Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [26]
“Good,” Dr. Larabee said. “You need to develop your arm muscles.”
“I thought we were developin’ my vocabulary.”
“We are. But you have to remember, the mind and body are connected. Do you do any physical exercise?”
She smiled. “As little as possible. The school makes us take gym, but you can slide out of it if you want to. Crenshaw doesn’t have many rules you can’t break.”
“You should build up your body,” Dr. Larabee said.
“Should I lift weights?” she asked jokingly.
“Not a bad idea,” he said seriously. “Keep reading.”
“But I already know most of the words in this speech.”
“It’s not a speech,” Dr. Larabee explained. “It’s an essay by W. E. B. DuBois, the first black man to get a Ph.D. from Harvard. He empowered blacks to be all that they could be. Unlike Booker T. Washington, who accommodated himself to the white culture—peace at any price—DuBois believed that blacks needed to be active politically, culturally, and intellectually. He was one of the great figures in African-American history.”
“I know he was important and all,” Akeelah said. “But shouldn’t I be learning more big words? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?”
He looked at her sharply. “Are you questioning my teaching methods?”
She shook her head. “I’d never do that, Dr. Larabee.”
Suddenly he broke into a smile, a rare event. “Well, maybe you should. I’m not infallible, and I do believe that DuBois would approve. But I am your teacher and, for better or worse, we’ll do it my way.” Just as suddenly, his old irritability had returned. “Spell ‘cabalistic.’”
She tapped lightly on her thigh. “C-a-b-a-l-i-s-t-i-c.”
Dr. Larabee took note of the way her hand tapped in rhythm with the letters. He had noticed this habit of hers before, and he sensed that it was something they should discuss because it might prove to be a useful strategy, but he didn’t think the proper moment had arrived. He would bide his time and continue to monitor how she used her hand and how it affected her success with the most difficult words.
“And when did you learn ‘cabalistic’?” he said.
“About two minutes ago, in this book. But in the time it took me to learn that one word, I’ll bet Dylan probably learned twenty.”
“You might be right, but that’s beside the point.”
“Why is it beside the point? It seems to be the point.”
Dr. Larabee pointed a finger at her. “Don’t get smart with me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell you why it’s beside the point. Dylan Watanabe may learn a hundred words to your one, but he’s just a little robot. Wind him up and watch him spell. The people we’re studying—DuBois, Dr. King, JFK—they used words to change the world. And they didn’t acquire their vocabulary merely through rote memorization. The rote method will always trip you up in the end.”
“Okay,” Akeelah said, “but when I’m at the bee and they ask me to spell some little fish from Australia or some weird bacteria on the moon, I’m gonna wish we’d done a little more rote memorizing and not so much essay reading.” She paused, realizing that she was criticizing his methods again, a definite no-no with this proud and brilliant man. “If you don’t mind me saying.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Dr. Larabee said, “Bacteria don’t exist on the moon.”
“They don’t?”
“No. The terrain is totally barren. Let me ask you something. “Where do you think ‘big words’ come from?”
“People with big brains?” she said.
He glowered at her for a moment, wondering if she was slyly poking fun at him, which she sometimes did. He then went to a huge tablet on an easel. He lifted up the cover, revealing a long handwritten list of difficult words.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“A bunch of big words that I don’t know.” She couldn’t help adding, “And I should know.”
“Look closer,” he insisted. “What do you see?”
He covered part of the first word, “soliterraneous,” so that only the first syllable, “sol,” was showing.
“What kind of power do we get from the sun?” he continued.
“Solar