The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee

by Deborah Abela

  India heard the doubt wavering in his voice.

  “S-o-l-e…” He stopped suddenly, as if he’d changed his mind.

  “Fifteen seconds.” Even Philomena sounded nervous.

  The boy chewed his fingernail. Time was running out. He had to make a decision. “…s-i-s-m. Solecism.”

  Philomena reluctantly answered, “That is…incorrect.” The audience sighed all at once. “But you have spelled brilliantly and should be very proud that you are one of our country’s top spellers.”

  She led the audience in a round of applause before the boy was ushered from the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our top twelve!”

  India could hardly believe it. She looked at Philomena, who clapped enthusiastically, and then at Summer, who posed for the camera with her best polished smile. And finally at Rajish, who was looking straight at her, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

  21

  Sagacious

  (adjective):

  Clever, intelligent, and a little bit crafty.

  It was a sagacious idea she hoped would work.

  Rajish rushed over to India. “We made it! We’re in the grand final.”

  India was still having trouble believing it was true when Rajish spotted something over her shoulder and his beaming smile instantly faded away. “If we survive.”

  “Survive what?”

  “That.”

  India turned to see the Wimples and Kapoors rushing onto the stage. They braced themselves as their stampeding families once again smothered them in hugs and kisses.

  Dad lifted India into the air. “My little champion!”

  “You were most impressive, my boy,” Rajish’s dad gripped his shoulders. “There was the one erroneous mishap, of course, but—”

  “We won’t mention that,” his mom said in a warning tone, “because we are so proud of you.”

  “Yes!” Rajish’s dad said. “Of course we are. And now we must celebrate! Wimple family, my cousin has an Indian restaurant not far from here, and it would be our great honor if you would be our guests.”

  “At a real restaurant?” Boo asked.

  “Not only is it real,” Rajish’s dad said, “it is the best Indian food outside of India. What do you say?”

  “Could we, Dad?”

  Dad looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure we could accept such a generous—”

  “You don’t like Indian food?” Rajish’s dad frowned.

  “Yes, we do,” Dad said.

  “Do you have other plans?”

  “No.”

  “Then it is decided.” He slapped India’s dad on the back. “We cannot let this momentous night pass without a celebration. How fast can you kids get ready?”

  “I need to grab my sweater from the dressing room,” India said. “Is five minutes too long?”

  “Make it three and you have a deal.” Rajish’s dad rubbed his stomach. “All that tension has made me famished.”

  India tore through the corridors and into the girls’ dressing room. She reached for her sweater and heard a voice through the racks of clothes.

  “That’s OK, Mom. Of course, I don’t mind.”

  India stepped closer and peeked through the dresses. It was Summer, hunched over a table, speaking on her phone.

  “I know you’re both very busy.” Her face creased with worry, just like India’s dad’s did. She listened before adding, “I love you too.”

  Summer took the phone from her ear and stared at it as if it were broken. “I miss you,” she muttered and started to cry.

  India felt bad about eavesdropping. She thought she could tiptoe away and pretend she hadn’t heard.

  But she couldn’t. It didn’t seem right.

  “Summer?”

  Summer startled and quickly turned her back on India. “What do you want?” She picked up a brush and jammed it through her hair.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Of course I’m OK.” She stared into the mirror. “I am on the verge of being crowned the world’s greatest speller. Why wouldn’t I be OK?”

  “I heard you on the phone.”

  Summer didn’t answer.

  “I’m sorry your parents aren’t coming to the grand final.”

  She brushed even harder. “They can’t just drop everything and be here. It’s easy for your parents when they don’t have real jobs.”

  It was one of the meanest things Summer had ever said, and it stung India just as she’d intended.

  Summer stopped brushing her hair and, for a second, it seemed as if she might apologize…

  But she didn’t.

  She slammed down the brush. “I need to get changed. My father has arranged for Daniela to take me to a very fancy restaurant.” Summer scooped up some clothes and headed for the changing rooms.

  India still smarted from the comment about her parents. She wanted to leave and get as far away from Summer as possible, but there was a small part of her that kept thinking about how sad Summer had looked when her mom said she couldn’t be there.

  Then India saw it. Summer’s phone. Poking out of her bag.

  She looked around to make sure she was alone before she picked it up and looked up the last number dialed. She quickly scribbled it down with eyeliner on a tissue before replacing the phone exactly as she found it and hurrying out of the room.

  Where she bumped into Rajish.

  And stepped on his toe.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s OK.” He was obviously in pain. “But if it happens again, I’m going to take it personally. Papa sent me to ask if you’re ready.”

  “There’s one thing I need to do first. Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

  “It’ll have to be fast—he’s convinced he’s going to fade away if he doesn’t eat soon.”

  India pressed the numbers from the tissue into Rajish’s phone.

  “Who are you texting?”

  “Two people who need some very urgent information that may change their lives.”

