The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee Read online

  “Middle English, old French, and late Latin.”

  “Thank you.” He flicked his bangs and began.

  “Presumptuous. P-r-e-s-u-m-t-u-o-u-s. Presumptuous.”

  He smiled into the cameras and waited for the applause.

  “Oh dear,” Ms. Posey said. “I’m afraid that is…incorrect.”

  Marvin’s smile nosedived. “What?”

  “Your answer is not right.”

  Marvin didn’t budge. “It has to be right.”

  Ms. Posey shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it isn’t, and you’re going to have to leave the stage.”

  When Marvin crossed his arms and refused to move, Ms. Posey searched the audience. “Are Marvin’s mom and dad here?”

  His parents climbed sheepishly onto the stage and muttered a few words to their son, who clung to the microphone stand and cried out, “No! I demand another word!”

  His dad laughed nervously. “We need to leave now, son.”

  “But it’s not fair,” Marvin wailed. “I’m better than all these other losers.”

  There were gasps from the audience. Marvin’s parents had no choice but to pry his fingers from the stand and carry him from the stage.

  He tried to pull himself from their grasp. “Let me go! There’s been a mistake!”

  They dragged him down the aisle to the exit, where he gripped the doorframe and kept yelling until two security guards helped his parents haul him out of the room.

  “I should have been the winner!” His voice faded as the doors slammed behind him.

  There was an awkward silence before Ms. Posey regained her composure, and with a renewed smile she called the next contestant.

  “India Wimple.”

  India’s legs trembled. She carefully stood, hoping they wouldn’t buckle, and tiptoed slowly to the microphone.

  The voice inside her head sounded loud and clear. Marvin thought he could win and was thrown out on his first word, so what chance do you have? What makes you think a mud-caked girl from Yungabilla could even think of winning?

  India headed to the microphone, and with each step she felt completely and utterly…

  “Inconsequential.”

  India wasn’t sure if it was Ms. Posey who had spoken or the voice in her head until Ms. Posey continued: “This is an adjective meaning of little or no importance; insignificant.”

  India sighed. It was exactly how she felt. She wished she could just disappear.

  “India?” Ms. Posey asked. “Would you like me to repeat the word?”

  “No thank you.” India scribbled on her hand. “Inconsequential,” she began. “I-n-c-…”

  She scribbled again.

  “o-n-s-e-q-u-e-n-t-i-a-l. Inconsequential.”

  “That is…” Ms. Posey looked up from her notes. “Correct.”

  India heard her family cheer wildly from the back of the room as the voice followed her all the way back to her chair. Next time you might not be so lucky.

  The next boy looked as if he’d been dropped from a plane without a parachute. India recognized him from the lobby. He was the one whose father loomed over him. When he was given his word, he stared directly into the audience, wide eyed and frozen.

  Which is exactly when the pronouncer noticed something unusual.

  A man in the third row was silently mouthing the letters.

  Ms. Posey nodded at the two security guards, who quickly swooped in and escorted the man away.

  “What are you doing?” The man’s words rang with indignation. “I’ve done nothing wrong! Unhand me! My son is destined for greatness!”

  The boy ran after his father. “Dad!”

  When they were gone, the competition continued.

  Skulduggery.

  Charlatan.

  Manipulator.

  Each time it was India’s turn, she would write the word on her palm before carefully spelling it.

  Industrious.

  Steadfast.

  Dedicated.

  India peeked at the sprinkling of children remaining: only nine left. They were all staring at Ms. Posey, listening to the final words that would decide the top eight—all of them except for an Indian boy at the end of the row, who was staring at India and smiling, as if they knew each other.

  Then he waved.

  India panicked. She thought about waving back, but what if he was waving to someone behind her? What if he thought she was someone he knew when she wasn’t? Or at least she thought she wasn’t—maybe they did know each other but she’d forgotten.

  She turned away and hoped he’d think she hadn’t seen him.

  The air was charged with tension. Kids spelled the final words as carefully as they could, knowing one slip could send them home.

  A young girl took her place at the microphone. She nervously twirled the end of her braid, waiting for Ms. Posey to begin.

  “Your word, Lily, is outrageous.”

  India instantly spelled it in her head.

  The audience waited, holding its breath. No one made a sound.

  Lily began. “O-u-t…” She took a deep breath. “…r-a-g…” She paused before deciding on the last few letters: “…o-u-s.” She looked up hopefully.

  “Oh no,” India whispered.

  “That is…” Ms. Posey said, “incorrect.”

  The audience gasped.

  “You have spelled brilliantly, but sadly, it’s time to say goodbye.”

  Lily’s lip quivered momentarily. She whispered a small thank-you and left the stage.

  Ms. Posey invited the eight remaining kids to stand up. “Ladies and gentlemen, will you please congratulate our spelling bee finalists.”

  The audience rose to their feet and applauded, except for some not-so-polite parents of kids who hadn’t won, who were busy crying or mumbling how the competition must have been rigged.

