The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  Mrs. Trifle flung her hands in the air in frustration. “So now I’m a bad parent?”

  “No,” Mr. Trifle said carefully. “I think we’ve been focused on the wrong things, when our daughter is a real champion.”

  Mrs. Trifle’s jaw hardened. “Providing for our family is focusing on the wrong thing?”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “I’ve flown to London, taken time away from the business, and been separated from my children, all for some spelling thingy, and yet I’m the one focused on the wrong things?”

  It didn’t seem to occur to her that she hadn’t been separated from all her children.

  “That’s not what I meant.” No matter how hard Mr. Trifle tried to explain himself, Mrs. Trifle always made him sound so wrong.

  “If that’s the case, then I’m wasting my time being here.” She reached for the phone on the table beside her. “Operator. Send a bellboy to my room, and order me a taxi.”

  “You’re going?” Holly asked. Even though her mother hadn’t been very nice and was even at times quite mean, she didn’t want her to leave.

  Mrs. Trifle stood from the couch, her foot suddenly not so broken, and limped to her room. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

  • • •

  Outside the hotel, Mr. Trifle and Holly stood by the taxi as Mrs. Trifle was helped inside.

  “Please stay,” Holly quietly pleaded.

  Mrs. Trifle stared straight ahead. The only thing she said was “Let’s go, driver.” The car pulled away from the hotel.

  Holly felt the sting of watching her mother leave, realizing how much she wanted her to be there, until her dad slipped his hand into hers.

  “We’ll do this together, eh? You and I.”

  But Holly couldn’t answer. It was the best thing anyone had ever said to her.

  24

  Exonerated

  (verb):

  Declared innocent, absolved, or forgiven.

  He was exonerated from his alleged crimes.

  “Mr. Elwood O’Malley, I officially reinstate you as the Queen’s representative for the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee.”

  In a small room of the Royal Windsor Hotel, a private ceremony was taking place. A woman with gray curls and wearing a trench coat offered Mr. O’Malley her hand.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. It is with great delight and humility that I accept.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” the Queen said with a chuckle. “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

  The Wimples, Kapoors, Erikssons, Summer, Mr. Trifle, and Holly applauded.

  Esmerelda Stomp actually cracked a smile. At least that’s what it looked like, but it may have been indigestion. “Welcome back, Mr. O’Malley.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Stomp.”

  “Harrington Hathaway has been stripped of his awards for his dishonest ways,” the Queen continued, “and for potentially damaging the fine reputation of the spelling bee. He has been handed over to the police for questioning.” The Queen stepped forward, holding Mr. O’Malley’s gaze—even in a trench coat, she wore her royal poise with panache. “But most importantly, Mr. O’Malley, you are officially exonerated of all alleged past indiscretions.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Mr. O’Malley could barely speak, his words choked up with emotion. “That means the world to me.” Mr. O’Malley pulled his hanky from his pocket and dabbed his eyes.

  Summer leaned into India and whispered, “Is he crying again?”

  India couldn’t answer, because she was crying too. Summer looked around in surprise to find they were all crying.

  “I’m awfully sorry about removing you from your position.” The Queen winced slightly. “I’m afraid I had no choice when the safety of the children was at risk.” She scowled. “I did smell a rat though, which, thanks to these children, was rooted out into the open.”

  “May I be so bold as to ask?” Mr. O’Malley began. “Harrington was a three-time world spelling champion. Why did you hire me instead?”

  The Queen thought for a moment. “I have met many people over the years, Mr. O’Malley, and quite a few of them say what they think a Queen wants to hear, but you are genuine. I knew about the accusations of cheating, of course, but I had a hunch there was something fishy about them. I also hold dear to what my beloved papa, the King, taught me about how everyone deserves a second chance. Plus, that Harrington is all hat and no horse.”

  Mr. O’Malley frowned. “Sorry, ma’am?”

