Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [53]
“A small gift presented to a customer who has made a purchase.”
Dylan looked at the ceiling as he said quickly, “L-a-g-n-i-a-p-p-e. ‘Lagniappe.’”
Akeelah stepped to the mike and the Pronouncer said, “The word is ‘sumpsimus.’”
She nodded. “S-u-m-p-s-i-m-u-s. ‘Sumpsimus.’”
“That was just a good guess,” she whispered to Dylan as he approached the mike. “Never heard of the word.”
He returned her grin.
The words kept coming and they continued to spell them correctly: “ophelimity” and “tralatitious” and “sophrosyne” and “parrhesia” and “lyophilize” and “zarzuela” and “vibrissae” and “craquelure.” Sometimes they asked for the correct part of speech or the word’s proper use in a sentence or its language of origin, but they were full of confidence and rarely hesitated. It was an amazing performance and the audience was totally caught up in the contest, applauding and cheering and whistling and stomping their feet.
“These two are chewing through these words like they’re breakfast cereal,” Ted Saunders exclaimed.
“It’s a brilliant display,” Margaret Russell agreed. “Two extremely well trained spellers who have done their homework and then some. But there’s more to it than that. They are intuitive and they can see the words, they have actual shapes, almost like Chinese ideograms. This is not some rote trick, Ted. This is very subtle art you’re seeing.”
Dr. Larabee was now pacing in the back of the ballroom, wearing a nervous smile. Mr. Welch, who could no longer sit still, joined his old college friend.
“She’s holding up, Josh,” Mr. Welch said.
“Yes. If anything, she’s growing stronger, more confident.” He looked thoughtful. “There’s more here than meets the eye.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something between Akeelah and the Watanabe kid. It has to do with the word they both misspelled. I hate to say it, but I think they misspelled it deliberately. ‘Xanthosis’ is not all that difficult a word. They would both see right through the ‘x’-‘z’ trick.”
“But why on earth would they do that?”
Dr. Larabee shrugged. “I have no idea, and I have a feeling we’re never going to know. My guess is, it’s their secret—one they don’t plan to share with anybody.”
Speaking directly into the camera’s eye, Margaret Russell said, “You know, Ted, they could actually go the distance—all twenty-five championship words. Most people consider that unthinkable.”
“Well, it looks like they’ve got a great chance,” Saunders said. “I don’t see any stumbling or nervousness. They’re in a groove.”
Dylan started to leave the mike after spelling his word correctly when the Head Judge raised a hand. “Just one second, Dylan. We’re thirteen words into the championship and it’s now time to switch the order. You will now get another word.”
Dylan nodded and said, “All right.”
The Head Judge continued, saying, “Now I’m sure you both realize that if you each make it through the remaining twelve words, you will emerge as co-champions. That has never happened before.”
Dylan looked back at Akeelah and something secret, known only to the two of them, passed between them.
“Your word is ‘vinegarroon,’” the Pronouncer said to Dylan.
“‘Vinegarroon.’ V-i-n-e-g-a-r-r-o-o-n,” Dylan answered with no hesitation.
“‘Ecdysis,’” the Pronouncer said to Akeelah.
She started slowly tapping her thigh, but hesitated to begin. Dylan leaned forward in his chair, gazing at her intently.
“A definition, please?”
“The shedding of an outer layer of skin, as in insects or snakes.”
“The language of origin?”
“Greek.”
Akeelah nodded and her tapping grew more rhythmic, her head bobbing slightly. “‘Ecdysis,’” she said. “E-c-d-y-s-i-s.”
She returned to her chair, whispering quickly to Dylan, “Almost had brain lock.”
He smiled and quickly spelled his word: “concitato.”
“The word is ‘puerpera,’” the Pronouncer said to Akeelah.
“‘Puerpera’?”
“That’s right.”
“Fever,” she whispered under her breath.
The Head Judge leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
“‘Puerpera,’” Akeelah said. “P-u-e-r-p-e-r-a.”
Dylan grinned and gave her a high five as he went to the