  “You have all competed valiantly and made it through to the finals.” Ms. Posey paused, saving the best part till last—the part India never thought she’d hear. “Which means you will all be traveling to Sydney!”

  The audience cheered and lights flashed.

  India felt a wave of excitement followed quickly by a wave of wanting to be sick. Her legs felt weak again, and she was about to fall over when Dad rushed onto the stage and lifted her into a hug. “You did it.”

  Boo squeezed between them. “I knew you would.”

  “Never doubted it for a second,” Nanna Flo added.

  “Me too,” Mom agreed as they all bundled together in one giant Wimple-family hug.

  The boy who smiled at her earlier was also being smothered in kisses and hugs from his mom and dad. “My son! My wonderful son!” his father repeated over and over.

  Between the chaos of hugs and kisses, India noticed the boy was smiling at her. Again.

  This time she smiled back—or at least tried to. She was worried it came out more like a snarl. She really had to practice, but she didn’t worry about it for long because Dad interrupted with a proud declaration: “My little girl is going to Sydney.”

  Even as Dad announced it, he and India weren’t sure they believed it—until he said with more conviction: “The Wimples are going to Sydney!”

  12

  Surreptitious

  (adjective):

  Secretive, sly, a little sneaky.

  The intruder entered the yard with a surreptitious step.

  India’s life became a whirlwind of school and spelling. She even dreamed words in her sleep.

  Pronunciation.

  Alliteration.

  Orthography.

  “India.”

  Then she started hearing Dad’s voice in her sleep.

  “India.”

  It felt real, as if he was there, whispering her name.

 
“India.”

  She opened her eyes, realizing it really was her dad’s voice, and it was coming from down the hall.

  She snuck out of bed and tiptoed to her parents’ bedroom door, which was open just a crack.

  “We owe it to India,” Dad said.

  “We’ll think of something,” Mom whispered. “We always do.”

  “It’s a lot of money,” Dad whispered back.

  “Maybe we don’t all need to go.”

  “We have to!” For a second, Dad forgot to whisper. “I promised India that the whole family would be with her.”

  There was a long pause before he said, “I went to the bank today to see if they’d give me a loan, but they turned me down. The manager said I didn’t earn enough and the bank thought it’d be too risky. I could have lied and told him I had a few big jobs coming up, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Are you disappointed in me?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I’m a journalist who unblocks toilets and clears leaves from gutters, and even then I sometimes get paid in homemade jam or hand-knitted sweaters.”

  “Arnold Wimple.” Mom sounded angry now. India moved closer. “I never married you because I thought we’d be wealthy. I married you because you are the kindest, most considerate man I have ever met. Not only that, but you are also the handiest. If I’d known that, I would have married you sooner.”

  “I want to give you so much more.” Dad’s voice was small. “A bigger house, new clothes…a vacation every now and then.”

  “Why would I want all that? As long as I have you, the kids, and Nanna Flo, I have everything I need.”

  India crept back to her room and snuck into bed.

  Over the last few weeks, she’d felt herself become less frightened when she met people she didn’t know. The sick feeling she had whenever she felt nervous also seemed to disappear, which she only realized now because that sick feeling was back.

  Dad felt awful—less than a dad—and it was all her fault.

  India wished she’d never entered the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee—then Dad wouldn’t be worrying, and she wouldn’t be awake worrying about Dad worrying. She wished she could go back to Friday nights in front of the TV, silently mouthing the answers, with Boo beside her and Dad, Mom, and Nanna Flo on the couch, not worrying about a thing.

  India lay awake, wondering what to do. There must be some way she could help out. She tried to think about what Ingenious India would do. She was always able to get out of trouble with her brilliant plans and exceptional thinking.

  Yes, but you’re nothing like her. The voice inside her head was back. She’s way more daring and clever than you’ll ever be.

  India sighed. It’s true, she thought. I’m not Ingenious India, who fights felons and fends off foes. I’m just plain old India Wimple.

  She curled into a ball and rolled toward the window.

  Which was when she noticed something peculiar. Silhouetted against the streetlights, a hunched figure tiptoed silently through the night.

  Directly in front of her window!

  India clenched her teeth—she was furious.

  Dad worked too hard for what little they had for someone to walk into their yard and steal from them. If it was a robber, she was going to let him know what a big mistake he’d made to pick their home.

  She threw off her blankets and scooped up the heavy dictionary from her bedside table. She crept along the hall and into the living room, careful not to wake Boo. She slowly turned the handle of the door and gently pulled it open.

  There he was!

  The robber.

  Sitting on their front steps.

  He was crouched over and looked like he was counting something—money he’d stolen from the Wimples, probably.

  India lifted the dictionary high above her head, and just as she was about to bring it down, a car drove down the street, its headlights spilling over the robber, clearly revealing his face.

  “Dad?”

  Dad turned to see India holding the dictionary. “India?”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Hoping not to be clobbered by that book.”

