The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  “Are you OK?” Holly asked.

  It took Peter a few moments before he said, “My dad’s not coming back, is he? Even if he does watch the show, there’s no guarantee he’ll want to actually see me. He hasn’t so far, so why would that change now?”

  Peter looked so small, and it was all because of this man, his father, who never took the time to know him. Holly, for one, wasn’t going to stand for it.

  “I don’t know what your dad might do, but here’s what I do know, Peter Eriksson.” Holly could feel herself getting fired up for the second time that day. “You’re a good person and a good friend, and you’re every bit worth coming back for.”

  “And if your father doesn’t realize that,” Summer argued, “maybe he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Not only that,” Rajish added. “You stood up to Harrington Hathaway!”

  “And in the last few days,” India said, “you’ve made four new friends who like you exactly how you are.”

  Holly hadn’t quite finished. “When that music starts and this show begins, I want you to hold your head high and spell like you’ve never spelled before.”

  Peter couldn’t help but smile. “You’re pretty feisty when you get fired up.”

  “I’m learning.” Holly held out her hand. “All for one?”

  The others piled their hands on hers. “And one for all.”

  “OK,” Peter decided. “Let’s do this.”

  25

  Grand Final

  (noun):

  The last and most impressive part of a performance.

  There was much anticipation as the grand final began.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, and spellers, welcome to the fiftieth anniversary grand final of the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee.”

  The music swelled, and the audience was swept into frenzied applause.

  Fozdrake Magnifico enjoyed every adoring moment. Dazzling in a red suit with sequined lightbulbs and wearing bright-yellow shoes, his shiny black hair swirled above his head like a scoop of licorice ice cream.

  Offstage, in the shadows, stood Mr. O’Malley and Ms. Esmerelda Stomp.

  Mr. O’Malley was a portrait of blissful glee. Esmerelda was not, but she did look slightly less miserable than usual.

  “Tonight,” Fozdrake announced, “you will observe a spine-tingling struggle between sensational spellers. There will be times of tremendous tension, seconds of supreme suspense, but by the culmination of this competition, we will welcome the world’s most wondrous wordsmith! Please, join me in welcoming our finalists!”

  Lights flooded the stage, revealing two rows of nervous spellers.

  As the audience burst into a hearty welcome of cheers, Rajish leaned over. “Good luck, India Wimple.”

  “You too, Rajish Kapoor.”

  Fozdrake continued. “In only a matter of hours, one of you will be our winner. One of you will wonder what to do with a whopping ten thousand dollars.” Fozdrake paused, building the tension as he so expertly knew how to do. “And one of you will have the honor of owning this!”

  A large spotlight beamed onto the stage and, apart from the slight dent in its side, the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee trophy sparkled in all its glory under the waterfall of light.

  This really sent the audience into a frenzy.

  Peter found it almost impossible to steady his heart. The trophy was so close, he could almost touch it. For one small moment, he imagined holding it. He imagined standing in the spotlight, confetti falling, his friends cheering. For a moment, he let himself dare to think he could win.

  “As you’ll be aware, this is a knockout competition, so if a word is spelled incorrectly, the competitor must leave the stage. The words will be easier at first but will become decidedly more difficult.” He paused the famous Fozdrake pause. “By the end of tonight, we shall have our winning wordsmith.”

  The sequined lights on his suit sparkled almost as much as his scintillating smile.

  “Spellers.” His voice had the effect of a drumroll. “Are…you…ready?”

  “Yes…we…are!” The children cried out in unison.

  Fozdrake flung his arms into the air in a magnificent swoosh. “Then let the spelling bee…begin!”

  Theme music and applause filled the room as all around the world—from a small home in Wormwood, England, to the Queen’s private chambers and a packed community hall in a small town called Yungabilla—people tuned in to see who would be the next champion.

  Fozdrake held the cards in front of him and, when the noise faded to perfect silence, he began.

  “Our first contestant is…Peter Eriksson.”

  Peter felt as if he’d been punched hard in the chest. It was a feeling he’d had so many times when he was with Bruiser or the other kids at school, and it left him breathless. He gripped the seat so hard that this time, Holly thought he might not get up.

  “You have to leave the chair here,” she smiled, “or Esmerelda will be furious.”

  Peter looked at her and released his grip.

  “Go get ’em, Peter Eriksson.” She held her fists in front of her.

  “Thanks, Holly.”

  Prince Harry wriggled in his jacket pocket, making sure Peter knew he was there for him too.

  The lights flooded the stage as Peter stepped to the microphone.

  Was his dad watching? Would he recognize him? He wanted more than anything not to be a—

  “Disappointment,” Fozdrake pronounced. “This is a noun meaning the emotion felt when one’s expectations are not met.”

  Peter’s shoulders fell, threatening to drag his whole body to the floor.

  That’s what I am, he thought. One big disappointment. That’s why Dad never bothered to find me.

  Time passed.

  “Fifteen seconds remaining.”

  Fifteen seconds, and he hadn’t even started spelling. Peter could see the word. He knew how to spell it.

  But he couldn’t move. Or speak.

  There were only seconds left. Peter had to spell now, or he would be asked to leave the stage.

