Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [54]
Ted Saunders said, “Dylan and Akeelah are trying to stage a miracle here. They seem unaware of the degree of difficulty these words present.”
“That’s true,” Margaret Russell replied. “And to make it to the finish line, they need each other to succeed.”
But suddenly, for the first time, Dylan was struggling. He ran a finger across his brow and frowned. He cleared his throat and said, “Would you repeat the word, please?”
“‘Scheherazadian.’”
“‘Scheherazadian,’” Dylan repeated.
Seconds passed. Akeelah leaned forward in her chair, muttering, “Come on, come on….”
Finally Dylan said, “S-c-h-e-h-e-r-a-z-a-d-i-a-n. ‘Scheherazadian.’”
“Yes!” Akeelah said out loud.
Dylan let out a sighing breath and returned to his seat, giving Akeelah a quick eye roll as though to say, Whew! I just dodged the bullet.
“Go get ’em,” he whispered.
Akeelah took the mike.
“‘Palynological.’”
She started tapping her thigh and then hesitated. She stared at Dr. Larabee, who sat perfectly still, not moving a muscle.
“Definition, please?”
Dylan shifted in his seat nervously and lifted his crossed fingers to his lips.
“Concerned with pollen or pollen grains.”
Akeelah swiveled her hips slightly, rolled her eyes, and said, “Oh, that sure helps.”
There was a whisper of strained laughter from the audience.
“Is the origin Greek?” she asked.
“Yes,” said the Pronouncer.
Her hand started tapping in regular rhythm. “P-a-l-y-n-o-l-o-g-i-c-a-l,” she spelled slowly. “‘Palynological.’”
There were cheers and whistles from the audience. Dylan rose from his chair, applauding, and even his father was clapping, but then he looked around selfconsciously and quickly gripped his knees with his hands.
Ted Saunders turned to his co-host. “Now, Margaret, knowing the word was of Greek origin, did that help her?”
“I’m sure it did,” she replied. “It told her that the ‘i’ sound in the middle was a ‘y’ rather than an ‘i.’”
The Head Judge walked to the mike and adjusted it upward with his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are down to the final two championship words. One—or both—of our finalists will walk away with the first-place trophy. I want to thank both spellers for providing us with the most exciting National Spelling Bee we’ve ever had.” He motioned to Dylan to take the mike. “You’re up,” he said.
Dylan shot a nervous glance at his father before gripping the mike.
“The word is ‘logorrhea,’” said the Pronouncer.
“Could I have a definition, please?”
“It means excessive talkativeness, especially when incoherent and uncontrollable.”
Dylan took a deep breath. “‘Logorrhea.’ L-o-g-o-r-r-h-e-a.” He stared hard at the Pronouncer.
“Congratulations!” said the Head Judge. “You have won the Scripps National Spelling Bee.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and Mr. Watanabe did a little jig in front of his seat for joy. When the crowd quieted down, the Head Judge said, “Now, Dylan, let’s see if you’ve got someone to share the prize money with.”
He turned to Akeelah and, with a smile, gestured toward the mike.
“Bring it home,” Dylan whispered to her.
“The word is ‘pulchritude,’” the Pronouncer said.
Again Akeelah’s remarkable memory came to her aid. She recalled Dr. Larabee in the school auditorium at the very first bee. She misspelled “pulchritude” and he corrected her, and of course she never forgot. But for a moment she seemed frozen in place. This was the final word, the word that could make her a national champion. She knew it cold, and yet she hesitated. She thought of all the people on whose shoulders she had ridden to this one special moment in time—her mother, Terrence, Derrick-T, the Crenshaw football team, Steve and the Korean grocer, and so many, many more.… She then said calmly, “‘Pulchritude.’ P-u-l-c-h-r-i-t-u-d-e.”
The auditorium burst into thunderous applause. Dylan rushed up to the mike, took her hand, then put his arms around her and held her close. He whispered to her, “We’ve made history. It wouldn’t be half as good if just one of us won.”
Akeelah nodded her head. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, congratulations, Dylan.”
“Congratulations, Akeelah