Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [25]
“It’s come down to this, folks,” said Javier. “Having crushed all five other opponents, Dylan has only Akeelah to beat. But she’s ahead by seventeen points with only a few letters left. Is this an upset in the making? Stay tuned. Don’t you dare turn your dial….”
Georgia whispered to Kiana, “What kinda birthday party is this?”
“You got me,” Kiana whispered back. “Why am I not surprised my sister’s playin’ Scrabble? That’s all she ever does.”
Dylan, fighting against time, spelled the word “lucid.”
“Yowza!” Javier shouted. “Using the triple-word score, Dylan charges ahead by thirteen. This is a horse race, folks.”
Akeelah chewed the inside of her cheek and tapped her foot on the ground. Her eyes were inches from the board as she analyzed the various possibilities. Dylan nervously glanced behind him to see his father standing with his arms crossed, looking none too pleased. Dylan smiled but there was no return smile from Mr. Watanabe.
Akeelah shuffled the letters on her rack as she continued to think.
“Just go,” Dylan hissed.
She looked up to see him staring dead in her eyes, and she saw something in his expression that was unfamiliar. Not the old arrogance, the feeling that he was invincible. Was it fear? Was it possibly even respect?
She looked back at the board and spelled out the word “funnel.”
“Hoo-ya,” Javier exclaimed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. “Akeelah’s back in the lead by seven and has two tiles left. But this could be Dylan’s final play. What’s he gonna do?”
Kiana, who understood the game but seldom played, smiled broadly at her sister’s move. Mr. Watanabe continued to glower as his eyes roved over the board. Dylan, beads of sweat on his forehead, frowned at the board, muttering quietly under his breath. Then suddenly he smiled and looked up at Akeelah.
“Arrivederci, sweetheart,” he said.
Using his three remaining tiles, he spelled “limn.”
“Seven points ties the game,” Javier said, some of his sportscaster’s exuberance gone. “But Dylan gets Akeelah’s last two points. He wins! A heartbreaker….”
Dylan walked off with his father, a tight grin on his face. Akeelah let out a long sigh as all the kids started chattering about the close match.
“Wow, Akeelah,” Javier said, shaking her hand. “No one ever gets that close to beating Dylan. I’m really impressed.”
“But I didn’t beat him.”
“Girl,” Georgia said, “you passed up the mall to play Scrabble? You’re loco and I’m never gonna figure you out. Forever trippin’, that’s you.”
Akeelah gave her friend a wan smile but said nothing. She went inside the house and grabbed her purse from the hallway. As she was about to leave, she heard an angry voice in the living room and she stopped to listen. She tiptoed to the door and peeked around the corner and saw Mr. Watanabe pointing a finger at Dylan, his voice a low growl.
“If you can barely beat a little black girl at a silly board game, how do you expect to win the National Bee?”
Dylan bowed his head and said nothing. His father sharply struck the wall, causing both Dylan and Akeelah to jump.
“You listen to me,” Mr. Watanabe said, his voice thick and threatening. “We’re not coming in second again this year. Second is unacceptable. We are going to win, is that understood?”
Dylan nodded.
“You have to work a little harder.”
“I don’t think I can work any harder,” Dylan said, his voice small, almost childlike.
“Yes, you can. You can always go the extra mile. And that’s what you’re going to do. Don’t ever forget: you’re my son.”
“I know that.”
Akeelah watched Mr. Watanabe lead his humiliated son out of the house.
Eight
Early Monday morning, Akeelah sat in a chair beside Dr. Larabee’s desk, cradling an enormous book in her thin arms and reading aloud as he sat imperiously behind his desk, listening intently.
Akeelah read, “‘He began to have a dim feeling that, to attain his place in the world, he must be himself, and not