  The car passed by and left them both in the dim glow of the streetlight.

  “Oh.” She lowered the dictionary. “Sorry. I thought you were a robber.”

  “They’d be out of luck if they tried to rob us.” Dad laughed, but there was such a note of sadness in it that India wanted to clobber something, anything.

  She sat beside him and noticed that it wasn’t money he was holding but small pieces of paper. “What are they?”

  Dad’s worry crease deepened. “They’re IOUs from jobs I’ve done.”

  “People have been paying in IOUs?”

  “Not everyone, and it’s only while the town’s having a rough time. They’ll pay me when things pick up.” He brightened. “I’ll find a way to pay for everything. Don’t you worry.”

  India knew there was no other way, and it wasn’t fair that her family had to find money for a competition she might not even win. So she said the only thing she could think of.

  “I want to drop out of the spelling bee.”

  “What?” Dad straightened. “I’ll find the money, I promise.”

  “It’s not the money.” India looked away, trying to hide the lie. “I think the stress of the competition might not be good for me. It might even be causing permanent psychological damage.”

  Dad raised an eyebrow. “Permanent psychological damage?”

  The way he said it made it seem a little ridiculous.

  “Yes.” India tried to sound convincing. “Who knows how I might be affected when I’m older?”

  Dad fixed her with the look of a detective. “Do you really want to drop out?”

  “Yes?”

  Like Dad, India was a terrible liar. And Dad knew it.

  “When you were onstage, spelling all those words, did you enjoy yourself?” India shook her head and was about to say no when he asked, “Just a little?”

  India slumped. “Yes, but it’s not fair to spend money on this.”

  “What else are we going to spend it on?”

  India scowled. “How about food or the bills on the fridge?”

  “And miss this chance? Not on your life.” Dad pulled her closer. “We’ll manage, I promise, and don’t you worry about anything. That’s my job as your dad.”

  India nestled into his hug. Moths flapped in the glimmer of the streetlight.

  “Have I ever told you how we gave you your name?” Dad asked.

  “About a million times.” India smiled. “But tell me again.”

  “After college, I bought a backpack and went to India, hoping to find something incredible. And I did—I met your mom on a beach in Goa. She was the most beautiful woman in the most beautiful place. And when we got married, we wanted to name our first child after the country that brought us together.”

  Dad held her closer. “I’ll take you there one day and show you where the Wimple family began.” His smile faded and the worry crease returned. “I won’t let you down, India.”

  “But you’ve never let me down. Not even close. If there were a best dad competition, you’d win it.”

  “Except for keeping you up way past your bedtime.”

  She shrugged. “No one’s perfect.”

  Dad laughed and gave her one last squeeze. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  Dad and India tiptoed down the hall as quietly as they could. After Dad kissed her good night and went back to his room, Boo appeared at his sister’s door. India pulled back the blankets and he snuck in beside her, keeping his voice low. “Is it money again?”

  India nodded. “He’s worried he’s let me down.”

  “He’s never let us down. No
t even close.”

  “That’s what I told him. It’s always Dad who has to fix things, but I think it’s time Ingenious India stepped in.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to need help to make it happen.” India scrambled out of bed and put her jacket over her pajamas.

  “Where are you going?”

  “There’s someone I have to visit.”

  “Not without me you’re not.”

  India shook her head. “No way. It’s cold outside. It won’t be good for your… You might have another…” India couldn’t say it. It always scared her when she thought of Boo having another flare-up.

  Boo wasn’t budging. “Ingenious India never goes anywhere without Brave Boo.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “Please, India.” His voice softened. “I know you all mean well, but I’m a kid with asthma who is homeschooled and spends most of his time looking out the window at other kids having fun. Please let me come with you.”

  India couldn’t refuse Boo’s pleading eyes. “All right, but on one condition.” She rifled through her closet and pulled out her warmest jacket, a wool scarf, and a beanie. “You have to wear these.”

  “All of them?”

  India nodded. “Yes, or the deal’s off.”

  Boo dressed quickly. The jacket hung from him like a sack. “Ready for action.”

  India melted a little at Boo’s broad grin. “I know we all might be a little…overprotective sometimes…but as your older sister, it’s my job to order you around. That’s what older sisters are supposed to do. OK?”

  “OK.”

  “Now grab your inhaler. We have a cunning plan to carry out.”

  • • •

  “Mailman!”

  The call came from the Wimples’ front door a few days later as Dad sat glumly at the breakfast table. Ordinarily, he’d be out of bed early and in the shower, singing at the top of his off-key voice, but this morning he hadn’t showered or even changed out of his pajamas. He jabbed his spoon at his porridge.

  “Mailman!” This time it was shouted even louder.

  Dad slumped farther into the table, wanting the world to go away.

  Then the knocking started. Dad pushed back his chair and dragged himself to his feet. He opened the door to see Daryl wearing his mailman uniform and holding a large sack.