  “It’s an expression meaning somebody who has accomplished less than appearances would have you believe, so they acquire something that makes them appear successful. Back in the Wild West, that could have been a big hat. Whereas you, Mr. O’Malley, are a true and honest person, whom I am lucky to call my friend.”

  The Queen, against all queenly rules and regulations, reached out and gave Mr. O’Malley a hug.

  It took all of Mr. O’Malley’s strength not to squeal with glee. As he hugged Her Majesty, the children gave him a unanimous thumbs-up.

  “Now for you children, I have something special.”

  Two royal staff members in disguise, who’d been standing at attention by the door, stepped forward, looking very un-royal in their jeans, flannel shirts, and baseball caps. One held a small velvet-lined wooden box while the other opened the lid and retrieved brass medals strung with royal-blue ribbon.

  The Queen hung them around the neck of each speller. “I am awarding you all the Royal Medal of Honor for your work in defending and upholding goodness and decency within the community.” She placed the last of the medals around Peter’s neck. “And for dealing so expertly with a thorough bully.”

  Peter stared at the medal. It sparkled in his fingers. He caught a glimpse of Grandpop Eriksson’s tearstained face. He was standing beside Nanna Flo, who was just as teary and offered him a tissue from her purse.

  “Your Majesty.” Dad nervously stepped forward and offered an awkward bow. “Would you mind if I took a photo and wrote an article about what has happened?”

  “I would like that immensely. That way, the whole world can read about these intrepid children and my loyal friend, Mr. Elwood O’Malley.”

  The Queen, Mr. O’Malley, and the spellers posed with broad, beaming smiles.

  “I better be off.” The Queen took a mustache from her pocket, pressed it above her lips, and donned a Sherlock Holmes–style cap.

  “Nice disguise, Your Majesty,” Boo said.

  “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “You have more than one?”

  “Of course. There have been many occasions when I’ve needed to be incognito.” She winked. “Good luck for the grand final, everyone. I will be at home watching with my feet up, wishing all of you the very best.”

  Two royal staffers checked that the corridor was clear before standing aside and bowing as the Queen slipped away.

  • • •

  It was fair to say that India didn’t sleep much that night. Not after everything that had happened.

  Dad also didn’t get much sleep. Mr. O’Malley loaned him his computer so he could work on the story. India had told him the whole saga of uncovering Harrington’s underhanded, unscrupulous, and conniving behavior.

  Dad was typing well into the next morning while the rest of the Wimples had breakfast and were carrying out some last-minute spelling practice, huddling close and speaking in hushed tones so he could work.

  Mom whispered, “Ingenious India, Brave Boo, and their friends foiled a plan so dastardly…”

  “D-a-s-t-a-r-d-l-y,” India whispered back.

  “…that even the most conscientious…”

  “C-o-n-s-c-i-e-n-t-i-o-u-s.”

  “…of the Queen’s staff could not see them apprehended.”

  “A-p-p-r-e-h-e-n-d-e-d.”

 
“It took wit, bravery, and unflinching audaciousness…”

  “A-u-d-a-c-i-o-u-s-n-e-s-s.”

  “…to even contemplate.”

  “C-o-n-t-e-m-p-l-a-t-e.”

  “But she did it,” Mom concluded. “Ingenious India proved braver than she ever thought she could be. She was simply extraordinary.”

  “E-x-t-r-a-o-r-d-i-n-a-r-y.”

  Boo threw his hands in the air and whispered, “Another perfect score!”

  “Of course,” Nanna Flo said softly. “What else did you expect?”

  “I mean it, you know.” Mom cradled India’s cheeks in her hands. “You’re as brave as any person I know.”

  “Don’t forget ingenious,” Boo pointed out. “You uncovered a mystery that had been unsolved for decades.”

  “And that no-good snake in the grass Harrington finally got what was coming to him.” Nanna Flo rolled up her sleeves. “If I had my way, I’d dunk him in—”

  The bedroom door flew open. “It’s finished!” Dad’s eyes were wide, and his hair stuck out in all directions. “Would you like to read it?”

