The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

Dad knew from Mom’s expression that he’d said the wrong thing again.

  “I think what your father means”—Mom poked her head between the seats—“is that we’re proud of you, India, no matter what happens.”

  “Of course. That’s exactly what I meant.” Dad looked into the rearview mirror and gave India a wink.

  “Thanks, Dad, but thousands of kids will be trying to get through this first round. What are the chances of me being one of them?”

  “Pretty good, I’d say, or you can sprinkle me with pepper and roast me for dinner,” Nanna Flo said. “In fact, someone oughta tell those other kids they’re wasting their time because India Wimple is coming!”

  Mom sighed, the van backfired, and Nanna Flo cuddled Ernie into her lap.

  • • •

  The first round of the spelling bee was held in a small town called Dunnydoon, over an hour’s drive away. When Dad pulled the van into the parking lot of the town hall, the area was alive with nervous kids and their parents.

  The Wimples piled out, and Dad took a deep, ready-for-battle breath. “Here we are—the first round. How do you feel, India?”

  When India didn’t reply, the Wimples looked around and realized that, well, she was gone.

  “India?” Dad scanned the parking lot, but it was Boo who spotted her first.

  “I think she’s over there.”

  A pair of red sneakers was poking out from behind a Dumpster.

  The Wimples crept toward the container and found India sitting on the ground. Her auburn hair looked even darker against her deathly white face.

  “Are you OK?” Dad asked.

  “I thought I’d sit for a while.”

  “Yeah.” Dad nodded to the others. “Good idea.”

  The Wimples sat on the ground beside her.

  Dad held her hand. “You don’t have to do this. If you decide to walk away now, no one will think any less of you.”

  Dad’s voice made her feel calmer.

  “I’m OK.” And she almost meant it.

  “The important thing is not to be scared,” Dad said, even though he sounded a little scared too.

  “It’s true.” Nanna Flo was doing that thing where she was looking at India but was mostly talking to Dad. “Especially when you’ve got family who’d do anything for you.” She turned up her nose. “Even sit next to a Dumpster that smells like the back end of a cow.”

  India smiled for the first time that morning.

  But she still didn’t move.

  So they sat some more.

  “While we’re breathing in this beautiful aroma, I might as well tell a story,” Nanna Flo said. “When I was young, I sang at all the weddings in Yungabilla and at church on Sundays. Everyone said I had the voice of an angel. One time after mass, a man showed me his card and invited me to audition for the Sydney Opera Company.”

  “You never told me you sang at the Sydney Opera House,” Dad said.

  “I didn’t tell you,” Nanna Flo said sheepishly, “because I didn’t go.”

  “Why not?” India asked.

  “I was too scared. I thought I wouldn’t be good enough. And now I’m an old lady and I’ve never even been inside the opera house.” She sighed. “There’s still this little part of me, all these years later, that wonders what would have happened if I’d gone.”

  “I bet you would have been great!” India said.

  “Yes, but we’ll never know.”

  India took a deep breath. “I’m still kind of scared.”

  “It’s only natural,” Nanna Flo said. “All great moments in life are worth a couple of nerves. So, what do you think? We keep sitting with the garbage or go inside?”

  “Let’s go inside.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Nanna Flo sniffed, “because I was about to pass out from the s-t-i-n-k.”

  8

  Calamitous

  (adjective):

  Disastrous, catastrophic, or really, really bad.

  Despite her preparation, the whole attempt felt calamitous.

  The Wimples brushed themselves off and walked through the crowded parking lot toward the hall.

  When they entered the lobby, there were even more people.

  And they were everywhere.

  India’s heart flipped, and she thought she was going to faint, which of course made her worry even more. If she collapsed on the floor, she’d embarrass herself before she’d even stepped onstage.

  Her toe caught the edge of the carpet, and she stumbled through the door. Dad caught her before she fell. “I’ve got you.”

  Mom grabbed her other arm. “Me too.”

  After registering with the spelling bee officials, India was given a large, numbered card to hang around her neck, and the Wimples were directed inside a bustling auditorium. Film crews adjusted lights and interviewed feverish contestants. India hid behind her family and made herself as small as possible, so none of the cameras would point her way.

  Onstage, two officials sat at a table. One was a slumped-over bald man with a mustache that sat over his lip like a fluffy caterpillar. Beside him was a woman wearing a black skirt and jacket with tall, black boots and a scowl that was just as dark. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, orderly bun. She tapped a sharp fingernail against her microphone to quiet the audience.

  It didn’t work.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” She had a clipped way of speaking that reminded India of whips being cracked.

  The audience kept fussing. Some became even rowdier.

  She frowned, took a deep breath, and bellowed, “Will you all be quiet!”

  The audience froze in an immediate hush.

  “That’s better.” She eyed the crowd as if daring them to make a sound. “I am Ms. Hatchet, the pronouncer for today’s round, and my colleague Mr. Spratt will keep the time and score.”

  She pointed at the rows of chairs onstage. “Contestants, you must now go to your allocated seats and all family members will sit down there.” She pointed into the hall as if she were shooing a grubby child from the room.

  It was hard to tell whether India or Dad was more nervous.

