The Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  From the wings, Mr. O’Malley appeared with a bouquet of flowers. “As a token of our eternal admiration, Holly, please accept these flowers…inside of which you’ll find a little something extra.”

  Holly took an envelope from among the flowers and opened it. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened.

  “Can you share your prize with the audience?” Fozdrake prompted.

  “It is a voucher for Ms. Macy’s International Book Bonanza for”—she almost couldn’t say it—“one thousand dollars. Thank you!”

  Mr. O’Malley led Holly to the side of the stage while Fozdrake gathered the trophy. “Peter Eriksson, congratulations! You are the newest Most Marvelous International Spelling champion.”

  Fozdrake handed over the trophy. Peter worried he might drop it, he was shaking so much, until Esmerelda guided Grandpop Eriksson to the stage, and they held it together.

  “I knew you could do it!” Grandpop had no hope of stopping his tears. “Never doubted for a second.”

  “And here,” Fozdrake said, “is your check for ten thousand dollars! Is there anything you’d like to say?”

  “Is this really happening?”

  The audience laughed.

  “It most certainly is,” Fozdrake said.

  Peter took a few moments to think. “Firstly, I want to thank my mom, who’s watching right now. You’re the best mom on the planet. And Grandpop Eriksson, for standing by me when you were going through your own tough times. You’re my hero.”

  Grandpop nodded, unable to say anything for fear of becoming a blubbering mess.

  “And thank you to Mr. O’Malley and Ms. Stomp and my newfound spelling friends. And finally,” Peter said as he stared straight into the camera, “what I really want to say is this: I’m just a regular kid from a regular house, and if this can happen to me, it can happen to you too.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Fozdrake announced. “The world’s newest Most Marvelous International Spelling Bee champion.”

  The audience were instantly on their feet, cheering and crying out his name.

  “Nice one, Peter.”

  “You deserve it!”

  The room was a swirl of music and applause. Peter waved to the crowd and drank it all in. He felt light-headed, as if he were standing on the world’s tallest mountain, watching the most magnificent view. Beside him was Grandpop, and in front were the Wimples, the Kapoors, the Beauregard-Champions, Holly, and her dad.

  All clapping, just for him.

  And he didn’t think about Bruiser or his dad.

  Not once.

  26

  Au revoir

  (noun):

  A French word meaning goodbye, until we meet again.

  “I bid you au revoir,” he said. “Goodbye is too final.”

  It’s almost time to leave the Wimples, but before we do, there were a few last things that happened in London.

  After the grand final, the Wimples, Kapoors, Beauregard-Champions, Erikssons, and Trifles went out for a sensational dinner to celebrate, courtesy of the Beauregard-Champions. It was during the meal that Dad’s phone started beeping. A lot. His story had gone viral. News organizations all around the world splashed it on their front pages. It was called, “Spelling Sleuths Stop Skullduggery.”

  And there, on every site, was a photo of the kids, Mr. O’Malley, and the Queen of England.

  Mr. Kapoor raised his glass: “To the spelling champions.”

  Everyone clinked their glasses.

  “And to Arnie Wimple, journalist extraordinaire!”

  Dad shook his head. “No, I’m not—”

  “Oh yes, you are!” Mr. Kapoor raised his pointer finger. “I am only speaking the truth!”

  Mom planted a very big kiss on Dad’s cheek.

  “Now it’s your turn to put up with the kissing,” Rajish said quietly to India.

  Dinner lasted long into the night, with Nanna Flo and Grandpop Eriksson leading duets on the karaoke machine and everyone taking turns holding the trophy and having their picture taken with the champion. Finally, they all stumbled back to their hotel rooms.

  Which is when Dad checked his email. There was one from the Huddersfield Herald, wanting to interview him for a job.

  “What should I say?” His brow was riddled with worry wrinkles.

  “Tell them you’re a world-class journalist,” India said.

  “Who is dedicated and smart,” Boo added.

  “And wanted by news agencies everywhere,” Mom reminded them.

  “And if they don’t give you the job, they must have cow manure between their ears, and I won’t mind telling them,” Nanna Flo concluded.

  “Thank you,” Dad said, feeling better.

  “When is the interview?” Mom asked.

  Dad figured out the time difference, and his face went white. “Now,” he gulped.

  As if on cue, the phone rang. “It’s them.”

  Mom kissed him again. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Go, Dad!” India said.

  Boo nodded. “You’ve got this.”

  “The Wimples are on a winning streak!” Nanna Flo rubbed her hands together. “I can feel it.”

  Dad took the call in the bedroom while the rest of the Wimples waited anxiously in the living room. Boo rested his ear against the door, trying to listen.

  “What’s he saying?” India asked.

  “There are a lot of muffled words…and laughter,” Boo whispered. “Or maybe crying. It’s hard to tell.”

  “Let me hear.” India put her ear against the door too. “Now there’s just silence.”

  “Shove over.” Nanna Flo muscled in as well. “You’re right. He’s doing a lot of listening. Or maybe it’s already over.”

  “So why hasn’t he come out?” Mom squeezed in too.

  They were straining to hear what was going on when Dad opened the door and only just managed to stop his entire family from toppling inside. “Whoa! Easy there, everyone.”

