Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [2]
Georgia and Akeelah had been best friends since they were toddlers. Georgia was kind and easy-going, and one secret of their friendship was that Georgia accepted Akeelah for who she was—a really smart girl. She was proud of her friend and Akeelah knew it.
“Devon home on leave, right?” Georgia said when they had exhausted the hip-hop song.
“Yeah,” Akeelah said. “He’s got a two-week leave.”
Devon, her twenty-year-old brother and the pride of the family, was in training to become a pilot. Akeelah had felt sad when he left for the service. With her father gone, Devon was the one significant adult male in her life.
“Your brother fine,” Georgia said. “I got it all figured out. One day he gonna be the pilot of a big commercial jet and I’m gonna be the flight attendant.”
Akeelah nodded, barely paying attention. Her mind kept returning to her conversation with Ms. Cross. Why was she pushing her so hard? She was a good speller, but why would she put herself in the position of being the school nerd—a freak for others to stick pins in? No way….That was not going to happen.
They passed a weathered-looking man hanging outside a liquor store. He was suffering from the shakes. His skin was the consistency of old leather, full of fine cracks and fissures, and his breathing sounded like steam escaping from a leaky pipe. He had been hanging out on the street as long as Akeelah could remember, and he symbolized for her all that was wrong with South Los Angeles.
“Got any change for an ol’ man, girls?”
Akeelah noticed that the whites of his eyes when he gazed at her were not white but the color of egg yolks.
“You wouldn’t be so old if you stopped drinkin’ that Night Train Express.”
He shook his head.
Georgia said, “Leave Steve alone. He’s a good ol’ guy.”
Steve blinked rapidly and grinned. He was missing most of his bottom front teeth.
Georgia giggled as Akeelah kicked a soiled grapefruit half and two Budweiser cans off the sidewalk.
“This neighborhood is wack,” she said as she reached in her purse and withdrew two quarters and placed them in Steve’s outstretched, trembling hand. “Hey, drink yourself stupid, ol’ man. Maybe that’s the only answer around here.”
Georgia shook her head. “Girl, you always trippin’.”
As they reached the corner, a new Ford Explorer passed by, a rap song pumping full blast from the stereo. A young black man, Derrick-T, was behind the wheel. He gave the girls a wave and a grin. Derrick-T was famous in the neighborhood for the quick fortune he had amassed dealing drugs. Akeelah disliked him, certain he was a bad influence on her fourteen-year-old brother Terrence, who aped Derrick-T’s clothes and mannerisms and took great pride in riding up front with him.
“Dang,” Georgia said, “Derrick-T’s new ride is tight.”
“He been tryin’ to get Terrence in trouble.”
“Come on, Kee. Your bro can get his own self in trouble.”
“You just don’t like Terrence.”
“I like him all right. He’s always trippin’, just like you. Only in a different way.”
They walked for a block in silence until Georgia said, “Okay—aren’t you gonna tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“What did Cross Face want? All that hush-hush stuff.”
“Nothin’. Just a whole rap about some stupid spelling bee. She tried to talk me into it, like I’m some freakin’ spelling genius.”
“Well, you are good, you know,” Georgia said quietly. “You gonna do it?”
“Nah.”
“You’d probably do really good, Kee. You ace those tests.”
“Can you see me gettin’ up in front of everybody? I’d pee my pants for sure.”
Two
Akeelah’s bedroom was an expression of her innermost self, that secret part of her that she kept hidden from her family, even from her best friend, Georgia. Only the photograph of her dead father shared the room with her and her secret passions. A year ago Akeelah made a pact with her mother: she would dust and vacuum her room and change her bedsheets on Saturday, and in exchange