buttoned incorrectly. They stood together, looking lost and overwhelmed.

  India was about to wave when an ever-so-smiley man in a black suit and sky-blue silk cravat appeared through the crowd. “Welcome to the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee.” He bowed ever so slightly. “You must be the Wimples from Australia.”