  “Yes, please.” India pushed away her breakfast things, and Dad gingerly placed the laptop on the table. As she read the story aloud, Nanna Flo, Boo, and Mom hung on every word, while Dad paced nervously in the background.

  It had everything India wanted in a story: vivid details, clever twists, and interesting characters with big hearts, and it kept her fascinated till the very end.

  When she finished, no one spoke. Dad stopped pacing and shoved his hands through his hair, which explained why it looked so wild. “What do you think? Is it good enough to be published?”

  “It’s brilliant!” India hugged her clever, disheveled dad.

  “It is?”

  “It’s one of your best,” Boo said.

  “I love it,” Mom insisted.

  “Anyone who doesn’t want to publish this needs a new brain.” Nanna Flo slammed the table with her palms. “’Cause the one they’ve got obviously isn’t working.”

  “Thanks, everyone,” Dad said, relieved. “O’Malley has sent me the details of the major news sites in the UK, so all I need to do is press ‘send’ and cross our fingers.”

  Mom sprang to her feet. “Wimples, it’s time for showers and sprucing up so we can escort India to her moment of triumph!”

  • • •

  The Heritage Ballroom of the Royal Windsor Hotel was abuzz with nervous parents and spellers. Some were giving last-minute tips while others were offering all sorts of rewards if their child won—ponies, cruises, even a ride in a spaceship.

  The Wimples stood in the middle of it all with their red scarves snug around their necks.

  “How do you feel?” Dad wore a special baby-blue suit and purple bow tie that their neighbor Mrs. Webster had given him for building an enclosed pen for her pig, Wilbur. She threw in a bright-orange shirt that really completed the look.

  “I feel fine,” India said, and she meant it. The old India would have felt anxious at just the idea of standing on an international stage in front of the whole world, but tonight, she wasn’t only ready, she couldn’t wait for it to start.

  “Have you got your lucky hanky?” Nanna Flo asked.

  India tapped her pocket. “Right here.”

  She was wearing her white chiffon dress with three pearl buttons down the front, with the pocket made especially for Nanna Flo’s lucky hanky.

  “Not that you need it.” Nanna waved a hand dismissively. “You’re as smart as a whip, or you can dip me in porridge.”

  “Good luck hug?” Boo asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  As Boo squeezed her tight, he said, “You’ll be great, Sis. I know it.”

  “We’ll be here if you need us.” Dad tugged at his bow tie as if it were suddenly too tight.

  “Not that you will.” Mom flashed a broad, confident smile. “Not our Ingenious India.”

  Mom and Dad swooped in for a final hug before making their way to their seats. India stood back and let the excitement of the ballroom swirl around her. The lights sparkled, the cameras were ready—this was it. The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee Grand Final was about to begin.

  She searched the room for her friends and spotted Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor with Rajish.

  “It’s important not to panic,” Mr. Kapoor said, his voice quivering with panic.

  “And think of your father,” Mrs. Kapoor said, taking her husband’s hand, “who will be panicking enough for all of us.”

  “I find taking a deep breath helps,” Rajish told his dad.

  Mr. Kapoor took a deep breath. It helped a little. “Thank you, Son.”

  Mrs. Kapoor wrapped her son in the perfumed swirling folds of her sari. “Win or lose, we are proud of you.”

  “Extremely proud.” Mr. Kapoor held a finger in the air. “I am only speaking the truth!”

  Mr. Kapoor couldn’t hold back and gave his son another hug. Rajish worried his dad wasn’t going to let go, until his mom gently drew his arms away. “He needs to go.”

  “Of course. Good luck, Son.”

  As they made their way into the audience to join a waving Mr. Wimple, Rajish joined India.

  “Got away?” India raised an eyebrow.

  “Just barely. I wasn’t sure I’d make it.”