  “We can’t sit together?” Dad looked as if he wasn’t going to move until Mom took his arm.

  “Not if we don’t want to upset Ms. Hatchet.” She kissed India on the forehead. “Good luck, and remember to smile.”

  India tried once again, but it came out all wrong, like she was about to be horribly sick.

  “Wait! I almost forgot.” Nanna Flo pulled a hanky from inside her sleeve. “I wanted to give you this.”

  “Thanks, Nanna, but I already have a hanky.”

  “This is no ordinary hanky—it’s the Wimple family’s lucky hanky. My mother gave it to my father before he went to the war, and he said it was the reason he returned home in one piece.”

  “Do you think that’s true?” India asked.

  “Father believed it, and I think he would enjoy that it’s coming in handy again.”

  “Thanks, Nanna.” India tucked the hanky into her pocket.

  Nanna Flo patted Ernie’s head. “Ernie thinks you’re going to be fine too.”

  “Good-luck hug?” Boo asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “You’ll be great, sis,” he whispered. “I know it.”

  India climbed the stairs onto the stage, concentrating the whole time on not tripping. When she took her seat beside the other kids, she kept her head down, trying not to make eye contact, worried that someone might turn around at any moment and say hello.

  Her stomach fluttered just thinking about it.

  “Children and parents,” Ms. Hatchet barked, “welcome to the first round of the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee.”

  Even though she’d said welcome, it sounded anything but welcomin
g.

  “Today, thousands of children all around the country are battling for their place in the grand final. These are knockout rounds. Each child who spells a word incorrectly will be… eliminated.”

  India shuddered at the way Ms. Hatchet seemed to enjoy saying “eliminated.”

  “The last contestant to spell a word correctly will proceed to round two. Let’s begin.”

  India suddenly felt hot, as if someone had turned up the heat. Her mouth became dry. She wondered how long a dehydrated body could survive before it simply collapsed.

  She didn’t have long to think about it before Ms. Hatchet called the first contestant, Harry Harrison.

  The small, thin boy walked to the microphone at the front of the stage. His shorts and shirt were so big that India thought he must’ve dressed in someone else’s clothes by mistake.

  Ms. Hatchet pronounced the first word. “Devour. This is a verb that means to gobble, guzzle, or feast.”

  She had a small, devouring smile.

  India spelled the word in her head.

  The boy took a deep breath and began. “Devour. D-e-v-o-u-r. Devour.”

  Everyone in the room held their breath until Ms. Hatchet announced, without a trace of joy, “That is correct.”

  Harry smiled with relief and hurried back to his seat.

  India watched as more kids were called. Some tall, some short, some confident, and some who looked downright terrified.

  Then it was her turn.

  Her heart did another flip—a really big one this time—and beat so wildly she worried it might be too much and just give up altogether.

  She looked at the microphone. It seemed an infinitely long way away. She carefully lifted each foot, trying desperately to ignore the fact that everyone in the room was staring directly at her.

  She attempted a smile, knowing it probably looked all wrong, when the voice inside her head came back. This is crazy. This is ridiculous. Even thinking you can win is completely…

  “Calamitous.”

  India looked up, worried that Ms. Hatchet had read her thoughts.

  “This is an adjective meaning devastating, catastrophic”—the pronouncer paused and gave India a steely glare—“or very, very disastrous.”

  India gulped.

  She knew this one by heart, she was sure of it. She just had to stay calm.

  But then it happened—the same feeling she’d had during the school play. She felt frozen to the stage and her body trembled with waves of fear.

  The words she’d practiced, every word she knew, began to disappear from her memory, like fireworks fizzing out to nothing, leaving behind a black, empty space.

  Mr. Spratt rang a small bell. “Thirty seconds remaining.”

  India panicked. She tried to open her mouth, but her teeth clamped shut. Her breathing grew short. She felt dizzy.

  I knew this would happen, the voice said. It is calamitous, just like last time when you—

  India looked up to drive the voice away and to search for the quickest way out of the auditorium…but then she saw the Wimples, sitting in a row, smiling at her and all wearing animal beanies.

  Almost instantly, the room stopped spinning and the word slowly began to reappear. She wrote it on her palm just to be sure. She checked and double-checked.

  “Ten seconds,” Mr. Spratt warned.

  India took a deep breath. “Calamitous. C-a-l-a-m-i-t-o-u-s. Calamitous.”

  Ms. Hatchet leaned into her microphone. A small, down-turned crease in her lip seemed to suggest she was disappointed. “That is correct.”

  The Wimples leaped from their seats and let out cheers and hoots. The people around them stared.

  Ms. Hatchet was not impressed. “The audience will refrain from noisy outbursts.”

  Dad waved a small, apologetic wave, and they all sat down.

  I did it, India kept thinking all the way back to her seat. I did it.

  More kids made their way to the microphone and more words were called.

  Hesitant.

  Introverted.

  Acquiescent.

  India’s next attempt went more smoothly.

  “Ingenious,” Ms. Hatchet announced. “This is an adjective meaning resourceful, intelligent, or talented.”

