The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  He was short and round with silvery-black waves of hair. Everything about him seemed to sparkle, from his eyes all the way to his polished shoes.

  “I am Mr. Elwood O’Malley, the Queen’s representative.” He pointed proudly to the embroidered royal crest on his breast pocket. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The posh way he spoke made Nanna Flo feel like curtsying. “I have had the privilege of working for Her Majesty for many years at the palace, but this year, I have been entrusted with making sure the bee runs smoothly. Rest assured that I have personally double- and triple-checked every detail to ensure the next few days of your life will be nothing less than extraordinary.”

  It was hard not to be swept up by Mr. O’Malley’s exuberance, which created a ripple of excitement in each of the Wimples.

  His eyes landed on India, as if Mr. O’Malley were being reunited with a long-lost friend. “It is especially wonderful to meet you, India Wimple. It is a remarkable skill to master the Queen’s English, and you have my absolute admiration.”

  Being with Mr. O’Malley gave India the feeling of being in front of a warm, glowing fire.

  He handed her a folder embossed with the Queen’s insignia.

  “In here, you will find my room number and phone details, information about the next few days, your spelling bee number, and”—his smile grew even wider—“a signed letter of welcome from the Queen herself.”

  India had to make sure she’d heard right. “For me?”

  Mr. O’Malley beamed. “For you. There will be a special welcome for the spellers at four o’clock in the Imperial Dining Hall, followed by a sumptuous dinner for all. Dress code: white.” He crouched down before Boo. “I had asthma as a child, so I know it can be unsettling. If you feel unwell in the slightest, call my number, and I will be there.”

  And with that, he bowed and moved away to greet more spellers.

  “A letter from the Queen,” Dad said. “That’s never happened to any Wimple, ever!”

  While they pored over the letter, India’s thoughts wandered elsewhere. She glanced around the lobby in a way she hoped wouldn’t be obvious to the others, but Nanna Flo noticed immediately.

  “Looking for anyone special?” Nanna asked.

  “No.” India shook her head. “Why would I be looking for anyone special? I was admiring the hotel. Can’t a girl admire the hotel?” India knew she was rambling.

  “Of course you can.” Mom swapped a knowing look with Dad.

  “Especially,” Nanna Flo said with a smile, “when someone behind you is doing the same thing.”

  India spun around, and her heart lurched as if it momentarily forgot how to work.

  It was Rajish.

  The same Rajish with his thick, dark hair and smile that lifted right into the corners of his face. Rajish, who was kind and funny and almost blew his chances in the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee, just for her.

  “He’s here.” India barely breathed.

  “Who’s here?” Dad pretended to have no idea what India was talking about.

  “Rajish.”

  Boo joined in. “Rajish who?”

  India would have answered, but Rajish waved, and her heart staggered a little more. She lifted her hand and waved back but stayed right where she was.

  Nanna Flo nudged her in the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  “Oh yeah, sure.” India tried to appear as nonchalant as she could as she walked toward Rajish, and she was doing a very good job of it too, until the toe of her shoe caught on the carpet and she stumbled straight into his arms.

  The Wimples were doing a terrible job of staring while trying to look like they weren’t staring. They were not a family of natural actors.

  “Sorry.” India pushed her hair out of eyes.

  “It’s OK,” Rajish said. “It happens a lot when I’m around girls.”

  “Does it really?”

  “All the time. I’m thinking of buying accident insurance.”

  India laughed. Rajish could do this—just when she felt nervous, Rajish would smile or make a joke, and she would instantly feel better.

  He crossed his arms. “But now that you’re here, I have a complaint to make.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, a very serious one. It’s about them.”

  India saw a portly man in a crisp suit and a woman wearing a sparkling blue sari. They entered the hotel, arm in arm.

  “Because of you, my parents have been kissing—a lot—no matter where they are, which is really embarrassing.”

  Right on cue, Rajish’s parents kissed.

  “You see? My life has become a series of smooching nightmares, and it’s all your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “Of course! If you hadn’t been so charming last time we met, I would never have wanted to be your friend, and the huge book of spelling bee words that my dad carried everywhere wouldn’t have been thrown under a bus by my mother so I could spend more time with you.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “That’s when the kissing began, and if you find it embarrassing, you only have yourself to blame.”

  “Did your dad buy another book?”

  “No, he has a new plan.” Rajish reached into his pocket and took out his phone. “He is still determined that I win, but he doesn’t want to upset Mom. So he has made a recording of the most difficult words of the last ten years. He says if I listen to it as I fall asleep, the words will embed themselves into my subconscious.”

  “India!” Mrs. Kapoor swooped in and smothered her in a hug. “It is so lovely to see you again.”

  India enjoyed being swept up in the perfumed scent of Mrs. Kapoor’s sari.

  “Yes, indeed.” Mr. Kapoor shook India’s hand. “We are looking forward to another great battle.”

  Mrs. Kapoor frowned at her husband until he added, “But mostly, we are looking forward to being with old friends again.” He held a finger in the air. “I am only speaking the truth.”