  India looked up at the stage. Against the backdrop of rich, red theatre curtains, Fozdrake’s podium was in place along with neat rows of chairs that were beginning to fill with jittery spellers. “All set, Rajish Kapoor?”

  “Ready when you are, India Wimple.”

  As they climbed the stairs to the stage, in the audience below, a man with slicked-back hair in an elegant suit stood alongside an elegant woman in a long silk gown. The woman was clasping a diamond and ruby bracelet around a young girl’s wrist.

  “I love it!” Summer held her hand up. The refracted light from the jewels sparkled on her face. “Thank you for coming.”

  “We wouldn’t have missed it.” Her mother kissed Summer on both cheeks.

  Both parents hugged their daughter one last time before they, too, moved into the stands. Summer threw her head back and climbed the stage stairs like an actress about to receive a major award.

  “Your parents came,” India said as Summer sat beside her.

  “They canceled a very important meeting to be here, and after this, we’re going skiing in Austria.”

  Summer was trying to be all grace and poise when, in a very un-Summer-like way, she squealed.

  “Was it about a case?” Rajish asked conspiratorially.

  “A case?” Summer frowned.

  “The meeting they canceled. Was it about a case?”

  “Oh, my parents aren’t lawyers. I just said that to make Reko talk.”

  “But how did you know all that legal stuff?”

  “I watch a lot of detective shows.” She shrugged. “And you may not have noticed, but I am exceptionally smart.”

  Rajish sat back and laughed. “And modest.”

  “Of course,” Summer said with a boastful smile.

  Not far away, another nervous parent was saying goodbye and good luck to his child.

  “I’ve messed up quite a lot, haven’t I?” Mr. Trifle said.

  “What do you mean?” Holly asked.

  “This spelling bee is a really big deal for you, and I never realized it.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Holly shook her head and frowned.

  “It does matter. I’ve been so busy focusing on building the business when I should have been focusing on you.” He sighed. “When I was little, my dad blew most of our money at the racetrack. Every time he placed a bet, he thought, This is it! I’m going to give my family everything they want. But each time, he’d lose, and Mom would have to figure out how to feed
us and pay the rent. There were times I went to bed so hungry that my stomach ached, and I promised myself that my kids would never feel that pain. I thought that’d make me a great dad, but I haven’t been so good, have I?”

  “You’re here with me now, and I’d say that makes you a great dad,” Holly said, and she meant it.

  “I promise, from now on, I’ll be better—starting with cheering for my daughter so the world can know how brilliant she is.”

  And there it was—what Holly had been waiting for her whole life. Her dad was proud and thought she was brilliant. It was only now she realized how much she’d wanted to hear it.

  “Have fun out there.” Holly’s dad held her tight. “You’re going to be amazing.”

  Holly nestled in his hug for as long as she could before Mr. Trifle left to join the others in the crowd. She felt braver, stronger, knowing he was on her side, and she skipped up the steps to take her place in the grand final.

  Close by, Peter’s grandpop held him by the shoulders. “You’re about to line up with the best spellers in the world, and you deserve to be here as much as any one of them.”

  “Thanks, Grandpop.” Peter seemed distracted.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Yep,” Peter said, which wasn’t quite true. “Thanks for being here, Grandpop.”

  “I should be the one saying thank you. If you hadn’t invited me, I’d be at home doing the crossword and having my life revolve around the morning paper and the evening news. And instead, I’m here, about to watch my grandson take to the world stage. Now, off you go.” He nodded toward the stage. “Your friends are waiting for you.”

  Peter turned to see the others waving him over. A small shiver of happiness ran through his body and helped shake off the worst of his fears. They made space for him as he joined their feverish huddle.

  “This is it, musketeers,” Holly said, toying with the ends of her braids. “The big moment has finally arrived.”

  “Thanks to a lot of cleverness from us,” Summer reminded her.

  “There’s that humility again,” Rajish joked.

  “Just saying it like it is.” Summer shrugged.

  They all laughed except for Peter, who stared into the distance, his hands again clenched in his lap.