by Adam Selzer
Harlan was next, and got the word “soubresaut.”
“Soubresaut,” Harlan repeated, slowly. “Soubresaut…what the heck does that mean?”
“It’s a ballet term,” said the man at the table. “Meaning a type of jump that begins and ends with the feet in a closed position.”
“Well, no kidding?” Harlan asked. “What’s the language of origin?”
“French.”
“Can you use it in a sentence?”
“Certainly.” The judge cleared his throat. “The ballerina executed a perfect soubresaut.”
“Okay,” said Harlan. “Soubresaut.” He paused, then casually said, “How do you spell that?”
The man at the desk opened his mouth, then shook his head and said, “Nice try, kid.”
Everyone snickered, and Harlan bowed, then spelled the word correctly.
Then they called my name. This was it—my first word in a real spelling bee. All of the thousands of words my parents had made me do over the years had been in anticipation of this moment.
I rose from the riser and walked up to the microphone. I took a quick glance back to see myself on the large screen, but all I could see by doing that was the back of my head.
Suddenly I was incredibly nervous. After all this, what if I missed the word? My whole life would have been a waste.
“Mutual,” said the man at the table. “Your first word is ‘choreutic.’”
“Choreutic,” I said. “Adjective. Belonging to a chorus in a song. As in ‘The choreutic sections of the songs of the Good Times Gang were very catchy.’”
Lots of people giggled, and I felt a bit less stressed, and rather flattered to have made the people laugh. This, I thought, must be how Harlan felt when he cracked wise.
“That’s correct,” said the man at the table. “But you don’t need to supply the definition, only the spelling.”
“C-H-O-R-E-U-T-I-C. Choreutic,” I said.
“Correct,” the man said.
I went back to my seat, feeling greatly relieved, and Jason patted me on the back. The next speller, a fifth grader, missed “barathrum.” The following three spellers were eliminated as well.
If things continued at this rate, the spelling bee would not last long.
31
CHRISSIE
Excerpt from notebook #27: After school, Jake Wells often shoots baskets with Floren. Neither is very good at it.
I understood everything now. When the old lady dropped her little black book, I’d only needed to look at it for a second to solve the whole mystery.
The little black book was a list of who had bet how much money on which speller. The old ladies ran some sort of gambling ring! According to the book, a whole bunch of people had made bets on the bee.
Floren had bet on Jennifer—he had probably set up the break-in so that he could help her win. By not just GIVING her father the list, he could say that he hadn’t been involved! And he probably would have gotten away with it—except that I had the footage of him making the call to set the whole thing up!
The old ladies probably wanted Mutual to win—no one in town had bet on him, so they wouldn’t have to pay anyone off if he came in first. That’s why they were so interested in whether he was a good speller!
With the messed-up list, the black book, and the recordings, I had plenty of evidence to get Floren fired. And, since everyone in town would be watching on TV, I’d be able to present it to all of them at the same time! And the cameras from other towns would probably pick up the story, so everyone in the tricounty area would know about it!
I knew there would be more media present at the bee than normal, but what was going on was ridiculous. Cameras everywhere, and a jumbo screen behind the stage showing a close-up of the current speller. It looked more like a rock concert than a small-town spelling bee. I looked around and figured out which camera was taping the views shown on the screen—information like that was sure to come in handy later. If I put one of the discs into the camera, that could override the system. Instead of showing the stage, the big screen would show whatever was on the disc.
I was ready to act. I just had to wait for the right moment.
Onstage, spellers were dropping like flies. As usual, the fourth and fifth graders were eliminated pretty quickly. Only a couple of them made it into the second round, and then one of them actually missed “coffee,” if you can believe that. I’m not sure if it was just nerves or what, but the poor kid looked pretty embarrassed to miss such an easy word. Right on television, too.
Jennifer and Marianne both plowed their way through the first couple of rounds, of course, and so did Mutual. Enough people got eliminated early that I was hearing people around me whisper that this was going to be a pretty short bee, but I knew better. Those three were likely to keep it going for quite a while.
I was especially impressed with Harlan. In the first round, I figured that he was toast when his word was “soubresaut,” which is a ballet term, and I was really afraid that he’d be disqualified for trying the old “how do you spell that” routine, but he spelled it correctly and went on to round two. In the second round he got “turophile,” a really fancy word for “one who really, really likes cheese,” and nailed that, too.
And so it went for about an hour. Jason’s second word was “obfuscate,” which I supposed was a word he knew from metal songs, since he spelled it correctly right away and practically danced his way back to his seat on the risers.
After five or six rounds, they were down to just a handful of people, all of them sixth graders. Mutual, Jennifer, and Marianne were still in the running, of course. So was Brittany, which didn’t surprise me much—she’s smarter than she acts. Jason was still in the running, too, partly because he kept getting words that any self-respecting head-banger would probably know. That’s a spelling bee for you—as much studying as it takes to get good at spelling, it really all comes down to luck.
Within an hour and a half, it was down to eight people.