  Mrs. Kapoor linked arms with her husband. “You two catch up while we check in.”

  It was then that Rajish saw something out of the corner of his eye. Or more precisely, someone. “Oh no. She’s here.”

  “Who?” India followed his stare. “Oh. She’s back.”

  9

  Unforeseen

  (adjective):

  Unexpected, surprising, completely out of the blue.

  It was a surprising moment that was completely unforeseen.

  Through the doors of the Royal Windsor Hotel strode Summer Millicent Ernestine Beauregard-Champion.

  She moved as if she were in a shampoo commercial. Her dress shimmered, and her blond hair bounced and swished. Summer thought it was very important to make an impression every time she entered a room.

  And this was no exception.

  India and Rajish had met Summer during the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee, and her superior attitude was disagreeable to everyone, especially India.

  “Do you think she’s changed?” Rajish watched as the doorman who had opened the door for her bowed.

  “Maybe.” India was hopeful, especially as Summer seemed to soften by the end of the bee, and they’d become almost friends.

  Summer sailed by without saying thank you, while a young woman behind her juggled boxes and bags, hurrying to keep up.

  India sighed. “Or maybe not.”

  Summer stopped in the center of the lobby and tucked her sunglasses on top of her luxurious hair. She scanned the room to make sure most people had seen her entrance.

  When she saw India, her supremely confident pose wilted a little and was replaced by a small, hopeful smile.

  “Is she smiling at us?” Rajish asked.

  India nodded. “I think so.”

  Summe
r resumed her more self-assured manner and sashayed toward them.

  “Rajish! India!” she cried. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “It is?” India asked.

  Summer threw her head back and laughed. “Of course it is. Australia’s top three spellers are back, ready to take on the world!”

  There was an awkward pause.

  Rajish searched over her shoulder. “What have you done with the real Summer? The one who wasn’t all that nice to—”

  “She’s gone,” Summer interrupted, eager not to be reminded. “I mean, I’m here, but…” She dropped the fake smile. “I’m sorry if I was a little…difficult last time, but I was hoping we could start afresh.”

  “Start afresh?” Rajish rubbed his chin.

  India followed his lead. “We’ll have to think about it.”

  “Oh.” Summer looked disappointed.

  They let her linger a few seconds. “OK,” Rajish decided. “I’ve thought about it.” He flashed his sparkling smile. “That would be fine.”

  “Really?”

  “I agree,” India said. “We had a bumpy start last time, but that’s no reason we can’t be friends now.”

  “Awesome!” Summer squealed, which was something she never did, and quickly composed herself. “I mean, excellent.”

  Just then, something else extraordinary happened.

  A man and a woman dressed in spandex tights and matching T-shirts with the words Beaut Butts and Guts burst into the hotel. The woman placed a speaker on the grand piano, to the horror of the piano player, and high-energy music blared as they began to perform synchronized aerobic moves.

  “Are you tired of feeling fat?” the man cried. “Do you wish you could have muscles like these?” He flexed his sizeable arms. “Are you searching for the real you trapped beneath all that flab?”

  India noticed a girl with long braids tiptoe into the hotel and slip behind a potted plant.

  “Well, today is your lucky day,” the woman added with exaggerated glee, “because we here at Beaut Butts and Guts have come to help. With our specially designed exercise program, you’ll have your ideal body in weeks! No butt is too big! No gut is too flabby!”

  The girl briefly peeked out from behind the plant before ducking back into the foliage.

  The music became faster as the woman cartwheeled away from the man. She turned and ran toward him, leaping into his arms. They announced victoriously, “We’ve got the butts and guts for you!”

  The music came to an uplifting finish. The two stood like a weirdly composed statue. No one moved except for the girl behind the potted plant, who melted to the floor in a pool of embarrassment.

  There was a strained silence until a lone person clapped.

  “Thank you.” The man set the woman down, and they took a bow. “We’re Jenny and Terry Trifle, and we’re here to help.” He zeroed in on a woman eating a chocolate bar. “Ma’am, you look like you could use Beaut Butts and Guts.”

  They moved through the crowd, handing out business cards with broad smiles plastered on their tanned faces. The girl behind the plant cradled her head in her hands. India decided she was going to introduce herself when an unforeseen event unfolded.

  It happened like this:

  High above them, the rope from the canvas spelling bee banner had frayed after more than fifty years of swaying from the ceiling of the Royal Windsor Hotel. And now those frayed strands were beginning to weaken. One by one, they snapped, and the banner began to sag.

  But no one noticed.

  Not yet.

  The weight of the sagging banner meant the strands broke even faster until the last few finally gave way. The banner crumpled like a torn parachute and rippled toward the ground.

  A handful of guests and staff looked up. Some called out. Most dove to get out of the way. Except for Terry and Jenny Trifle, who were busy talking about butts and guts. When people backed away from him, Mr. Trifle thought they were being shy or were intimidated by his biceps. He was wrong. They wanted to avoid what was most certainly going to happen next.