  India typed as fast as she could:

  Dear Summer’s parents,

  You must be very proud that your daughter is in the grand final of the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee. This makes her one of the best spellers in this country, maybe even the world! I know she said she didn’t mind that you couldn’t make it, but she misses you both so much and would love more than anything if you could be here for her big moment. It’s at the Sydney Opera House tomorrow at 5:30 p.m.

  Yours in anticipation,

  Summer’s friend,

  India Wimple

  India handed back the phone. “Now, let’s go save your dad from imminent demise.”

  • • •

  Rajish’s dad was in charge of ordering the meals at the restaurant, which meant there was so much food that India wondered how they’d ever finish it.

  “Eat, please, eat!” He dished out huge servings of butter chicken onto mounds of saffron rice.

  When he sat down, Rajish’s mom planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “What was that for?”

  “Because you are a very good man”—Rajish’s mom held up her finger—“and I am only speaking the truth.” The others laughed as she gave him another kiss, this time with a loud smack!

  India was about to dig in when Rajish whispered, “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “If it hadn’t been for you, my mother may never have thrown away the spelling book, I would have missed the tour of Sydney, and my parents would still be arguing. And,” he added, “I wouldn’t have had the chance to get to know you better, which has been the best part of the spelling bee.”

  At this point, the old India would have made an excuse to leave the table and escape through the nearest exit. In
stead, she simply said, “That has been my favorite part too.”

  Rajish’s smile was back, bigger than ever.

  “I also saw what you wrote to Summer’s parents.”

  “I know she hasn’t been very nice, but I think it’s because she misses them. I’d be grumpy too if my family couldn’t be with me.”

  “And that, India Wimple, makes me like you even more.”

  India blushed, and they continued eating their butter chicken, which was as delicious as Rajish’s dad had promised.

  “Can I ask you something?” India lowered her voice so no one could hear. “Did you deliberately misspell your word today?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know, but I heard you spell erroneous in the elevator.”

  Rajish shrugged. “I buckled under the pressure.”

  India scowled. “You didn’t look under pressure.”

  “I hide my nerves well.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Rajish faked being shocked. “You think I’m lying?”

  “Yes.” India smiled. “And that makes me like you even more.”

  • • •

  In the taxi on the way back from the restaurant, the city lights twinkled around the Wimples as though they were in their very own fairy tale. The night had been perfect, but India had one more plan to carry out before it was over.

  “Here we are.” The taxi driver pulled to a stop.

  Nanna Flo, who had been dozing in the back, woke up. She looked around. “This isn’t the hotel.”

  “We know.” India smiled. “We have to make a small pit stop first.”

  Nanna stepped out of the taxi and was shocked by what she saw next.

  “The Sydney Opera House,” she whispered in awe. “She’s even more beautiful up close.”

  Its wide, arching sails glowed against the starry night.

  “Come on.” India offered Nanna her arm. “This way.”

  “Where to?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They wove through the bustling crowds and up the many stairs to the glass doors, where a security guard seemed to be waiting just for them.

  “Good evening. I’m Arlo, Byron’s cousin. You must be the Wimples, here for your special performance.”

  “We sure are,” India said.

  “Excellent. Follow me.”

  Nanna Flo turned to Dad. “What’s your daughter up to?”

  “You’re about to find out.”

  After winding their way through a labyrinth of stairs and corridors, Arlo opened a door into a gigantic theater with rows of seats stretching into the distance and a vaulted, wooden ceiling high above. “Welcome to the Concert Hall of the Sydney Opera House.” He looked at his watch. “I can give you ten minutes before I need to lock up. Enjoy the show.”

  Nanna Flo turned slowly on her heels. “It’s magnificent—much more so than I ever thought it would be. What’s the performance?”

  The Wimples didn’t answer and instead took their seats in the front row.

  “You.” India beamed.

  “What?”

  “We’re here to see you,” Dad said, getting comfortable in his seat.

  “This is your chance to sing at the Sydney Opera House,” Mom said.

  “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “Yes, you could,” Boo said. “If India can overcome her nerves to join the spelling bee, you can sing.”

  “So you’re all ganging up on me?”

  “Yes, we are,” India said, “but we only have eight minutes left before we have to leave. You’ve always wondered what it would have been like to sing at the opera house. Now here’s your chance. What do you say?”

  Just glancing at the stage made Nanna Flo’s whole body tingle. “I suppose so. Since we’re here.”

  India sat beside Boo as Nanna Flo made her way onto the stage. She stood in the very center, under a single spotlight. “Don’t complain to me if I’m a little rusty.”

  Nanna closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to sing. And it was beautiful. Her voice lifted into the ceiling and made the Wimples feel as if they were floating.

  After the last note faded, the Wimples gave her a standing ovation. It was simply the best performance they had ever seen.

  22

  Momentous

  (adjective):

  Significant, unforgettable, earth-shatteringly huge.

