Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [8]
“‘Placid,’” she said. “Ah…p-l-a-s-i-d. ‘Placid’?”
Akeelah shook her head as though to say, These words are just too easy.
“I’m sorry,” Ms. Cross said. “It’s p-l-a-c-i-d. Okay, Akeelah, if you get this next word you’ll be the winner of the Crenshaw School Bee.”
Moving to the microphone, she muttered under her breath, “Let’s get this farce over with.”
“The word is ‘fanciful,’” she said. “‘Fan—”
Akeelah interrupted her and said quickly, “F-a-n-c-if-u-l. ‘Fanciful.’”
“Outstanding, Akeelah! You have won Crenshaw’s inaugural spelling bee. Good job!”
Georgia cheered, as did Mr. Welch. Dr. Larabee, however, sat stony-faced, clearly not impressed.
Akeelah grabbed her blue ribbon and started to exit the stage when a high-pitched whistle suddenly cut through the room. All eyes in the auditorium swung toward Dr. Larabee, who stopped whistling and, to Mr. Welch’s amazement, stood up.
“She’s not done yet,” Dr. Larabee said, staring at Akeelah intently. He leaned on the chair in front of him, took a deep breath, and speaking very slowly, said, “‘Prestidigitation.’”
Laughter erupted at the size and complexity of the word. Akeelah stayed rooted in one spot, her hand beginning to beat against her thigh, her lips moving, as she stared suspiciously at the tall stranger.
“I’m sorry, sir… whoever you are,” Ms. Cross said. “This girl is only eleven years old…and she’s already won—”
“‘Prestidigitation,’” Dr. Larabee repeated, cutting the teacher off. “Can you spell it?”
Akeelah’s eyes stayed fixed on Dr. Larabee’s; he looked steadily back at her. It was almost as though this middle-aged man and eleven-year-old girl were involved in a contest of wills.
Akeelah’s hand continued to beat against her thigh. Sharply and suddenly she said, “P-r-e-s-t-i-d-i-g-i-t-a-t-i-o-n. ‘Prestidigitation.’”
A stunned hush fell over the room. Even Chuckie Johnson and his rowdy friends were silent. Did she get it right? Even Ms. Cross, staring hard at Dr. Larabee, wasn’t certain.
“That’s correct,” Dr. Larabee said, his voice neutral and quiet.
Georgia stood on her chair and let out a war whoop.
“‘Ambidextrous,’” Dr. Larabee said, his eyes continuing to bore into Akeelah.
“Sir, these words are not appropriate for—” Ms. Cross began.
Akeelah cut in, saying, “A-m-b-i-d-e-x-t-r-o-u-s. ‘Ambidextrous.’”
Her nervous hand tapped in rhythm as she spoke each letter. A hush had fallen over the room. The students had a hard time accepting that mousy little Akeelah Anderson could handle the words that Dr. Larabee machine-gunned at her. They were reduced nearly to silence, heads turning first to Dr. Larabee, then to Akeelah, as though they were watching a tennis match.
“‘Pterodactyl,’” Dr. Larabee said next.
“P-t-e-r-o-d-a-c-t-y-l,” Akeelah responded promptly.
Dr. Larabee nodded just perceptibly. “‘Pulchritude,’” he said.
“P-u-l-c…”
Akeelah hesitated and looked down at her hand, which had stopped tapping on her thigh and had begun to shake.
“Uh…r-i-t-u-d-e. ‘Pulchritude’?”
A moment passed before Dr. Larabee said, “That’s incorrect. It’s from the latin root ‘pulcher,’ meaning beautiful. There’s an ‘h’ after the ‘c.’”
A painful pause filled the audience, followed by a faint collective sigh, as though the air had been sucked out of the room.
“See? She ain’t so damn smart,” Myrna said. That caused some of the students to laugh, partly as a relief from tension, partly to cover their embarrassment for Akeelah, who stood at the microphone looking mortified. She then bolted from the stage and out the side door of the auditorium, close to tears. Mr. Welch took the same exit and caught up with her halfway down the block.
“Akeelah,” he shouted. “Wait! Where are you going? You did absolutely great. You were spelling words I can’t even spell.”
She pushed forward, half running. “Mr. Welch, I told you I didn’t want to do this. They’re all laughing at me now.”
“They laugh because you intimidate them….They don’t know what else to do.”
“They laugh because they take me for a freak.”
“I don’t think so.”
Mr. Welch and Akeelah turned to see Dr. Larabee taking