“…and rescued the Queen from certain catastrophe.”
“C-a-t-a-s-t-r-o-p-h-e.”
“A perfect score!” Boo cried.
“Just as I expected.” Dad had been tense up until now. He sat back in the armchair as if he knew all along how well it would go.
“Someone tell the other spellers not to bother turning up,” Nanna Flo decided. “India Wimple is here.”
Normally, Mom frowned at this kind of talk. She didn’t want to build India’s hopes up only to have them dashed. She also wanted to remind everyone that winning wasn’t what competing was all about.
But today, even she joined in.
“You’re going to be magnificent!” She kissed her daughter on the forehead.
The India of Mom’s stories was brave and adventurous, and Boo was daring and invincible. India always knew how to get out of scrapes, and Boo could scale tall buildings and face the meanest of bad guys.
India always thought Mom told the stories so they could feel like heroes, but she wondered now if that’s how Mom saw her kids—stronger and more courageous than they actually were.
“Wimple family,” Mom announced. “Get dressed! Let’s deliver this champion to her destiny!”
• • •
Not far away in another suite at the Royal Windsor Hotel, Grandpop Eriksson poked his head into his grandson’s bedroom. “Can I come in?”
Grandpop was wearing a suit that was a little too big and had combed what little hair he had into a neat swirl.
“Sure.” Peter was sitting in bed with his dictionary nestled on his lap.
“I’m nervous,” Peter said.
“It’s to be expected. It’s a nervous kind of day.” Grandpop Eriksson sat on the edge of the bed and handed him a small locket. “Do you recognize this?”
“That’s Grandma’s.”
“Open it.”
Inside was a tiny photo of Peter as a baby surrounded by his mom, Grandpop, and Grandma.
“We were so happy when you came along. It was one of the best days of my life. Your grandma would be so proud of you. I am too, even though I haven’t been very good at showing it. Since she died, I haven’t quite been myself and have disappeared a little.”
“You’ve been sad.”
“We all were. I never knew you could miss someone so much, but that’s no excuse. I should have been there for you with school, especially with your dad not being here.”
Peter felt a jab in his chest. He’d never spoken about his dad with Grandpop. After his dad had left, Grandma would take him for walks, cuddle him at night, and tell him to let it out if he was angry or upset, but with Mom and Grandpop, it never seemed right.
“Your grandma would be really cross with me for not stepping up. From now on, I promise, you can count on me.”
“Thanks, Grandpop.” Peter held out the locket.
“You keep it close, to remind you that we’re all on your side. Now, let’s go show those others how to spell.”
• • •
Down the hall, the Trifles were making their own preparations for the bee.
“Sit still.” Mrs. Trifle twirled another lock of hair around the curling iron. Holly felt as if her head were on fire.
“I’d prefer to read, if that’s OK.”
“How is reading going to help you get ready for your big night?” Mrs. Trifle tugged at another lock. “When you walk into a room, people won’t be judging you on how many books you’ve read. When I’m finished, they’ll be amazed by how pretty you look.”
“I’d rather read than look pretty.”
Her mother scowled. “There’s a good chance of that happening, but we can at least try. Now sit still and let me work my magic.”
Mrs. Trifle continued to pull and yank at Holly’s hair.
“I know you think your father and I work too hard, but it’s for the family, which is, after all, the most important thing in life.”
“It’s what happens when you have kids.” Mr. Trifle huffed as he lifted dumbbells. “You want to do everything for them. It’s only natural.”
“But this reading business is going to get you nowhere.” Mrs. Trifle took a brush and began fluffing out the curls. “Your father and I never bothered with books, and look at us! We’re the epiphany of success!”
Holly knew her mother meant the epitome of success, as in the perfect example of success, but she didn’t want to upset her, so she said nothing.
“There.” Mrs. Trifle stood back and admired Holly’s hair, which ballooned around her head like she’d stuck a finger in an electrical socket. “You should be right on time.” She flopped onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “I could sleep for a week.”
“Aren’t you coming?” Holly asked.
“Not now, Molly.” She placed two slices of cucumber over her eyes. “I need to rest. It’s been a very big day.”
Mr. Trifle saw Holly’s shoulders slump, and something in that small gesture made his heart jolt. At first, he worried it was the beginning of a heart attack, but that was all it was: a small, melancholy jolt.
“I’ll go with you,” he found himself saying.
“You will?” Holly had to make sure she hadn’t misheard or that her father wasn’t talking to someone else.
Mr. Trifle thought about it. “Sure. That way, your mom can have some peace and quiet.”
Mr. Trifle put on a fresh shirt, and Holly raced to her room for her sweater. She was about to say goodbye to her mom when she heard the faint ripples of snoring and realized she’d already fallen asleep.
“Come on,” Mr. Trifle said. “We better not be late.”
16
Debonair
(adjective):
Confident, charming, and looking spiffy.
He was every inch a very debonair man.
“The day we’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived.”
Mr. O’Malley beamed at the bustling crowd from the stage of the Heritage Ballroom of the Royal Windsor Hotel. He was immaculately dressed in a royal-blue pinstripe suit with a bright-red cravat and flower in his lapel that were almost the same color as his cheeks.