Only three more people had to miss a word for Harlan to break into the top five.
On the next round, Tony missed “wallop,” which he thought was spelled “whallop.” I would have made the same mistake myself.
Then Jason got “cheerful,” which he spelled with two ‘L’s. He got the biggest applause of anyone when he took a seat next to Amber in the front row, especially from people who had been backstage and seen what he’d done there to freak the old ladies out.
I clapped for him as loudly as anybody. The mooning thing had really been Harlan’s idea—only I knew that he was probably doing it as a ruse to help me confirm my suspicion that Mutual wore tighty-whities—but Jason had been the one who started messing with the old ladies in the first place. And if he hadn’t come as close as he had to showing those old ladies his butt, giving the recess monitors a chance to hustle them out, they wouldn’t have dropped the little black book, which gave me the last piece of evidence that I needed. He was a brave guy, and he deserved every bit of applause he got.
I was starting to wonder lately if Jason’s acting up and getting in trouble wasn’t based on his being a wannabe hoodlum so much as on him being brave. Being brave sort of comes naturally to some people, and there aren’t many chances to exercise it in Preston. Maybe his attempts to get in trouble over the years were just his way of looking for adventure. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured that out before, given all the things I knew about him. Same with Harlan. I guess I’d never really thought about why he had become the class clown, and I never stopped to think of how admirable he was, in a way. I’d been too busy turning him in for breaking the rules.
Things really look different on the other side.
As Jason took his seat, I looked around for the old ladies—they were standing in the back of the room. One of them was spitting on the carpet. Principal Floren was standing next to them, and even in the dark room, I could see that he was sweating. He wasn’t even trying to get them to stop spitting.
With Jason out, only six people remained onstage. Harlan only had a little further to go.
32
JENNIFER
malfunction—verb. To break down or fail to operate properly. When something caused the robot to malfunction, it started shooting at itself, not the aliens.
All through the bee, Marianne kept looking over at me and giving me dirty glances. I just smiled at her every time, and it drove her crazy. I could tell.
I was starting to feel good. Something about what went on backstage had just swept everything else away. I was feeling like myself again. Like the person I wanted to be. This is not to say that I didn’t want to beat Marianne, though, because I certainly did. I was smiling at her, but only because I knew that saying “I’m gonna kick your butt so hard it’ll come flying out of your mouth” was exactly what she wanted me to do. Smiling at her was driving her nuts. More than she normally was, even.
The first part of the bee went by pretty quickly. All the fourth and fifth graders went out inside of the first three rounds, and by round eleven, there were only six of us left: me, Marianne, Mutual, Brittany, Jake, and Harlan. If anyone missed a word, everyone who survived the round would go to districts.
The six of us went through three more rounds without anybody missing a word. I got “bathyal,” a term relating to the deepest parts of the ocean, “galleon,” a kind of coin that pirates were into, and “sneezeweed,” which I didn’t ask for a definition on, but assumed was probably a weed that makes you sneeze. The None of the Above school of studying felt like it was working. I felt smarter, and that made me act smarter. Or more confident, anyway. And confidence is pretty important in a bee.
When Marianne was called up again at the end of round twelve, after the rest of us had spelled our words for the round correctly, she looked over at me and snarled as she got up. Over the last few rounds, she’d been breathing heavily, and looked like she might explode at any minute. When she snarled, I smiled back brightly, and for just a second she looked so furious at me that I thought her eyes might start glowing red, or that she would start breathing fire. I’m not sure I’d ever seen anyone so angry, and I’ve seen my mother when I put wet clothes on the furniture.
Marianne made her way up to the microphone, not swinging her arms, and still looking like a robot, but now looking like a very angry robot. I looked around behind me at the large TV screen that was showing close-ups of people and saw that she was practically seething. He eyes had gotten wide, and you could hear her breathing into the microphone quite loudly through the PA system. She was starting to look like one of those people on late-night religious TV who get possessed by demons.
“Your word,” said the man at the desk, “is ‘jocular.’”
“Jugular,” Marianne repeated. “A vein. In the neck. As in ‘I will stab you in the jugular.’”
“Um, no, ‘jocular,’” said the guy. “As in…”
But Marianne wasn’t listening.
“Jugular,” she seethed. “J-U—”
The bell rang.
“Wait!” she shouted, suddenly panicking. She had totally missed!
I didn’t dare look back at the screen to see the look on her face. Surely she would have known how to spell “jocular.” But she had let the stress and the anger get to her—she had made a mistake, and though they’d made the attempt to correct her before she could screw up, she’d been too busy being PO’d to pay attention.
“I’m sorry,” said the man at the desk. “But that’s incorrect.”
“No!” she howled. She stood still on the stage for a second; then Mrs. Rosemary came and led her away. She was out. And I breathed about the deepest sigh of relief in human history. Any deeper breath could probably have caused a hurricane or something.
The round was over, and only five of us remained.