  “Ten seconds remaining.”

  Still nothing.

  A single cheer rose from the audience. It was Grandpop Eriksson. “Go, Peter!”

  Peter stared into the blackness and began.

  “Disappointment,” he said quickly. “D-i-s-a-p-p-o-i-n-t-m-e-n-t. Disappointment.”

  Fozdrake’s eyes lit up in relief. “That is correct!”

  The audience applauded. Peter could hear Grandpop cry out, “That’s my grandson!”

  He turned to see his friends clapping madly and felt a rush through his body like an electric charge.

  “I knew you’d do it.” Holly nudged him.

  Prince Harry wriggled in his pocket again. Peter held open his jacket a smidge and saw the gecko poke out his tongue.

  “Prince Harry agrees,” Holly whispered.

  Fozdrake was in his element, standing in the spotlight. He called more names and pronounced more words.

  Anticipation.

  Excitement.

  Expectation.

  “Our next speller is India Wimple.”

  India stepped to the microphone. She tried to take long, slow breaths to calm herself down. It didn’t really work very well.

  But she was ready.

  “Your word is audacious. This is an adjective meaning bold, daring, or adventurous.”

  It was in Mom’s story. India could instantly see it in her mind. “Audacious. A-u-d-a-c-i-o-u-s. Audacious.”

  The audience applauded, and Nanna Flo cried from the back, “Go, India!” This was followed by a very faint but audible pair of giggles.

  Holly was next. Fozdrake held out her card.

  Please, please, please, Holly silently pleaded to know the
word.

  “Your word is camaraderie. This is a noun meaning mutual trust and friendship.”

  Holly took her time to think. It could be com or cam, but she was almost sure it was cam, but what came next? E or a? Was it cameraderie or camaraderie or even cameradery? She saw the words form and reform in her head, and they all looked correct, until finally, she could see it. She knew it was right.

  “Camaraderie,” she began with confidence. “C-a-m-a-r-a-d-e-r-i-e. Camaraderie.”

  “And you are correct!” Fozdrake cried to frantic applause.

  Holly skipped to her chair and the company of her widely grinning friends.

  Buoyant.

  Jauntiness.

  Ebullience.

  Then came the first of the words to be misspelled. Downhearted spellers shuffled from the stage.

  Crestfallen.

  Despondent.

  Dismayed.

  “I would like to call…” Fozdrake prolonged the nervous moment. “Rajish Kapoor.”

  The room fell deathly silent as he walked across the stage under the hot glare of the stage lights.

  “Your word is…” Fozdrake paused. “…somersault. This can be a verb or a noun describing an acrobatic movement to turn one’s head over one’s heels.”

  Rajish thought carefully. “Somersault. S-o-m…”

  He stopped. India silently spelled the rest of the word. Come on, she thought. Spell it with me.

  Rajish frowned. “…e-r-s…”

  Holly crossed her fingers.

  Peter closed his eyes.

  Summer held her breath.

  “…a-l-t.”

  India gasped.

  Rajish knew instantly.

  “That is, I’m sad to say, incorrect,” Fozdrake said with a hint of melancholy.

  The audience clapped, and as Rajish left the stage, he sent a quick wink to the others.

  India tried not to cry as she watched him go.

  The words became harder.

  More spellers left the stage. Some reluctantly…

  “I won’t go! I knew that word! It’s not fair.” It took both parents to escort a tall girl with a sharp bob and an even sharper tongue from the stage. Another speller simply sat beside the microphone stand, arms crossed, refusing to move until a furious Esmerelda motioned for security guards, who chased him into the wings.

  The numbers of spellers shrank.

  Chairs emptied.

  Summer was next. She had already spelled connoisseur and miscellaneous without a thought. She stood at the microphone, smiling for the camera.

  “Summer, your word is palatial. This is an adjective meaning luxuriously grand or large.”

  Summer gave her hair a small shake. “Palatial. P-a-l-a-c-i-a-l.”

  She smiled, unaware of her very small mistake. One letter—that’s all it took.

  “I’m so sorry,” Fozdrake said, “but that is incorrect.”

  It was only then that Summer realized. “It’s a t, isn’t it?”

  Fozdrake nodded. “I’m afraid so, but colossal congratulations on your capacious cleverness.”

  Summer knew so many words. Hard words that were almost impossible for most adults to spell, but sometimes the easier words tripped a speller up.

  India saw Summer purse her lips, for just a moment, as if she were trying to stop herself from crying. She glanced over her shoulder at her friends with a look that seemed to say over to you before offering one last smile for the cameras and striding from the stage to emphatic applause.

  Formidable.

  Grueling.

  Toilsome.

  They had been spelling for over three hours. There had been tears, tantrums, and trepidation. Now there were only four spellers left.

  A young boy called Melville was next. He wore a bow tie beneath a face that was contorted with worry. He was tall and gangly and wore shorts that stopped at his knobby knees. It looked as if they were about to give way any minute. He stumbled as he crossed the stage, which caused him to falter and accidentally knock his glasses to the floor. They fell with a sharp crack and slid across the stage before Peter jumped from his seat and helped him find them.