  The Wimples straightened themselves up and huddled like anxious penguins.

  “What did they say?” India was trying to read Dad’s face but found it impossible.

  “They saw my story and liked it. They said I had a good style.”

  “That means they know what they’re talking about.” Nanna Flo stabbed at the air.

  “What else did they say?” Mom asked.

  “They wanted to know if I had any other story ideas, and when I began telling them all, they stopped me midway.”

  “Talking too much?” Boo asked.

  Dad winced. “I was nervous.”

  “What happened next?” Mom pressed.

  “They gave me a job.”

  “As a journalist?” Nanna Flo asked, breathless.

  Dad took a moment to answer. “Yep. I’m going to be a journalist again!”

  Boo threw his arms around Dad, followed by India, Mom, and Nanna Flo in their usual ecstatic huddle.

  “This calls for another celebration!” Nanna Flo opened her purse and took out a handful of specially wrapped mint chocolates. “I took them from the restaurant.”

  The Wimples gathered on the couch, eating chocolates, while Dad talked about the articles he’d like to write and the people he’d interview—and the toilets he wouldn’t have to unblock any more or the roofs he wouldn’t have to climb to rescue the occasional climbing goat. India listened as she snuggled with her family, which felt as warm and cozy as any place she knew.

  The next morning, packed and ready to leave, the Wimples, Kapoors, Beauregard-Champions, Erikssons, and Trifles stood in the lobby of the Royal Windsor Hotel.

  Waiting for them was Mr. Elwood O’Malley.

  “It has been the utmost pleasure to have met you all,” he said. “Not only for your spelling prowess, but for yo
ur kindness. If it wasn’t for you, the grand final would never have happened, my reputation would be ruined, and I would no longer be the Queen’s representative.”

  “We did what we thought was right.” Holly smiled.

  “We did what should have been done a long time ago,” India added.

  “And we did it with style,” Summer reminded them.

  “And we’d do it again,” Rajish said.

  Prince Harry poked his nose from his jacket pocket. “All of us,” Peter said, patting his scaly friend.

  “You have my eternal gratitude,” Mr. O’Malley said. “Au revoir, as the French say. Until we meet again.”

  Just before they left, Esmerelda came out to say a final farewell.

  She clutched her clipboard against her chest and gave one short, sharp wave. “Goodbye.”

  India didn’t expect a goodbye from the director, not after her declaration of not liking kids or spelling bees, but with only one small glance to the others, they began to walk closer to Esmerelda.

  “What are you doing?” She looked around as if she suddenly wanted to escape. “Don’t even think about it. I’m warning you…”

  But it was too late. All five children flung their arms around her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s called a hug,” Holly explained.

  “It’s what people do when they like each other.” India continued hugging Esmerelda, who held her hands in the air as if she were being mugged.

  “You should try it sometime,” Rajish said. “You might like it.”

  “That’s enough now.” Esmerelda stepped away and brushed herself down. “Hugs! Pah!”

  Even though she looked annoyed, India could tell she didn’t mean it.

  There was a great kerfuffle of hugs and goodbyes, tears and promises to keep in touch, before the taxi whisked the Wimples to the airport.

  It was on the long journey home that the Wimples finally spoke to Mom about Boo going back to school. It took quite a lot of convincing and some dealmaking—there were even tears—but they worked as a team, and Mom eventually agreed.

  • • •

  On his first day of school, the Wimples walked with him to the front entrance.

  “You don’t all need to be here.” Boo looked at the other kids who came to school without being surrounded by their entire family.

  “But this is a big day for the Wimple family.” Dad drove his hands through his hair so that it stood out in all directions.

  “And we want to make sure you’re OK,” Mom sniffed.

  “Even though we know you will be,” Nanna Flo said, trying to be strong. “You’re a Wimple, and we Wimples never give up! You’re going to be just fine.”

  Kids skated by and rode past on their bikes. “Hey, Boo!”

  Boo waved before turning to his family. “Yes, but now it might be time to go.” None of them moved. “I have my asthma kit, my teacher has my asthma plan, the school has all your numbers—everything’s going to be fine.”

  Mom wasn’t so keen. “Maybe we could walk you to class and see where you’re sitting?”

  “I’ll be OK on my own.” Boo sent India a help me look.

  “We better go,” she said. “Don’t want to be late on our first day back.”

  Finally, Mom, Dad, and Nanna Flo waved goodbye.

  Boo and India watched them leave.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love them and all, but I’m so glad they’ve left,” Boo said.

  “Are you sure you’ll be OK?” India asked.

  “India…” Boo warned.

  “OK. I’ll stop. It just might take me some time.”

  “Boo!” A boy with scruffy hair skateboarded by.

  “Liam!” Boo tore across the yard.

  It took all of India’s strength not to chase him and make sure the running wasn’t going to bring on an attack. But she’d promised. However, she planned to not be too far away so she could keep a sneaky eye on him. At least at the beginning.

  • • •

  So we leave this story for the last time, a few months later, with the Wimples and Daryl reclining in the sunshine in deckchairs along Main Street in Yungabilla.