  It was a momentous occasion they never thought they’d experience.

  It began as an ordinary day: the sun rose; the birds chirped; people everywhere began to stretch and yawn.

  But for India Wimple, this was no ordinary day.

  As she lay in bed, she tucked her hands behind her head. In the last few months, she had won three rounds of the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee, met the prime minister, arranged for Nanna Flo to perform at the opera house…

  And she’d made a new friend.

  She may even have been kind of ingenious in fixing the problem of Summer’s irascible, cantankerous behavior.

  But it was too early to know that yet.

  “Time to get up, sweet pea.” Dad was dressed in yellow pajamas blooming with giant sunflowers.

  “Nice pj’s,” India said.

  Dad paraded around in them, catwalk style. “Mr. Stevens gave them to me for rebuilding his fence when he accidentally backed his car into it.” India laughed and Dad plonked on the bed beside her. “You don’t like them?”

  “They’re perfect.” India leaped into Dad’s arms. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For being my dad.”

  He gave her one of his extra-special Dad hugs. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Wearing their pajamas and fluffy hotel slippers, the Wimples took turns practicing some last-minute spelling over a lavish breakfast of pancakes with strawberries and maple syrup.

  Exhilaration.

  Euphoria.

  Exuberance.

  Nanna’s curlers bobbed on her head as she cheered each correct answer. “That’s my girl!”

  Then Dad added a doozy.

  Honorificabilitudinitatibus.

  “That is not a word,” India objected.

  “It’s from Shakespeare, and it means the state of being able to achieve honors. Something you should prepare for when you receive your prize after winning—” Dad was stopped by Mom’s scowl. “I mean, of course, win or lose, we know you’ll do your best.”

  “Boo!” India called over her shoulder. “We need you. Dad’s making up words.”

  “I am not.”

  They heard the shower from the bathroom in Boo’s bedroom.

  “You’d better go and get him,” Dad said as he reached for another pancake, “or we’re going to have to order more of these.”

  India knocked on the bathroom door and opened it a fraction. “Boo, you have to come quick. You’re missing all the pancakes.”

  When he didn’t answer, she pushed the door open a little wider. “Boo, Dad’s eating all the—”

  India froze.

  Boo was on the floor, hunched over, dressed only in his pajama pants.

  Gasping for air.

  “Dad! Mom!” she cried. “Boo can’t—”

  Mom squeezed past India, lifting Boo’s head, which flopped like a broken doll’s.

  Dad picked him up, carried him to the sofa, and sat him upright. “Hey, little fella. We’re here now.”

  Nanna Flo rushed out of Boo’s room with the inhaler and spacer.

  Boo’s eyes lolled open and closed.

  Mom held the spacer to his mouth and pressed on the inhaler. “You have to breathe in, Boo. I know it’s hard, but you have to do it.”

  Boo tried, but he couldn’t draw enough oxygen int
o his body. India could see his ribs sucking in and out, as if he were trying to breathe through a straw.

  It wasn’t working.

  “Take slow, deep breaths,” Mom said. “That’s it. You can do it.”

  India saw Mom trying to be calm, Nanna Flo rubbing Dad’s back, and Boo struggling for breath. His body was being squeezed of every last scrap of air.

  Dad held him upright, but his little body continued to sag. He was pale and his skin shimmered with sweat.

  Mom tried the inhaler and spacer again. He struggled to take even one breath.

  The medication wasn’t working.

  Mom was the calm one, the one everyone looked to, the one who would make sure Boo would be OK, but the worry on her face was inescapable.

  Nanna Flo picked up the phone. “Ambulance. Asthma attack. Hotel Grand.”

  Then India saw it—the one symptom doctors had warned them about, the one they all feared the most.

  Boo’s lips were turning blue, and his body crumpled in Dad’s arms.

  23

  Nervous

  (adjective):

  Fearful, uneasy, very, very scared.

  It was a nervous wait that left them anxious.

  India stayed by Boo’s side and held his hand even after the ambulance arrived.

  “My name’s Levi,” one of the paramedics said to Boo as he worked quickly to fit him with an oxygen mask. He nodded toward his partner. “And he’s Roy.”

  India watched as Levi drew medication into a syringe and attached it to the mask. “This is a Ventolin nebulizer, which will open your airways. I know things might feel a little scary, but we’re taking you to the hospital to get you fixed up right away.”

  They carefully lifted him onto the stretcher and wheeled him into the corridor. The Wimples crammed into the elevator, each of them wishing it would go faster.

  Boo’s heavy eyelids drifted open and closed.

  Byron was waiting for them downstairs and directed people out of the way as the paramedics flew through the lobby. He held the door open and gave India a small wave before they rushed outside.

  Every time Boo had a flare-up, the Wimples were never sure how bad it would be or how long it would take him to recover, but in the backs of their minds, they worried that this would be the one that would be too much for his small body.