  “Thank you,” Melville muttered before putting them back on, only now they had a slight bend to them and sat crookedly on his nose.

  “Are you OK to continue?”

  Melville nodded. “Yes, Mr. Magnifico.”

  Fozdrake carefully pronounced the next word. “Overwrought. This is an adjective meaning to be extremely or excessively excited or agitated.”

  Melville held out his hands. They were shaking. With one finger, he wrote out the word on his palm. He shook his hand, as if erasing the letters, and started again, frowning. The audience waited, feeling a little overwrought themselves.

  “Over…overwrought,” he stammered. “O-v-e-r…” He scribbled on his palm again.

  “Fifteen seconds left,” Fozdrake said.

  Melville’s head snapped up in a panic. “r-a-u-g-h-t. Overwrought?”

  He looked at Fozdrake hopefully.

  “I’m afraid that is incorrect, but well done on how you’ve exceled enormously at this endeavor.”

  The audience applauded Melville as he shuffled off the stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Fozdrake said, gleaming at the audience. “We have our top three!”

  Holly, Peter, and India shared an excited laugh. They couldn’t quite believe they were there. They heard Nanna Flo, Grandpop Eriksson, and Mr. Trifle all cry out.

  “I don’t care what happens now,” Peter decided.

  “Me too,” India said with the realization. “We made it to the top three.”

  Holly held out her hand. “All for one?”

  “And one for all.”

  Fozdrake waited for the cheering to die down before he pronounced the next words.

  Peter spelled trailblazing and aficionado. Holly carefully articulated unyielding and accomplishment, while India expertly handled virtuoso before it was her turn again.

  “India Wimple,” Fozdrake said, “your word is apotheosis. This is a noun meaning high point or crowning moment.”

  This time, India wasn’t so clear. The letters formed in her mind, then reformed again in a different order, but she still wasn’t sure. She wrote it on her hand. One way, then another.

  “Fifteen seconds remaining, India,” Fozdrake said.

  Holly and Peter crossed their fingers.

  “Apotheosis.” India knew she didn’t have long before she needed to make a decision. “A-p-o…”

  The letters reformed again in her mind.

  “…t-h-e…”

  She tried one last time on her hand.

  She decided.

  “…s-i-s.”

  “That is…” Fozdrake tried to hide his disappointment. “Incorrect.”

  There was a terrible silence. The audience stayed deathly still.

  India simply smiled.

  She’d done it. She’d made it all the way from a small town in Australia to the grand final of the Most Marvelous Spelling Bee in London.

  Something she never thought was possible.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, and spelling enthusiasts,” Fozdrake declared with gusto, “please congratulate India Wimple for being one of the top three spellers of the world!”

  The audience sprang to their feet with hoots, whistles, and applause. India left the stage with a small wave as she spotted the rest of the Wimples in their red knitted scarves, jumping and shouting her name. At that same moment, in a small hall in Yungabilla, the same scene was unfolding—including a cheering Daryl in his own red scarf.

  “We are down to our final two spellers,” Fozdrake announced solemnly. “Holly, your word is irrepressible. This is an adjective meaning unstoppable or enduring.
”

  Holly thought carefully. This was a tricky word, which had double letters, but were there two doubles or one? She closed her eyes to see the word more clearly. There were two doubles. She knew it. But was it ible or able?

  There comes a time in every speller’s life when they just have to decide, when they settle on the spelling of a word and confidently jump in.

  For Holly, that time was now.

  “Irrepressible,” she said. “I-r-r-e-p-r-e-s-s-a-b-l-e. Irrepressible.”

  Holly saw the faces of the audience in the front row and knew instantly.

  “That is incorrect,” Fozdrake said, “which means, if Peter spells this next word without fault, he will be the new champion. If he spells it incorrectly, Holly, you have another chance.”

  Holly stepped aside while Peter stood ready.

  “Your word is,” Fozdrake said, his face a picture of perfect poise, “metamorphosis. This is a noun meaning any complete change or transformation in character, appearance, or circumstances.”

  Peter reached for the locket around his neck. He felt Prince Harry wriggle in his jacket pocket. He cleared his mind of everything except that word. He broke it into sections, seeing every letter clearly in its place.

  At least he hoped.

  “Metamorphosis. M-e-t-a-m-o-r-p-h-o-s-i-s.” He looked to Fozdrake. “Metamorphosis.”

  “Peter Eriksson, it is my duty to tell you…that you are correct! You are the Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee champion!”

  Music trumpeted throughout the room. Golden confetti shot into the air and swirled onto the stage like a shimmering snowstorm. The audience hollered and cried while Rajish, Summer, and India hugged each other offstage as if they’d won.

  Holly threw her arms around Peter, who was clearly dazed. “Did I win?”

  “Yes!” She laughed over the shouting and cheers. “You won!”

  Fozdrake fought through the shower of confetti and shimmied between the two stars.

  When the audience quieted, he continued. “Ladies, gentlemen, word lovers everywhere, what a tremendous tournament of talent from two talented teammates. From this night forth, Peter and Holly, the whole world will know both of you as the intelligent, ingenious, and incomparable young people you are.”