The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  “What does it say on the side of my van?” Dad didn’t wait for the answer. “Arnie the Fixer, that’s what, and I’m going to fix this too.”

  “How?” Boo asked.

  “With a brilliant plan.”

  “What brilliant plan?”

  “I’d tell you, but it’s way past your bedtime.”

  As much as India loved Dad, she thought his answer smelled fishy.

  Dad started gathering up the plates. “Off you go. I’ll be there soon to tuck you in.”

  The Wimples knew Dad didn’t have a brilliant plan and that he was telling another fib, but this time no one called out fiddlesticks because they were quietly hoping it might come true.

  It had been a long day by the time India finally climbed into bed. As she listened to Mom’s story of Brave Boo and Ingenious India, she tried hard to concentrate as Boo courageously battled a three-headed monster and India concocted a clever decoy to lure the beast away from her fearless brother and into an elaborate trap.

  • • •

  That night, India’s dreams were filled with swords and ropes and dangling from flying machines when she was woken by a giant crash.

  At first she wasn’t sure if she’d dreamed the crash until she heard a low groan. Her heart jolted.

  “Boo!” She sped across the hall to his room, but he was already out of bed. “You heard it too?”

  Mom and Dad appeared next. “Is everyone OK?”

  Before they could answer, they heard another groan. It was coming from Nanna Flo’s room. Dad got there first and saw her lying on the floor, shards of broken plaster all around her.

  And scattered money. Lots of it.

  Dad knelt beside Nanna Flo. “Are you OK?”

  “Yes, yes,” she insisted. “Just a little embarrassed.”

  “What happened?” Mom asked.

  “I wanted to help India make it to the next round of the competition.” She stared at the mess on the floor. “But the plug in Ernie was hard to pull out, and I dropped him.”

  That’s when they all realized the broken pieces of plaster were Ernie.

  “Where did you get all this money?” Dad asked.

  “I’ve been saving a little each week from my pension, in case we needed it for a good cause—and I think we have one.”

  “There must be hundreds of dollars here,” Boo said.

  “Five hundred and twenty-five to be exact,” Nanna Flo said, “which is enough to cover all of us traveling to the next round.”

  “We’ll pay you back,” Dad said.

  “Fiddlesticks!” Nanna Flo said. “You won’t do anything of the kind. I’m part of this family too, and I’d like to help out. What do you say, India? Want to give the next round a shot?”

  “I think I would.” India sniffed. “Thank you, Nanna.”

  Nanna Flo wiped the tear that was trembling on India’s eyelashes. “You’re most welcome, but there are two things I’d like in return.”

  “Anything,” India said.

  “I’ll need help sweeping up Ernie.”

  “Of course.”

  “And can you help me off this floor? My backside’s starting to go numb.”

  10

  Fortuitous

  (adjective):

  Unexpected, unanticipated, completely lucky.

  It was a fortuitous encounter none of them expected.

  “Brave Boo stepped onto the tattered rope bridge that swung over the gaping chasm.”

  “C-h-a-s-m,” India spelled.

  “To the castle of the evil overlord.”

  It was the morning of the next round, and Mom told the story as she lay on the grass in the backyard with Boo, India, and Nanna Flo beside her.

  “The same evil overlord whose flock of vultures had kidnapped Ingenious India, who was now being held prisoner. Even though the overlord was truly malevolent—”

  “M-a-l-e-v-o-l-e-n-t.”

  “—Brave Boo would teach him not to mess with his sister. The bridge swung in the icy updrafts. Brave Boo focused on reaching the castle door ahead, ignoring the frayed rope and the deadly drop beneath him, when, from the blackened skies, a fire-breathing griffin—”

  “G-r-i-f-f-i-n.”

  “—half-lion, half-eagle, swept toward him. Brave Boo held out his sword, ready to defend himself, but the griffin flew straight past him and instead breathed its fiery breath onto the bridge, immediately setting it ablaze.

  “Ingenious India saw the flames from her room at the top of the tower. She knew there were only seconds before the bridge would fall, sending Boo plummeting. She had to think of a plan. She had to save her brother. She had to—”

  “How do I look?” Dad was standing on the back steps dressed in a lime-green suit. Fred Greenburg had given it to him as payment after Dad fixed his leaking toilet. It was tight around his stomach and a little short in the sleeves and legs.

  “You look as dashing as when I first met you,” Mom said.

  This wasn’t exactly true—in fact, it wasn’t true at all—but it was something India loved about her mom and dad. Fibbing was allowed in situations like these.

  “Let’s go then!”

  After they’d brushed themselves down, the Wimple family piled into the van. Dad had to turn the key a few times before it sputtered to life and they were off, but they’d only driven a few miles out of Yungabilla when the engine coughed and groaned and the van staggered to a stop by the side of the road.

  “I’m sure this won’t take long,” Dad said, squeezing out of his tight jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves. He grabbed his toolbox and began working under the hood. There was a series of clangs and grunts and one very loud “Ouch!”

  “Are you OK?” Mom called.

  “Fine,” Dad sang back.

