Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [7]
The principal glowered at her.
“Well, then, maybe you’d be ‘down’ for spending the rest of the semester in detention for all your absences.” Akeelah and Mr. Welch locked stares. Dr. Larabee studied them both, his eyes suddenly alive with interest.
“Let me think about it,” she said finally. “I’ll come back here at lunchtime.” She turned and marched stiffly out of the office.
The Crenshaw Middle School Spelling Bee took place that afternoon. The auditorium was sparsely filled, but nonetheless resounded with noisy, rowdy students. Akeelah, one of twenty contestants onstage, stared at the floor, her hand tapping nervously on her leg. Georgia waved to her from the first row and Akeelah grinned before looking away. Ms. Cross sat at a table on the side of the stage, and two other teachers served as assistant judges.
Ms. Cross approached the front of the stage as the audience began to settle down. She said, “Hello, and welcome to Crenshaw’s first schoolwide spelling bee. We have some very special students competing today, so let’s give them a big round of applause.”
The clapping was scattered, and there were some sarcastic hoots and raspberries mixed in. Elaine and Myrna made faces at Akeelah, and Myrna shook her fist at her, mouthing some threatening words. A few rows back from the stage Mr. Welch sat with Dr. Larabee, talking earnestly into his ear. Dr. Larabee didn’t look thrilled to be there.
“We drew numbers to see who’d go first,” Ms. Cross went on, “and that would be Chuckie Johnson from the eighth grade. Chuckie—will you come up here to the mike?”
A plump boy strolled slowly up to the microphone. His buddies shouted out to him from the audience, and he waved to them and grinned. He then turned to Ms. Cross and said, in a voice verging wildly between soprano and baritone, “Hey, what up?” His buddies broke into raucous laughter and Chuckie did a low comic bow.
“Now, Chuckie, you’re going to start things off with ‘grovel.’ Okay? ‘Grovel.’”
“‘Grovel’?” Chuckie said. “Like, ya know—little rocks?”
“No,” Ms. Cross said. “‘Grovel.’ Like get down on your knees and beg for mercy.”
“Get down on my knees?” Chuckie said, completely confused. “Say what?”
“Just spell the word,” the teacher said, trying to hide her growing impatience.
“Okay,” Chuckie said. “Uh…g-r-a-v-e-l?”
Akeelah rolled her eyes and then looked out at Dr. Larabee, whose gaze was fastened on her.
“Actually,” Ms. Cross said, “it’s g-r-o-v-e-l. Sorry, Chuckie. Better luck next time.”
“Who cares? I didn’t want to do this in the first place.”
He rushed off the stage and joined his buddies.
“Okay, moving right along,” Ms. Cross said, trying for a smooth and cheerful approach to a difficult job, “next up is Akeelah Anderson. Akeelah—would you step forward?”
She slinked up to the mike, her eyes fastened on the floor. She tried to ignore Georgia’s whistles of encouragement and a few scattered catcalls.
Ms. Cross said, “Okay, Akeelah. Your word is ‘doubt.’ ‘Doubt.’”
In a barely audible voice, Akeelah said, “‘Doubt.’ Do-u-b-t.”
“I’m sorry? You have to speak up. Talk directly into the mike.”
Akeelah nodded, cleared her throat, and said, “D-o-u-b-t,” her voice trembling but louder.
“Uh…very good.”
Akeelah returned to her seat, her eyes cast down.
Mr. Welch nervously turned to glance at Dr. Larabee, who was watching the proceedings without expression.
“The words are pretty basic,” the principal said.
Dr. Larabee nodded but said nothing.
“Next up, Regina Baker,” Ms. Cross said.
Twenty minutes later, the competition had been reduced to two girls—Akeelah and Cheryl Banks, an eighth-grader. Cheryl was a rotund 200 pounds of intelligence and good cheer, picked on unmercifully by the girls in her class.
“Cheryl,” Ms. Cross said, “your word is ‘placid.’”
“‘Placid.’ That mean like remainin’ calm? Take things as they come?”
“Exactly,” she said. “An excellent