“Round one of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee will begin shortly, so please take your seats.”
The ballroom buzzed with contestants, parents, and a television crew setting up cameras and lights.
India looked up at the stage. Rows of seats were arranged for the spellers on one side, a podium for the pronouncer on the other, and in the center was a single microphone where millions of people would soon watch her spell. Her stomach twisted into an entire basket of knots. The Wimples huddled together with their red scarves tucked around their necks.
India tugged at her purple dress with yellow sunflowers, a hand-me-down from Mrs. Rahim’s eldest daughter. “Do you think I’ll be OK?”
“Of course you will,” Dad said. “You’re a Wimple. You’ll be amazing.”
“It’s true!” Nanna Flo said. “Or you can dunk me in barbecue sauce and serve me for dinner.”
“But what if I freeze onstage?” India fiddled with the contestant’s number dangling from her neck. “Like I did before? You know, when…”
She couldn’t bring herself to say it, but what she meant was this: what if she froze like she did during her school play, Matilda, when she saw her mom and dad in the back of the auditorium, carrying Boo outside while he was having a serious asthma attack? She was left onstage, stumbling through her lines, which she mostly forgot, wondering the whole time if her brother was going to be OK.
“That was a long time ago,” Dad said. “And since then, you’ve become Australia’s spelling champion.” He put his hand on his heart and stuck his nose into the air. “And my personal hero.”
Boo copied his dad. “And mine too.”
Nanna Flo and
Mom followed. “Us too.”
India laughed. “OK, you can stop now. People are starting to stare.” But she did feel better.
“Have you got your lucky hanky?” Nanna Flo asked.
“Yes.” India tapped the pocket where she kept the hanky Nanna had given her for the first spelling bee.
“Good luck hug?” Boo held out his arms.
“Yes, please.”
“You’ll be great, Sis,” he declared. “I know it.”
Mom kissed her on each cheek. “Take a long, steadying breath before each word, and try to have fun.”
Dad gave her one of his special hugs, which felt like being wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket. “We’ll be cheering for you.”
It was then that India noticed Nanna searching the room. “Looking for anyone special?”
“No.” Nanna Flo clutched her purse. “Why would I be looking for anyone special? I was admiring the ballroom. Can’t a woman admire a ballroom?”
India frowned. Nanna Flo was rambling, which was something she never did.
India reached up and placed her hand on Nanna’s forehead. “You don’t seem to have a temperature.”
“Of course I don’t. I feel perfectly fine.”
That was when Mr. Eriksson and Peter wound their way through the crowd. “Florence.” He smiled. “Stood up to any bullies since I last saw you?”
“No, I’ve been busy,” Nanna Flo said. “Rescued anyone from any falling banners?”
“Nah, I’m leaving that to the young ones.”
Nanna Flo giggled. Again.
So did Mr. Eriksson.
The Wimples were confused.
“Would you mind if I sat with you?” Mr. Eriksson asked.
“Can’t see why not.” Nanna held up her bulging purse, “I’ve brought enough treats for everyone.”
“Good luck, kids.” Grandpop Eriksson followed Nanna Flo and the Wimples into the audience.
“He’s happier than he’s been in a while,” Peter said. “He spent half an hour in front of the mirror deciding how to do his hair, and he doesn’t have that much.”
“Nanna Flo’s been acting weird too.” India watched as they made their way to their seats. “I’ve never heard her giggle until this trip, and now she can’t seem to stop.”
On cue, they heard her giggle once more.
“All right, spellers.” Esmerelda’s voice cut through the crowd. “If you’re not onstage in the next three minutes, you’re out.”
“I guess we better go.” India tried to pep herself up. “Ready?”
Peter nodded. “I think so.”
Something about his expression made India think about being caught in a storm. She knew that feeling from the first spelling bee—swamped and totally overwhelmed.
“We’re going to be fine.” She stuck her chin in the air, surprised that she actually meant it.
“Even if I fall on my face?”
“You won’t fall on your face,” India said. “But we’ll pick you up if you do.”
Peter gave her a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“All part of the service.”
They climbed onto the stage, which was filling with the last of the spellers. Rajish, Summer, and Holly waved them over.
“We saved you seats,” Rajish said before turning to India. “I know there’s no hope of winning while you’re here, but I thought I’d come anyway.”
“It was nice of you to make the effort.”
“Will you let me hold the trophy when it’s yours?”
India laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
Holly fiddled with the ends of her braids. “I’m so nervous, I have to remind myself to keep breathing.”
“I’m so nervous, I forgot my name when Esmerelda asked.” Peter clasped his hands so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Grandpop had to say it for me.”
“I’m not nervous at all,” Summer announced, as if this were any old regular day and not an internationally televised competition.
“Really?” Peter gazed in admiration. “Not even a little?”
“Maybe a little,” Summer admitted.
“So you’re human after all?” Rajish asked.
“Yes,” Summer said as she brushed down her skirt, “but a very stylish one.”