  “Huddersfield is a long way.” India tried not to sound worried. “Do you think we’ll be there on time?”

  “Your father will do his best.” Mom glanced down at her watch and, for a second, even she wore Dad’s worry crease. “We can use the time for a little more practice.”

  Mom, Boo, and Nanna Flo took turns choosing their favorite tricky words, and Dad finally shouted, “All done!” He appeared from behind the hood, his shirt and face streaked with grease. “She’ll need a little bit of a push to get started.”

  Nanna Flo got out first.

  “Not you, Ma,” Dad said.

  “Why not me?” She flexed her muscles. “I can arm-wrestle you under the table any day.”

  The Wimple family lined up behind the van while Dad sat behind the steering wheel. He turned the key, and the engine wheezed and chugged before falling silent.

  “OK…and push!”

  The Wimples shoved with everything they had, and the van began to move forward. Dad tried again to start the engine. It clunked and whirred.

  “That’s it!” Dad yelled out the window. “We’re moving!”

  But it was at that moment three dramatic things happened:

  1. The engine sparked to life.

  2. The wheels spun in the soggy ground.

  3. A shower of mud flew into the air and all over the Wimples.

  Dad pulled on the emergency brake, poked his head out the window, and stared at his mud-covered family. “Sorry.”

  Huge globs of brown gunk dripped from them. They stood in soggy silence until Boo said, “Maybe no one will notice.” He wiped away the mud to reveal a smirk that made the others smile too.

  “Why are we standing around?” Nanna swiped a splat from her face. “We’ve got a spelling bee to get to!”

  The Wimples dragged their grubby selves into the van, put on their seat belts, and, with a groaning clang, Dad shifted into gear and they lumbered back onto the road.

  The van shuddered and shook as it drove along the highway. Every
other vehicle passed it easily, including a squad of elderly motorcyclists. Dad patted the dashboard. “That’s it, girl. Not far now.”

  As they drove into Huddersfield, Mom read the map and directed Dad through the unfamiliar streets. Nanna Flo glanced at her watch, wondering if they were ever going to make it, when Boo spotted a Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee banner. “Over there!”

  Once again, the contest was in the town hall—a beautiful stone building with a clock tower that loomed high above.

  Dad peeked at the clock. They had two minutes until registration closed. “Get ready to run, Wimples!” He pulled to the curb with a screech of tires.

  The Wimples raced up the red-carpeted stairs and beneath the arched doorway. They zigzagged through the crowd in the lobby and followed the spelling bee signs until they stood—muddy, bedraggled, and out of breath—in front of the registration desk.

  “We’re the Wimples,” Dad panted, his teeth shining brightly from his grease-streaked face. “And this is India. She’s here to compete.”

  A teenage girl with bright-blue pigtails was seated beside a rather grouchy-looking man with a hairpiece that looked like a small hamster had settled on his head. The man looked at the Wimples up and down making a face as if a stray dog had just peed on his favorite pair of slippers.

  “You’re late,” he sneered.

  “We had some car trouble,” Dad explained, “but we’re here now, and we’re—”

  “Too late,” the man with the rodent hair said smugly. “Registration has closed.”

  Dad looked at his watch. “Three minutes ago.”

  The man smiled in a way that wasn’t very friendly. “Which makes you three minutes late.”

  Dad wasn’t about to give up. “Maybe you could ignore that since we’ve come so far and—”

  “Ignore the rules?” He looked as if Dad had just asked him to swim with sharks. “What is the point of having rules if we simply ignore them?”

  Nanna Flo jabbed her muddy hands onto her muddy hips. “Because a worn-out van and a puffed-up, pompous official shouldn’t get in the way of one of this country’s greatest spellers.”

  “I’m sorry, madam, but rules are rules.” He didn’t seem sorry at all as he picked up his laptop and strutted away.

  “He can’t do that.” Nanna Flo rolled up her sleeves. “I’m going to teach that miserable man a judo lesson he’ll never—”

  Dad held her back. “No, Mom. He’s right. We’re late.”

  The Wimples stood, slumped over in disappointment, and watched the official leave.

  It was only now, after India’s chances of registering were gone, that she realized how much she wanted to compete. A teeny-tiny part of her was even excited about standing in front of the microphone again.

  Despondent, India thought. A word meaning being sad or dismayed. D-e-s-p-o-n-d-e-n-t.

  “I’m sorry, India,” Dad said. Unlike the rodent-haired man, he meant it all the way to his toes. “I really tried to get us here on time.”

  “That’s OK.” India shrugged. “It’s just a competition.”

  Anyone who had been listening could tell from her voice that it wasn’t just a competition at all.

  Luckily for India, there was someone listening.

  The teenager at the table had been packing up but stopped when she saw the tears glistening in India’s eyes.

  She wound back her watch and held out her arm. “Look! According to me, it’s two minutes before registration closes.”

  “But that man said—” Dad began.

  “It doesn’t matter what he said.” She scowled. “He’s been in a bad mood all day. And people say teenagers are grumpy.”

