Akeelah and the Bee (5 page)

Akeelah checked the address, then slowly proceeded up the path to the porch, and after a moment’s hesitation, rang the buzzer. She waited before ringing it again. There was still no answer. She then heard a clicking noise. Curious, she walked to the edge of the porch and peeked down the side of the house. She saw Dr. Larabee in the backyard on his knees, hammering something. She watched him for a moment and then climbed off the porch and walked down the path to the gate. She stood close by while Dr. Larabee, unaware of her presence, meticulously hammered a brick into the border of a well-maintained flowerbed.

He stopped, suddenly sensing that someone was
watching him. He looked up at Akeelah, his expression blank.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You didn’t answer the door.”

“That’s because you’re late.”

“But I came right from school.”

He checked his watch. “You must have dawdled.”

“‘Dawdled.’ D-a-w-d-l-e-d.”

“That’s not funny,” he said. “In fact, it’s a little smartalecky.”

“Okay, I was talking to a friend and got held up a little.”

Dr. Larabee nodded and then motioned for her to come into the garden area. She hesitated before opening the gate and stepping into the backyard. He returned to working on his garden.

“So you want to learn how to spell,” he said, without looking up.

“I know how to spell.”

That caused him to look up and study her closely. “No, you don’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You don’t know how to spell with technique, language skills, memorization, and a mastery of strategies to correctly spell words you don’t know how to spell.”

She started to respond, but then simply nodded.

“Spell ‘staphylococci.’”

Akeelah began tapping on her thigh until she seemed to lose the rhythm and paused. “Uh…s-t-a-f—”

“There’s no ‘f,’” he said. “S-t-a-
p
-
h
-y-l-o-c-o-c-c-i. It’s
derived from the Greek, so there can’t be an ‘f.’ That was the winning word, National Spelling Bee, 1987. The first thing most serious spellers do is learn all the winning words. It’s a crucial piece of strategy.”

He walked over to a large plastic bag of soil.

“Well, maybe I ain’t that serious,” she said, her eyes burning into his back.

He paused, bent over the bag. “Then maybe I’m not serious, either.”

He plunged a small spade into the bag and started sprinkling soil into the garden.

Akeelah watched him in silence for a moment. He was graceful and lithe for a large, muscular man, and she could sense his sensitivity underneath his grave exterior. Her father was the most sensitive man she’d ever known (he broke down crying when she swelled up from a bee sting when she was five years old and had to be rushed to the emergency room), but she felt that Dr. Larabee might run him a close second.

She continued to watch him until the silence grew uncomfortable. She said, “So why you home during the day? Ain’t you got a job?”

He turned and looked at her sharply. “Do me a favor and leave the ghetto talk on the street. It bores me.”

“Ghetto talk? What you mean by that? I don’t talk
ghetto
.”

“‘Ain’t’? I’m on to you, Akeelah. You use that word to fit in with your peers. As a matter of fact, you’re way too concerned about fitting in and not nearly concerned enough about being who you are and taking pride in it.
You have to learn that settling for the lowest common denominator is a zero-sum game. Do you know the expression ‘zero-sum game’?”

Akeelah shrugged. “There’s no way to win.”

“That’s right. You win on one side but lose on the other, canceling out the win. When you’re here with me, you speak correctly or don’t speak at all. I insist on it.” He regarded her closely. “That’s the condition of working with me. Is that understood?”

“Yeah,” she said after a pause. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” he said, mimicking her, not looking pleased. He waved a hand toward the sidewalk. “You can leave now.”

Akeelah stared at him and began tapping her foot nervously. “’Scuse me?”

“I said you can leave.”

“How come? I just got here.”

“I don’t have the time or the patience for sullen, insolent children. Life is too short.”

He turned away and resumed working on his garden.

“Sullen?”
Akeelah said, her voice throbbing with indignation. “Insolent? I ain’t—I mean, I’m
not
—sullen
or
insolent. It’s just the first thing you do is start doggin’ on my—criticizing the way I speak. I thought this was about spelling words. Sounds more like a personality makeover.”

He kept working, not bothering to look up or acknowledge her.

“Hel
lo?
Dr. Larabee?” When he did not respond, she said, “Well, okay. That’s fine. I’m outta here.” She turned
to leave but then stopped before going out the gate. “You know what? When I put my mind to it I can memorize anything. And you know something else? I don’t need help from a dictatorial, truculent, supercilious …
gardener
. Sorry to be so insolent.”

She marched down the path and out the gate, slamming it behind her.

Dr. Larabee looked up and slowly nodded his head. “Not bad, Akeelah,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m impressed.”

That night, bursting with a new determination fueled by Dr. Larabee’s indifference, Akeelah pored over the Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. Tanya, wearing a nurse’s uniform with white shoes and stockings, knocked lightly on her door.

“That you, Mama?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on in.”

Tanya stood framed in the door, concern etched on her face.

“Baby, why you still up?”

“Gotta learn more words,” Akeelah said, her voice cracking with exhaustion. She let out a deep sigh. “You gonna come see me in the District Bee this Saturday?”

“It’s at your school?”

Akeelah shook her head and grinned. “Nah. We’re movin’ up in the world. It’s in Beverly Hills.”

Tanya frowned and began tapping her foot, a habit Akeelah had unconsciously picked up from her.

“Beverly Hills?”
Her daughter had vexed her, puzzled her, and occasionally delighted her and made her very proud from the time she was no more than a tot. Of her four children, Akeelah was the one she understood the least.

Tanya seemed to struggle with what to say next. “Look, you got other homework. You know you’re way behind on things. I don’t want you spendin’ all your time on this game.”

Akeelah reluctantly looked up from her computer. “It ain’t a game,” she said. “It’s serious. So you gonna come see me in it?”