Brittany, Harlan, Mutual, Jake, and I would be going to districts. There was some polite applause, and I could hear that Marianne was having a hissy fit, but I barely noticed. I was just staring up at the ceiling, smiling. As far as I was concerned, the real pressure was over. I’d beaten Marianne. I was going to districts. Even if I lost now, I could make up for it at districts. At least for the time being, there was no chance of military school or more activities!
There was a round of applause for those of us who remained. While Principal Floren gave a little speech about how the people onstage would be representing Preston at districts, I moved over and sat right by Mutual.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hello,” he said, looking at me.
“I read Henry V,” I said. “It’s part of how I studied for the bee.”
I saw his eyes get really wide behind his glasses.
“You did not read a dictionary?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said. “I just studied Shakespeare and looked up the words I didn’t know. It’s a new theory for how to study that I’m working on.”
“That is very interesting,” he said. “Perhaps we can read a play together when we study for districts.”
“Sure,” I said. And I smiled. And he smiled for a second, but then he blushed and looked away.
You know how people say they feel butterflies in their stomach? That’s what it felt like. Like I’d swallowed a whole jar of butterflies. And not dead ones, either, which you would think most butterflies in jars would be. I’d felt it before, but usually it was nervousness—the kind the bee brought on, where it feels like the butterflies are flying all around in every direction in your stomach. These ones were all flying straight upward. Only they weren’t coming out of my mouth or anything.
I know. It’s weird. It’s best not to think TOO hard about these things, or you’ll go nuts.
Neither of us said much for a few seconds, but Floren was still going on about town pride, academic excellence, and blah, blah, blah. Mutual glanced back at me again once or twice. He tried to look like he wasn’t smiling, but he was.
He liked me!
Finally Mutual leaned over to Harlan and said, “That was very brave, what you did in the backstage area.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Harlan. “You ain’t seen nothing yet!”
“You are going to do something else?” he asked.
“Just watch,” said Harlan. “You want brave, you’ll get it!”
Floren finished his speech, and there was some light applause as the bee got back in gear. Most of the people in the auditorium had a sheet of paper and pen out, since their teachers would probably be making them learn every word that came up from here on out.
“Jennifer,” the judge called, “you’re up next.”
I stood up, and smiled back at everyone.
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” I said to them. That’s a line from Henry V. Mutual smiled when I said it. The butterflies fluttered again.
But then, as I stepped to the mike, I thought I heard someone—looking back, I think it was Principal Floren, but I’m not sure—shouting, “Go, Jennifer!” and my blood froze again. All the butterflies in my stomach just died. Because of the frost caused by the frozen blood, I guess. That’ll kill butterflies every time.
In a split second, I decided it was time to get out of the bee.
The creepy old ladies wanted me to lose, and I didn’t want them to get what they wanted. But someone was still out there who wanted me to win. The two canceled each other out, in a way. I had decided not to worry about that stuff, and just win for my own sake, but it was a lot harder when I was actually up there, standing at the microphone. I’d forgotten all about it before, but now I was in districts, going for first place, which wouldn’t get me anything more than the approval of my parents and a gift certificate I didn’t really need. The idea of it being over and behind me felt a lot more appealing than the idea of winning.
I’d already beaten Marianne.
I had districts coming up, which meant I could get out of more activities. And I didn’t suppose it mattered TOO much if I didn’t win the bee, since I cou
ld still come in first at districts, which would redeem me to my parents.
And I’d already done well enough that I couldn’t imagine I’d have to go to military school.
Heck. Even if I did have to go there, there couldn’t be anything there that was any scarier than being confronted by those two old creeps.
Plus, I’d already apparently impressed Mutual enough with my spelling that he wanted to study with me. Maybe I could impress him more by doing something brave and letting someone who wanted it more win the bee!
“Jennifer,” said the judge, “your word is ‘remuneration.’”
“Remuneration,” I repeated. “R-E-M-O—”
The bell rang.
Mutual would surely know I’d missed that on purpose. It wasn’t a very hard word.
I waved back at the people on the risers as I walked to a seat in the auditorium, trying to look as brave and rebellious as I could, and took a seat next to Jason.
“Way to go!” he said. “I think you fried Marianne’s brain!”
I looked back at the stage to see if Mutual looked impressed. He was still clapping for me, even though most people had stopped by then. I tried to keep from smiling TOO obviously as the butterflies started to come back to life. I winked at him, just to sort of show that I’d done it on purpose. He blushed again.
A few seconds later, Brittany spelled “remuneration” correctly, and the bee went on.
They called Harlan up to come spell his word, and he was beaming all the way to the microphone. He stood there for a second, scratching his nose and making weird motions with his hands toward the sound booth, where Chrissie was sitting.
“Harlan,” said the man at the desk, “the word is ‘obnoxious.’”
“Obnoxious,” he said. I didn’t know if it was just because of where I was sitting now or what, but suddenly the sound seemed to have been turned WAY up.
“Has it been this loud the whole time?” I whispered to Jason.
“No,” said Jason. “It just got a lot louder.”