  “That’s the way,” Nanna Flo cheered. “I like a little rule bending.”

  The teenager opened her laptop and found India’s name. “Here you are.” Her fingers flew across the keys before she handed over a numbered card. “You’re in.”

  “Thank you!” India draped the card around her neck.

  “We’ll never forget this!” Dad shook the girl’s hand so hard that India worried he’d shake it off.

  “You’re welcome, but you have to hurry. It’s about to start.”

  The Wimples tore across the lobby and slipped into the auditorium only seconds before the doors were closed.

  11

  Skulduggery

  (noun):

  Trickery, underhandedness, funny business.

  It seemed there was a lot of skulduggery going on.

  Inside the town hall, the atmosphere was even more tense than the first round in Dunnydoon. The Wimples were directed to the front of the room near the stage, past TV cameras and broods of anxious parents fussing over kids and squeezing in some last-minute spelling drills.

  Victorious.

  Triumphant.

  Celebratory.

  “Should I be practicing with you too?” Dad asked.

  India shrank away from the barrage of words. “Just being with me helps more than anything.”

  She was jostled out of the way by a tall boy with straggly bangs and a rather unpleasant voice. “Of course I’m going to win. Why wouldn’t I? This pack of losers won’t know what hit them.”

  “But, Marvin, you shouldn’t…” His parents mumbled an apology to India and scurried after him.

  There was another boy who shivered under his father’s looming figure. “Of course you want to be here, son. You love spelling.”

  A tall, pencil-thin woman in a pantsuit and high heels was brushing a young girl’s hair into two tight ponytails. “Mommy loves you. You know that. And if you win this round, I will buy you that bike you’ve always wanted. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  Nanna Flo didn’t like what was going on at all. She charged up to the woman and tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but wouldn’t it be great if you got on your bike instead?”

  Nanna tried to look imposing, which was hard when she still had mud stuck to her clothes and face.

  The woman straightened up so that she towered over Nanna Flo. “What did you say?” Her voice was steely and quiet and gave India the feeling of a wolf about to pounce.

  But Nanna Flo wasn’t intimidated and was about to let fly when Dad stepped between them. “She was just saying how good it would be to have a bike. To stay healthy. We could all do with more of that. Isn’t that right, Nanna?”

  “No, I wasn’t. I—”

  Luckily, at that very moment, they were interrupted by a birdlike woman onstage wearing a canary-yellow dress. She looked like she was about to burst into song. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she chirped. “I am Ms. Posey, today’s pronouncer. Please take your seats. We are about to begin.”

  Parents scrambled, some giving final hugs and advice, others pointing fingers and delivering stern warnings.

  “How do you feel?” Dad asked.

  India’s stomach plummeted at the idea of her family having to sit far from her. “Good,” she fibbed.

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

  India pulled it from her pocket. “Right here.”

  “Not that you need it,” Nanna said. “You’re as smart as a whip.”

  “Good-luck hug?” Boo held out his arms.

  “Yes, please.”

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

  The Wimples moved into the audience while India took her place beside the other kids. The boy with the straggly bangs sat beside her. He flicked his hair aside, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose at India. “Did you forget to have a shower this morning?”

  A few of the kids overheard and began elbowing others down the line until everyone was staring.

  “I did have one, but our van broke down and…”

  The boy sniffed again and scooted his chair away.


  India’s skin felt like it was on fire, creeping up from her toes and into her cheeks.

  Ms. Posey explained the rules, but India heard none of them. Instead, she tried to discreetly pick off the mud that stuck to her clothes. But this only seemed to make things worse. Her throat tightened, her breathing grew quicker.

  And the voice inside her head came back. You’re a mess. You should leave. How did you ever think you belonged here?

  India snuck a peek at the kids beside her. They should be here—not smelly, muddy you.

  India looked into the crowd, desperately trying to find her family. She searched each row frantically. Finally, she saw their beaming faces. Dad gave a small wave, and with that, something jolted inside her. He looked so proud and happy to have his daughter onstage. India sat taller and waved back. She ignored the boy with the straggly bangs as well as the voice in her head and decided she was staying right where she was.

  Ms. Posey turned to the contestants. “At this very moment, children like you, from all over the country, are hoping to win this next round and become one of the top eight to go through to the finals.”

  “Which will be me,” the boy beside India boasted.

  “So let’s find out who those lucky children will be!”

  One by one, each child was called. Some stumbled to the microphone; others skipped. Words were pronounced and definitions read, and after Ms. Posey judged each spelling, there were shouts and yelps, but also tears and tantrums.

  Pesky.

  Vexatious.

  Troublesome.

  Marvin, the young boy sitting beside India, was next. He swaggered across the stage, gripped the microphone, and said, “Ready when you are.”

  “Your word is presumptuous,” Ms. Posey said. “This is an adjective meaning overconfident, arrogant, or cocky.”

  India immediately spelled it in her head.

  Marvin paused and smiled a gleaming pop-star smile, confident that he knew the word but also enjoying the attention of being onstage. “Could I have the language of origin please?” he asked, drawing out his time in the spotlight.