“Baby, you know I work at the hospital Saturdays. Maybe Kiana can go with you.”

Akeelah let out an exasperated breath. “I guess that’s okay if she don’t bring that whiny baby with her.”

“That baby happens to be your niece.”

“I know what she is. I just know she’ll start bawling when I’m in the middle of a word. That’s the last thing I need. I’m already scared out of my mind.”

Early Saturday morning, Kiana brought her screaming baby out of the house and past Akeelah, who rolled her eyes to the heavens. Mr. Welch’s car, washed and waxed for the occasion, was idling by the curb.

“Come on, girls,” he called out. “We’re going to be late.”

They piled in the car. As he roared away from the curb, around the corner, tires squealing, Akeelah said quietly, “I don’t think we’re gonna be late, Mr. Welch. Either on time or dead.”

“I’m an excellent driver. Don’t worry.”

“Well, we’re all prayin’ you are.”

When they arrived at Beverly Hills High (ten minutes early, Mr. Welch announced proudly), more than a hundred middle school students and their parents were crammed into the auditorium—a spacious and spotlessly clean auditorium, Akeelah noted with envy. Many of the parents were giving their children last-minute spelling drills. Akeelah was dumbfounded, and more than a little overwhelmed, at the number of kids entered in the competition.

“Dang,” she said to Mr. Welch, “I didn’t know there would be
this
many.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, squeezing her arm.
“Go get your number. We’ll sit as close to the front as we can get.” He smiled. “Break a leg, Akeelah.”

She looked puzzled. “Break a leg?”

“That’s an old saying in the theatrical world, wishing an actor good luck.”

“Break a leg,” she said, nodding. “That’s funny.” Akeelah eyed the baby apprehensively and said to her sister, “Maybe you shouldn’t sit too close.”

“Good luck, Keelie,” Kiana said with a grin and a wink.

Looking numb and scared, Akeelah walked slowly up to a long table at the front of the auditorium, where volunteers handed out large-size numbers for the contestants to pin to their shirts.

“Name?” a volunteer said, smiling up at Akeelah.

“Akeelah Anderson.”

The volunteer scanned the list and said, “Here you are, right here at the top. Hmm, I think you’re the first speller we’ve ever had from Crenshaw Middle School.”

Akeelah responded with a forced smile. “How many kids are entered in this thing?”

“One hundred thirty-nine.”

“That many?” Akeelah shook her head, feeling way out of her league. One hundred thirty-eight against her. Well, no. She had a one in ten chance to make it to the next round, but still, the odds were overwhelming. She took her number, thanked the volunteer, and struggled to pin it to her shirt.

“Need some help?”

Akeelah turned to face a young Hispanic boy, about
her height, who had a cherubic face and a cheerful expression. He wore a hearing aid and his speech was slightly slurred.

“Javier Mendez,” he said with a wide grin. “Twelve years old. Brilliant speller. Suave dancer. May I pin you?”

“Akeelah Anderson,” she said with a giggle.

“Akeelah—that’s a pretty name. Well, Akeelah, l’ll try not to impale you. This your first time?”

“Yeah. Except for a bee at my school this week. You?”

“Second year. I made it to the Nationals last year. I finished thirteenth.
Lucky
thirteenth.”

He struck a heroic pose and flexed his muscles. Akeelah began to realize that he was a bit of a clown. She also sensed that he was kind and she instantly warmed to him.

“You went all the way to D.C.?” she said.

“Yup. Three of us made it from my school, Woodland Hills. See that kid over there? His name is Dylan Watanabe.” Javier pointed to a Japanese boy Akeelah recognized from the telecast of last year’s National Spelling Bee. He was sitting next to his stern-faced father, listening attentively.

“Dylan’s come in second place at the Nationals two years in a row. This is his last year of eligibility and everybody thinks he’s gonna win. Frankly, I’d like to shove him off a steep precipice.”

“That’s good thinking,” Akeelah said. “That way you get rid of the competition.”

Javier gave a high-pitched giggle. “I like girls with a sense of humor. I hope you make the top ten.”

“I hope I’m not the first one eliminated.”

The Judge’s voice boomed out over the PA system. “Will all the spellers take their assigned seats on the stage, please?”

“Ten-
hut
,” Javier said, giving a mock salute. “Now remember”—he peered hard at her name pinned to her shirt—“Akeelah Anderson, if you don’t know a word, spell it the way it sounds. Kids mess up all the time thinking they’re being thrown a curveball when they’re not. They outsmart themselves.” He reached for her hand and they shook. “Good luck,” he said.

“Good luck to you, too, Javier.”

He started goose-stepping up to the stage and Akeelah could not help giggling. She nervously looked back at Kiana and Mr. Welch, who gave her the thumbs-up sign.

Moments later, all the contestants were seated except a twelve-year-old girl in pigtails at the microphone and the three spellers on deck standing behind her, including Javier and a very nervous Akeelah, who fiddled with her number.

“Your word is ‘cacophony,’” the Pronouncer said.

The girl in pigtails smiled and said immediately, “C-a-c-a-p-h-o-n-y. ‘Cacophony.’”

A bell dinged and the girl, dejected, dismounted the stage, her head bowed.

It was Javier’s turn. He gave Akeelah a goofy grin before he did a half walk, half run up to the mike and faced the Judge, the Pronouncer, and several Assistant Judges. There was a faint tittering from the audience. Javier was clearly a crowd pleaser.

“Your word is ‘rhesus,’” the Pronouncer said.

“‘Rhesus’?”

Because of his speech impediment, Javier had to struggle to pronounce his words to the satisfaction of the judges. Javier simply accepted this as a challenge—life playing tricks on him—and he had learned at a very early age to compensate mightily. More often than not, he was the funniest boy in any group as well as the brightest.