  They were wearing sunglasses and sitting across from the town’s newest addition.

  “She’s a real beauty!” Nanna Flo shook her head, still not able to believe it.

  “It makes quite an impression,” Mom agreed.

  “And it’s so big!” Boo craned his head back to take it all in.

  “It’s a ripper,” Daryl said in awe. “Nothing less than deserved.”

  “And it’s all because of our little girl.” Dad beamed.

  The object of their admiration was a carved statue called The Big Dictionary that had been placed in the very center of town. Below it was a gold plaque, which said:

  Dedicated to India Wimple,

  Yungabilla's International Spelling Champion

  India stared at the statue. It was a surreal moment, like she were making it all up.

  Ever since its unveiling, people drove from all over the country to have their photo taken next to it. Like Mayor Bob had predicted, it made Yungabilla a tourist destination not to be missed.

  The campground was overflowing with vans and tents, Gracie’s Café was busier than ever, and Mrs. O’Donnell at the bakery had to wake up even earlier to bake enough muffins, scones, and lamingtons—which she kept in a special glass case in case Bessie came by—but it was her delicious blueberry cheesecakes that people wanted most.

  “How does it feel?” Nanna Flo asked. “To have your own statue?”

  “And to be an international spelling champion?” Mom added.

  “And a world traveler who has hobnobbed with the Queen?” Boo said.

  “And super sleuth,” Daryl reminded them.

  “Can’t forget that!” Dad declared.

  India thought about it before saying, “That’s all very nice, and I liked London, but to tell the truth, I like being home much better.”

  “I like that too,” Daryl said. “Yungabilla’s not the same without the Wimples around.”

  And with that, they all settled back into their deckchairs on Main Street in Yungabilla, where our story of the Wimples first began.

  For more of The Spectacular Spelling Bee

  check out book one in the series

  The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee

  On sale now!

  About the Author

  Deborah Abela is short and not very brave, which may explain why she writes books about spies, ghosts, soccer legends, and children living in a flooded city battling sea monsters and sneaker waves. When she was in fourth grade, Deb had a wonderful teacher called Miss Gray, who made reading and spelling spectacular fun. Deb has won awards for her books but mostly hopes to be as brave as her characters.

  Find out more about what she’s been up to at her website, deborahabela.com.

  Read where India's adventures began in The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee!

  1

  Tremulous

  (adjective):

  Nervous, timid, a little frightened.

  The girl felt very tremulous about the challenging task ahead.

  India Wimple could spell. Brilliantly. On Friday nights, she and her family would huddle in front of the TV in their pajamas, in their small house in Yungabilla, and watch the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee.

  India adored her family—it was the thing that mattered most to her. There was her younger brother, Boo; Mom; Dad; and Nanna Flo.

  Nanna Flo hadn’t always lived with them. She’d moved in after she fell and broke her wrist during an especially enthusiastic yoga move. She wasn’t happy about leaving the home where she’d lived with Grandpop for over forty years. She made kind of a fuss, mostly by s
tomping around and saying “Fiddlesticks!” a lot, which was as close to swearing as Nanna Flo ever got. But she soon realized she was much happier surrounded by her family, and the stomping and almost swearing stopped.

  One particular Friday night, where our story begins, the Wimples huddled in front of the TV, as they usually did. But this night was different. It was the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee Grand Final and, as it happened, it was also the day the Wimples’ lives would change forever.

  Boo stretched out on the floor with his chin cupped in his hands, while Mom, Dad, Nanna Flo, and India sat snugly on the sofa. Ernie rested at their feet.

  Mom, Dad, and Nanna Flo were people. Ernie was a large statue of a bulldog that Nanna Flo insisted on taking with her everywhere, much to her family’s embarrassment. Not only was Ernie remarkably heavy, but he was also incredibly ugly and had the unfortunate habit of scaring young children.

  On the TV was a tiny, barely there girl with bouncy, black curls, whose mouth was wide open, as if she’d just had a very big shock. Her name was Katerina. After months of spelling bee heats held all around the country, there were only two spellers left. Katerina was one of them, and her mouth was wide open because her opponent had misspelled his last word. He moved aside with a shake of his head and Katerina stepped up to the microphone.

  She looked so small standing on the main stage of the Concert Hall at Sydney Opera House. Dwarfed by its huge, arched ceilings, she took a deep breath, looking more like a girl about to fall off a mountain—a very high mountain—than someone who was simply going to spell.

  Her body quivered. Her curls shook. It was indeed a tremulous moment.

  The camera cut to her parents sitting in the front row. Her dad gave her a thumbs-up and her mother raised crossed fingers.

  This seemed to make Katerina relax. A little.

  But then she looked like she was on top of that mountain again.

  Not far from her, sparkling in the stage lights, was the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee trophy. If she spelled the next word correctly, she would be the new champion and the trophy would be hers.

  The Concert Hall fell deathly silent as the pronouncer, Philomena Spright, prepared to reveal the next word. Philomena had been the official pronouncer longer than India had been alive. Philomena’s hair sat perched on her head in a perfect soft-serve-ice-cream swirl. She always wore very glamorous dresses and heels so high that India worried she might trip over them one day.