Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [16]
The final speller, a girl with spiky hair, nervously approached the mike.
“Your word is ‘carmagnole,’” the Pronouncer said.
“If you spell this correctly,” said the Judge, “you’ll be our tenth and last finalist.”
The girl nodded, looking frightened. Akeelah had shrunk into her seat as though she wanted to curl up and disappear—leave the earth and reappear as someone else. Kiana, with her face still pressed to the window of the door, concentrated on the spiky-haired kid, wanting to edge into her mind and will her to misspell the word.
“Could I get a definition?” she said.
“A lively song and street dance,” said the Pronouncer.
The spiky-haired girl nodded but looked confused. She coughed and cleared her throat. “Uh…c-a-r…”
Kiana noticed that in the audience, the spiky-haired girl’s mother was nodding to her in an encouraging manner. Kiana drilled her with her eyes.
“…m-a…,” the spiky-haired girl continued.
She stopped and stared hard at her mother. She watched her mother nodding. But the girl was stuck, with no idea how to proceed. Then Kiana saw the woman mouth the letter “g.”
The girl quickly spelled the rest of the word: “g-n-o-l-e.”
“Congratulations!” said the Judge, joining the girl at the mike. “You are the tenth finalist in the LAUSD Spelling Bee.”
Kiana shook her head and cursed under her breath. “No way. No way.” She barreled through the door, holding the baby, and rushed onstage.
“They cheated,” Kiana yelled, scaring the baby into a fresh bout of crying. “I saw them! Her mama gave her the letter ‘g.’ She was sayin’ ‘Geeee’!”
All eyes in the audience were now turned to the mother.
“I didn’t help her,” the woman said, glaring at Kiana. “That girl is making it up.”
“She’s lying!” Kiana shouted. “I’m telling you she gave her daughter that letter. I saw her with my own two eyes.”
“But she knew the word,” the woman said, gesticulating wildly. “I mean—it’s one we studied. She knew it!”
“Ma’am,” the Judge said, his tone severe, “did you help your child spell the word? You have to understand this is a serious business.”
The mother was now flustered, her voice shaking. “You’re darn right this is serious. You’re giving these kids ulcers with the tension, the stress—all the hours they spend learning to spell words. And they have all their other work to do—and—and they’re driven crazy. You know how long she’s been studying for this? I’m telling you, she would’ve gotten the word by herself. I was just trying to help. There was no actual cheating here.”
Her daughter shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t have gotten the word without your help. I didn’t have a clue about the extra letter.”
There was dead silence in the auditorium. The girl wiped her eyes and bowed her head. Then the Judge said, “I’m sorry, Number thirty-four. According to the rules, you’re disqualified from the competition. Which means Number one-oh-eight”—he pointed to Akeelah—“you’re the tenth finalist, and you’re going to the State Regionals.”
Akeelah stood there looking stunned and then slowly rose to her feet. Soon she was surrounded by a proud Mr. Welch and a whooping Kiana.
“Way to go, girl,” Mr. Welch exclaimed. “I knew you could do it.”
“But I missed a word.”
“It doesn’t matter—we’re in! Thank God for eagle-eye Kiana.” He gave her a hug. The baby was finally sleeping peacefully—now that the contest is over, Akeelah thought to herself. Wouldn’t you just know.
Moments later, as Akeelah and Javier moved toward the exit, he handed her a piece of paper.
“Here’s my number,” he said. “We’ve got a spelling club at my school. You should come and