  The grandfather who was huddled with his grandson saw it all unfolding clearly.

  “Wait here,” he said before running toward Nanna Flo, who was tipping a bowl of apples into her handbag, oblivious to the danger. Seconds before the heavy banner reached the ground, he scooped her out of the way.

  It was then that Mr. Trifle finally looked up. His only words were “Oh no,” before he and Mrs. Trifle were smothered in the many folds of the spelling bee banner.

  “Help!” Mrs. Trifle was furious that their perfect entrance had been so thoroughly ruined.

  Mr. O’Malley and the hotel staff were hurrying to their rescue when Nanna Flo realized she was in the arms of a stranger. And holding the empty bowl. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The man placed her feet on the ground. “I used to be a firefighter. Acting fast in a crisis was part of the job.”

  Mrs. Trifle continued to screech from beneath the banner. “Get this off me!” Her arms flailed, making it harder for the hotel staff to untangle her.

  “At least it put a stop to their nonsense.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Nanna Flo did something she very rarely did: she giggled.

  Mr. Trifle’s muffled voice could be heard from beneath the banner. “I’m coming, Pumpkin.”

  India saw the girl with the braids slowly emerge from behind the potted plant. Her body seemed weighed down, as if she were carrying an enormous weight, and her face was a picture of pure misery.

  10

  Determined

  (adjective):

  Resolute, plucky, or even stubborn.

  She was determined to not let them ruin everything.

  It had been many months since a less confident, more anxious India had first found herself competing in the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee. Back then, even the idea of being with strangers would make India break out in goose bumps and her stomach twist into a nauseous knot.

  Entering the bee had helped India face her fears and, to her surprise, not feel nearly as sick. She even enjoyed it—in the end.

  But standing in their suite in the Royal Windsor Hotel, about to meet the other contestants, some of those earlier feelings came back—feeling out of place, that she was just an ordinary girl from a small country town who didn’t belong. It made her pulse quicken and her head spin.

  “How do I look?”

  India was wearing white pants with a white top that was her mother’s.

  “You look perfect!” Dad kissed her on the forehead. “But you could be wearing a potato sack, and my answer would still be the same.”

  “Thanks, Dad, but I know you’re fibbing.”

  “It’s true!” Mom said. “You dressed as a sack of potatoes at the Yungabilla Show when you were five and won first prize.”

  “That proves it!” Nanna Flo looked at her watch. “You better go. You don’t want to be late for your meeting.”

  “But I don’t really know how to talk to strangers.”

  “First thing is to smile,” Mom said. “It makes everyone feel better.”

  “Then tell them your name and where you’re from,” Boo added.

  “Find something you have in common,” Dad said. “That always worked when I was a journalist.”

  “Try to make them laugh,” Nanna Flo said. “People love a good laugh.”

  India hoped she could remember everyone’s advice.

  “But mostly,” Mom said, “be yourself, and everyone will see how charming you are.”

  “You are charming,” Boo agreed.

  “You’ll charm the pants off of them,” Dad said.

  “Anyone who isn’t charmed is a pickle,” Nanna Flo declared.

  India smiled. Once again, her family had lif
ted her spirits just as they were about to tumble.

  Until what Dad said next. “Plus, they won’t all be strangers. Rajish will be there.”

  “Rajish?” India’s heart lurched again, as if she were suddenly on a ship that had hit a huge wave.

  “Yes.” Dad frowned. “Your friend. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember.” India’s overzealous laugh made the rest of the Wimples frown too. “Nanna’s right. I better go.”

  As the Wimples waved her off and the elevator doors slid shut, India hoped she wouldn’t freeze, or say anything silly, or have nothing to say at all.

  Moments later, the doors opened, and a short, stout woman carrying a clipboard stepped inside. She wore all black, with a helmet of black hair and a miserable pout, as if she’d lost something precious long ago. If everything about Mr. O’Malley was smiley, everything about this woman was most definitely not.

  Around her neck was a name tag that read: Esmerelda Stomp, Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee, Director.

  India remembered the Wimples’ advice, took a steadying breath, and gave it a shot.

  She offered a smile but immediately worried that it came out more as a grimace, so she tried the next step: the introduction. “I’m India Wimple from Australia.”

  Esmerelda, who was focused on her clipboard, offered a small grunt.

  India tried the next step: she needed to find something they had in common.

  “It must be a dream job working on a competition that inspires children all over the world.”

  Esmerelda slowly turned to India. Her stare was so cold that the temperature in the elevator seemed to drop. “Listen, kid, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t like spelling bees or children. I fell into this job when the previous director went on vacation and never came back. I’m not sure why I didn’t do the same.” Esmerelda’s face was chiseled with a seriousness that made India wonder if she’d ever smiled in her life. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind if the bee were canceled. No more pushy brats with their even pushier parents thinking their kids are the bee’s knees. No more tantrums or tears when they lose, and no more runaway egos when they win. Gives me indigestion just thinking about it.”