“Ladies, gentlemen, and spellers,” Mr. O’Malley enthused from the podium. The audience settled into an anxious hush. “We’re only moments away from one of the most exciting events of your lives.”
India saw Esmerelda yawn from the wings of the stage.
“To get us underway, it is time to meet your spelling bee pronouncer.” There was an audible gasp in the room. “It is my tremendous pleasure to introduce the magnificent Fozdrake Magnifico.”
A flood of cheers filled the ballroom as the pencil-thin, debonair man in a bright-yellow suit and pointy winklepicker shoes bounded onto the stage. His sleek, black hair was swept into a perfect wave above a glimmering, movie-star smile.
“It’s Fozdrake!” Holly’s hands flew to her mouth, worried that she might actually scream.
“Is it really him?” Peter’s fears faded a little at the sight of the world-famous pronouncer.
“It is.” Even Summer was excited. “The one and only.”
Fozdrake blew a kiss to the audience, who went wild.
Mr. O’Malley stood in the wings, equally awed by Fozdrake’s appearance. He stood beside Esmerelda, who, it was safe to say, was not so charmed.
Fozdrake had been bathed in cheers for most of his life. As a child, he had performed on a television show called Future Stars. He was a dancer and was often compared to his hero, a man called Fred Astaire, who was so light on his feet that Fozdrake was sure his shoes were filled with helium.
Fozdrake was Future Stars’ main star. The dancers appeared at shopping centers, onstage, and even embarked on a world tour.
Then, on the day of Fozdrake’s sixteenth birthday, he was dropped from the show. That was part of the contract—you stayed until you turned sixteen, then you were on your own.
After that, he appeared on home shopping channels and on Dancing Under the Stars with other forgotten childhood Future Stars, but it wasn’t until he became pronouncer of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee that he rediscovered some of his former fame and glory.
“Spellers, are…you…ready?” He threw his arms into the air.
“Yes…we…are!” The children cried out in unison.
“Good luck,” Rajish whispered to India.
“You too,” India whispered back.
“As you know,” Fozdrake continued, “the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee will be screened all over the world. In a matter of moments, the lights will lower, and the broadcast will begin. I will summon each speller to the microphone, where millions of admiring fans will marvel at your magnificence. So banish those butterflies, dispel those doubts, and—”
A great crackling hiss sounded from above, and a shower of sparks rained onto the stage, followed by a large metal lighting box.
Fozdrake screeched and scurried out of the way, only just avoiding the box as it clattered to the stage. Twisted metal and broken glass fanned across the polished floor.
The lights flashed, and the ballroom was plunged into darkness.
After a few moments, Mr. O’Malley’s face could be seen onstage, illuminated by the light of his phone. “Please stay calm, everyone. We will solve this problem in no time.”
“What’s going on?” Holly asked.
“The falling light might have caused a blackout.” India saw the silhouettes of stagehands comforting Fozdrake and leading him into the wings.
Hotel staff with flashlights flittered into the room like fireflies, while Esmerelda gave directions to the workers. Maintenance people checked the fuse boxes and wiri
ng and spoke in hushed tones to Mr. O’Malley. He took a hanky from his pocket and wiped his brow. He’d been doing his best to appear cheery, but as he turned away, India saw that he looked utterly downhearted.
“Do you think the spelling bee will still go on?” Peter seemed stuck in that storm again.
“Of course it will,” India said. “Mr. O’Malley will make sure of it.”
“But we haven’t been very lucky so far,” Holly said. “First the falling banner in the lobby, then the escaped animals during dinner, and now this.”
“It’s true.” Rajish thought about it. “It’s as if someone doesn’t want the spelling bee to happen.”
“Why would anyone want to stop the bee?” India asked.
“Maybe they’re jealous of how very clever we are,” Summer decided.
“Or how humble we are?” Rajish suggested.
“Yes, that too.” Summer smiled.
Prince Harry poked his head out of Peter’s pocket. “Are you nervous too, little fella?” When Peter scooped him out, a photo fell from his pocket. It was bent, ragged around the edges, and showed a man holding a baby.
India handed it back. “Is that you and your dad?”
Peter nodded. “I’m a little taller now,” he joked. “I know this will sound silly, but I’m hoping that if he’s watching, he might recognize me and see that I turned out OK.”
Prince Harry tickled Peter’s cheek with his soft spines.
“You turned out more than OK,” India said.
“You’re funny and smart,” Holly said.
“And a champion speller,” Rajish added.
They all looked to Summer. India raised her eyebrows, making it clear it was her turn to say something nice.
“And…you’re…kind to lizards.”
“And that’s just four of your special qualities,” India said. “Wait until he finds out all the others.”
Prince Harry jumped from his hand to his shoulder, where he nuzzled Peter’s neck.
Holly smiled. “And Prince Harry agrees.”
Peter felt his bottom lip quiver and a lump form in his throat. He hadn’t been called a namby-pamby in days, and the last of Bruiser’s bruises had almost disappeared. Apart from his family, he’d rarely been complimented in his life.
The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee Page 10
