Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [35]
“Girl, you’re like a movie star now. How does it feel? It must be kinda wild.”
“It’s pretty freaky.”
“Hey, my mama said she wants to take us out to celebrate tonight. You can pick the restaurant.”
“Well, Javier’s parents are taking me out. But maybe we can meet up later.”
An excited Mr. Welch suddenly rushed up to Akeelah and grabbed her by the arm. “Listen, there’s a reporter outside who wants to talk to you. She’s from Channel 2. That’s big time, Akeelah.”
Sensing Georgia’s discomfort, she shook her head decisively. “I don’t wanna talk to no reporter.”
“Are you kidding? This is the type of good publicity Crenshaw needs. This is your chance to really make a difference. Come on!”
He took Akeelah by the hand and led her away, leaving Georgia looking hurt and left out. She shook her head grimly and stalked out of the gymnasium.
A female reporter shook Akeelah’s hand vigorously and began to interview her on-camera on the sidewalk outside Crenshaw.
“This is Jan Rafferty,” she said to the camera, “reporting from South Los Angeles. I’m here with eleven-year-old Akeelah Anderson, a seventh-grader from Crenshaw Middle School who’s heading to the Scripps National Spelling Bee. Akeelah, how does it feel to be going to Washington, D.C.?”
“Well, it’s pretty cool,” Akeelah said nervously. “I never thought it would happen to me.”
“What do you think of your chances?”
Akeelah shrugged. “I try not to think about that. Hopin’ won’t win you any awards. I just got to keep workin’, learnin’ new words. That’s the best way. Then if you fail, well, at least you gave it your best shot.”
“Your parents must be proud of you.”
Akeelah thought of her father and smiled for the first time.
“They are,” she said.
While the interview was in progress, Dr. Larabee sat in his office with the lights off watching the broadcast. His expression was glum. He sipped a whiskey and muttered under his breath, “This is all nonsense. Just plain nonsense. The vultures are gathering around her.”
He turned away from the screen and looked down at a photograph in his lap. In it, he was several years younger, much thinner, and was holding a young girl who looked to be about eight. They were both smiling. Dr. Larabee’s eyes filled with sadness. He looked back at Akeelah’s image on TV. She was saying, “While I’m in Washington I want to see the White House and the Senate and House of Representatives. And maybe the Supreme Court, too. All three branches of government. That would be cool….” Shaking his head, he turned off the television and put the photograph in a drawer, which he slammed shut.
He took a long sip of his drink and sat in the dark trying to stifle his emotions.
Two days later, a perplexed Akeelah stood before an unusually testy Dr. Larabee. She couldn’t understand what was wrong. He had become so much warmer and approachable over the course of the summer, but today he seemed like a stranger.
“Did you see my TV interview?” she said.
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Oh. Okay. I just thought you might have seen it.”
He gave her a grim look. “Spell ‘affenpinscher,’” he said.
“‘Affen’—what?”
“‘Grallatorial,’” he said. “Spell it, please.”
“G-r-a-l-a—”
“Wrong,” he cut in. “‘ Jacquard. ’”
“Dr. Larabee,” Akeelah said. “What’s going on?”
“Spell the word. ‘Jacquard.’”
Visibly upset, Akeelah said, “J-a-q-u—”
“What about the ‘c’? These are all words missed in last year’s National Bee, and you can’t spell any of them.”
“’Cause we haven’t studied ’em yet. You’re not being fair.”
He continued to glare at her. “Why did you cancel yesterday? Were you doing another interview? Flaunting yourself on TV? Over what? Let’s face some facts here. Third place in a regional competition is no cause for celebration. I thought you wanted to win the Nationals.”
“I do,” she said. “More than anything. And I wasn’t doing another interview. I was at the mall.”
Dr. Larabee pounded a fist on his desk. “The mall? Doing what?”
“Well, sometimes I just wanna have a life, you know? A little time to myself.” She paused. “Look, I wasn’t dissing you, Dr. Larabee. I was