  India thought back to Mom’s stories of Ingenious India, and this time her smile came with almost no effort at all.

  “Ingenious. I-n-g-e-n-i-o-u-s. Ingenious.”

  “That is correct.”

  More spellers came and went. Many were asked to leave the stage after they’d misspelled their word. Some went quietly, shaking their heads. Others fled in an outburst of tears.

  The chairs around India emptied until there was only herself and Harry Harrison left.

  Harry was up first.

  “Precipice,” Ms. Hatchet said. “This is a noun meaning a cliff face or sheer drop.”

  Harry moved to the microphone. “Precipice. P-r-e…” He stopped.

  India snuck a look at Harry. Until this moment, he’d spelled everything without hesitation.

  “…c-i…” He took a hanky from his pocket and wiped his brow.

  India spelled the rest of the word in her head, willing him to hear her.

  “…p-a-c-e. Precipice.”

  India felt her heart plunge. This was always the worst part of watching the spelling bee—the moment when she knew a kid’s hopes were about to be dashed.

  Ms. Hatchet spoke carefully. “That is incorrect.”

  There were sighs and murmurs of disappointment from the audience.

  “The word is spelled p-r-e-c-i-p-i-c-e. If India’s next attempt is correct, she will be the winner of today’s heat and will advance to the second round in Huddersfield.”

  The room fell silent as India stepped to the microphone.

  “India, your word is iridescent. This is an adjective meaning having luminous colors that change when seen from different angles.”

  India felt her legs tingle. She wrote on her hand to double-check. She was positive that she knew how to spell it.

  Are you really positive? the voice asked. If you get this wrong, you’re out for sure.

  She looked up again, eager to ignore the voice. Mom gave one of her biggest, warmest smiles.

  “Iridescent. I-r-i-d-e-s-c-e-n-t. Iridescent.”

  “That is correct,” Ms. Hatchet said flatly. “You are going through to the next round.”

  This time nothing was going to stop the Wimples—not even Ms. Hatchet’s brutal stare. They jumped from their seats, whooping and cheering. Nanna Flo put her fingers between her teeth and let out a whistle that echoed around the hall.

  India turned to Harry. “You were really good.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I hope you make it to the finals. Kids from the country never win, but I figure you could.”

  Dad couldn’t help himself. He sprinted down the center of the auditorium, jumped onstage, and swept India into the air.

  Ms. Hatchet attempted to stop him. “Mr. Wimple, this is hardly an appropriate way to—”

  But she gave up, knowing there was no point once all the other Wimples joined in. India felt light-headed in Dad’s arms but wasn’t sure if it was the spinning or the simple fact of what had just happened.

  She had done it! She was going through to the next round.

  And the voice inside her head was completely silent.

  9

  Worrisome

  (adjective):

  Nerve-racking, perturbing, an unsettling feeling.

  It was indeed a worrisome turn of events.

  After stumbling over a few brief words addressed to the TV cameras and posing for a somewhat awkward photo for the local paper, India was relieved to be back in the family van. The drive was filled with singing, mostly led by Da
d’s off-key wailing, which, this time, no one really minded.

  When they arrived home, somewhat tired and rumpled, the Wimples found the kitchen table filled with food and a note stuck to a jug of freshly made lemonade:

  A FEAST FOR A CHAMPION

  FROM YOUR FRIENDS IN YUNGABILLA

  India’s stomach growled at the meal before them: coleslaw, mashed potatoes, roast chicken, and gravy. And in the center was Mrs. O’Donnell’s famous blueberry cheesecake.

  “Let’s dig in!” Dad said, but all through dinner, India could tell something was bothering him. She knew because he was trying extra hard to look excited, but on his forehead was what Mom called his “worry crease.”

  “Is anything wrong, Dad?”

  “Wrong? No! How could anything be wrong? Today my little girl won her spelling bee.”

  Dad was a terrible liar.

  “Fiddlesticks!” Nanna Flo noticed the worry crease too. “You’re fibbing. Tell us what’s wrong.”

  Dad knew there was no point trying to hide it. “Before we left the club, I was given the details of the next round. It’s going to be a little costly, that’s all. But that’s my problem.”

  “How much money?” Mom asked.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Well, let’s figure it out.” Nanna Flo pulled a notepad from the kitchen drawer. “What do we need?”

  Dad began listing the costs while Nanna Flo wrote it all down—and it added up fast. The next round in Huddersfield was a six-hour drive away, so they’d need to stay overnight. The gas and RV park costs alone were going to be pretty steep.

  It really was worrisome.

  Mom bit her lip. Boo frowned. Dad kept cranking his head this way and that, as if the numbers would change if he looked at them from a different angle.

  But they never did.

  “It’s just a silly competition,” India said. “I can drop out.”

  “Double fiddlesticks!” Nanna Flo cried, saying what everyone else was thinking. “There’s nothing silly about my granddaughter being one of the best spellers the world has ever seen.”

  “But we can’t afford it.” India shrugged.

  “We’ll find a way to afford it,” Dad said.

  But now the whole family had Dad’s worry crease, which made him worry even more. Until he made a stand. Literally. He got to his feet and puffed out his chest.