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By Root 416 0

system had ever suggested that his language problems were a direct result of dyslexia). During the last year of Mr. Anderson’s life, he had worked with Terrence on a daily basis. Terrence had begun to flower under his father’s tutelage, and then suddenly his father was taken away. From that day on, Terrence grew colder and more inward. He began skipping school and hanging out with the wrong crowd. A year ago Akeelah had suggested that maybe she could help him, and for weeks afterward he wouldn’t speak to her. She realized that she’d made a mistake by insulting his dignity and pride.

“So why y’all punkin’ out on the spellin’ bee?” he asked.

“I ain’t punkin’ out.”

“Mama says maybe you is. What, you afraid of all them suburban kids?”

“No.”

Terrence grabbed the box.

“Hey, give it back,” she said, reaching for it.

Terrence began rifling through the cards. “So how you spell all these words, anyway?”

“I study ’em,” she said.

A Ford Explorer rounded the corner, blasting its horn.

“Whatevah. There’s my ride.”

The Explorer pulled up and Derrick-T, sporting thick sunglasses and a New York Knicks cap, looked out the passenger window from the driver’s seat. “What up, Terrence? Who dat?”

“Nobody,” Terrence said. “My little sister.”

Derrick-T pulled down his glasses and peered at her. “What up, li’l thing? Seen you on TV. You was very pro.”

Akeelah said nothing.

“You winning contests?” Derrick-T continued. “Goin’ to some big one pretty soon, huh?”

Akeelah still said nothing.

“Yo, answer the man, Kee,” Terrence said. “He ain’t talkin’ to the wind.”

“You know, I won somethin’ once. Fifth grade, wrote a poem. Got me a blue ribbon, can you believe it?”

Terrence snorted laughter. “You wrote a poem? Oh, that’s good, man.”

“Shut up, dawg. Whatcha think rap is? Poetry, man. Poetry of the streets, and I was into that at an early age.” He put his head close to the window. “What’s that in your hands?”

“Nothin’,” Terrence said. “Just stupid words.”

“Stupid words? Words ain’t never stupid.” He gestured toward Akeelah. “You helpin’ her?”

“Naw, man. I’m goin’ with you.”

Derrick-T stared at Terrence and slowly shook his head. “Nah, man. Not this trip. You stay with your sis. Help her with the words.”

“Why?” Terrence said, looking puzzled.

“’Cause I said so. Ain’t that enough reason?”

He started to drive off when Akeelah raised her hand and shouted, “Derrick-T!”

He braked the car and looked out at Akeelah.

“I wanna read your poem.”

He broke into a wide grin. “You do?” He nodded and said, “Okay. After you win the contest. That a deal?”

“Sounds good to me. But what if I don’t win?”

“Maybe I’ll let you read it anyway.”

He drove off. Terrence and Akeelah stood watching after the Explorer for a moment, embarrassed to be together. Their lives ran on very separate tracks.

“You don’t gotta help me if you don’t want to. I know it’s a pain for you.”

He stared at her with a half grin. “I didn’t say it was a pain.”

“It sounded like it when you were talkin’ to Derrick-T.”

“He don’t have to know all my business.” Terrence pulled out a card and after a struggle pronounced, “‘En…fran…chise…ment.’”

“You mean ‘enfranchisement.’”

“Whatevah. Can you spell it?”

“Sure.” She quickly spelled it and Terrence stared at her, impressed. He pulled out another word and with a smile Akeelah said, “Yup, Mama, you’re right. Fifty thousand coaches.”

“Say what?” said Terrence, his forehead wrinkled.

“Nothin’, Terrence. Give me another word.”

They walked down the street together as Terrence continued to feed her words and she continued to spell them flawlessly.

“Fifty thousand coaches” was not far off the mark. Over the next three days it seemed that everyone she knew grabbed her flashcards and threw words at her. Ms. Cross was waiting to grill her with words. Half the kids in her class insisted on having the honor of getting their hands on the flashcards. Even Myrna warmed to her a little.

“You are a nerd, Akeelah,” she said, “but you ain’t so bad a nerd.”

“You want to give me a couple of words to spell?” Akeelah said.

The girl’s expression