Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [41]
“Not at all. Pick out a couple of hard ones.”
Myrna burst into laughter. “You think I know hard ones from easy ones? This is Myrna, girl. I ain’t suddenly growed a brain.”
On the way home, skipping rope as she went, the postman stopped her and asked if he could see her flashcards, which were rapidly growing in fame. He gave her two words. “I don’t know how to pronounce them. I don’t know what they mean. But you sure did get ’em right, Akeelah. We’re all proud of you ’round here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Keating.”
“I’ve been knowin’ you since you was a little-bitty thing. You was the smartest little thing I ever did see.” He hesitated. “Just like your daddy.”
When she reached the Korean grocery store, a block from home, she sat on a high bench, drinking a Coke and rhythmically tapping her hand on the counter while the Korean grocer read words to Akeelah. He was proud of his American accent and took any excuse to use it.
Even Steve was eager to get into the act. Relatively sober for so late in the afternoon, he sipped on a container of coffee Akeelah had bought him and screwed up his face as he tried to decipher a word.
“‘Ap-teery-goattie,’” he stumbled, looking up at her.
“What?”
Steve showed her the card. “That right there. Maybe I ain’t sayin’ it right.”
“‘Apterygote,’” she said. “You really shouldn’t show me the cards.”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” he said, taking a shaky sip of his coffee. “Head hurts.”
Akeelah smiled. “Stick to the coffee, Steve,” she said gently. “And I really appreciate your help.”
“You’re gonna do good, li’l girl. I talked to that psychic down the street—Madam Adorne? She says you’re gonna go all the way.”
Derrick-T’s Explorer was parked at the curb down the street from her house. She tapped her hand on the hood while he and two of his homies read from the cards.
“Don’t forget your poem, Derrick-T.”
“Later, girl. You got a job to do first. That’s our deal. You cool with that?”
“Yeah, I’m cool.”
He rolled down his window and stuck out a hand. “Give me five,” he said.
They slapped hands and grinned. She was beginning to think that maybe Derrick-T wasn’t so bad after all. If only she could get Steve off the booze and Derrick-T off drugs…. She shook her head and smiled.
The next day the football team was practicing for the fall season in a weedy lot behind the school. One of the players called her over when she went skipping by. They sat in a circle with Akeelah continuing to jump rope as they drilled her with words.
On their porch each night, Tanya, Kiana, and Terrence (who was showing surprising enthusiasm) took turns with her flashcards. Akeelah sneaked a look at her mother and smiled, and a proud Tanya smiled back.
“How long since you missed a word?”
“About two thousand cards ago.”
“That’s very impressive, Akeelah.”
“Not impressive enough. My goal is not to miss another word before the Nationals.”
“You don’t want to miss none there, either,” Terrence said.
They all laughed.
“You feel confident?” Tanya said.
“More and more.” Then she thought of Dr. Larabee and sighed.
As though reading her mind, Tanya said, “He’s going to be in touch with you. I know he is.”
Each evening before the sun went down, Akeelah jumped rope in her front yard, repeating words to herself as she jumped. “...P-e-l-l-u-c-i-d-i-t-y. ‘Pellucidity.’ I-m-p-r-e-s-a-r-i-o. ‘Impresario.’” And on and on and on, until the sun had set and she was jumping rope in the dark.
Often as she jumped in the front yard, cars would drive by, horns would honk, and drivers would shout out, “You go, Akeelah! Make us proud!”
One night when she stopped jumping and was winding up the jump rope, she noticed some markings on the wooden handle. She squinted at them closely. Etched into the ends of the handles were the initials “D” and “L.”
She continued to stare at the initials, her mind racing. She sat down on the front steps, still looking at the “D” and “L.” Then she shook her head and said, “Well, I’ll be….”
“L” for Larabee.
And the “D”?
“Denise,” she muttered excitedly. “The name he called me by mistake