The Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee Page 7

  “Morning there, Arnie. Got a delivery for you.”

  “What’s going on?” India appeared behind Dad.

  “Hi, Daryl. What are you doing here?” asked Dad.

  “I’ve got a surprise.”

  Boo wiggled between them. “What’s going on?”

  “Daryl has a surprise,” India said.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re not sure yet.”

  “Not sure about what?” Nanna Flo stuck her head over Dad’s shoulder.

  “What Daryl’s come to tell us.”

  “What’s all the noise?” Mom squeezed in beside Dad. “Hi, Daryl. What are you doing here?”

  “He’s come to tell us something,” India said.

  “Well, why don’t you just get on with it, Daryl?” Nanna Flo said. “We can’t stand around here all day.”

  Daryl sighed and handed the bulging bag to Dad.

  “This is for you.”

  Dad peeked inside. It was filled with dollar bills and coins.

  “What is it?”

  “Money to get you to Sydney.”

  “But…how?” Dad asked.

  “On my mail route. I asked everyone if they’d like to donate to the Wimple Family Spelling Bee Fund, and they were only too happy. And not just the people who owe you money, but those who want to see India become Yungabilla’s very own champion speller as well.”

  India could tell Dad was overwhelmed because he bit his lip, trying not to blubber. “Thank you, Daryl,” he said.

  “Don’t thank me—it was India and Boo’s ingenious idea.”

  “It was?”

  “They figured you do so much for this town that everyone would want to help you out.”

  Dad looked at India and Boo, his eyes glassy with tears. “I…I…”

  “Have the best kids?” Daryl finished his sentence. “I think so too.”

  “You’re a good egg, Daryl,” Nanna Flo chimed in. “Have been ever since you were a boy.” She gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek.

  He blushed. “Thanks, Mrs. W.”

  And, in that very moment, the Wimple family’s worries of not making it to the final disappeared.

  13

  Magnificent

  (adjective):

  Impressive, majestic, very, very awesome.

  Their arrival was, in every way, magnificent.

  The Wimples scurried through the house, packing and repacking bags. When the last piece of luggage was loaded into the van, Dad had what India thought was a very silly grin on his face—the one he wore when he was planning something sneaky.

  “What’s going on?” India asked.

  “Nothing.” Dad’s smile grew wider, which only made India even more suspicious.

  When they got to the town’s main street, India found her answer.

  People had lined up on either side, clapping and waving posters. A banner hung from one side of the street to the other:

  India Wimple, Yungabilla’s Champion

  “They’re here for you.” Boo wore a smile that was even wider than Dad’s.

  “Nothing short of what you deserve,” Nanna Flo added, wiping away a tear.

  The school band was there too, and even though it was hard to tell what tune they were playing, it was very sweet.

  “Did you organize this?” India asked Dad.

  “It was Daryl’s idea,” he said, “but we helped out.”

  The crowd burst into raucous applause as the van drove slowly past.

  “Go, India!” People waved and gave her thumbs-ups.

  It was as if the whole town had come out to say goodbye—Mrs. Wild, Mrs. O’Donnell, and the entire school.

  “I think they’d like a wave back,” Mom said.

  India was still a little stunned as she raised her hand. This made the crowd cheer and wave even more frantically.

  At the end of the street, Dad pulled to a stop in front of a line of Cub Scouts headed by Daryl.

  India jumped out of the van and threw her arms around him. “Thank you!”

  “You’re very welcome,” Daryl said. “You’ve given the town a real boost. When you spell those words, we’ll be here cheering for you.”

  India climbed back into the van and waved out the window as the town of Yungabilla, and everyone in it, grew smaller and smaller.

  This is it, India thought. It’s really happening. We’re going to Sydney.

  • • •

  The drive was long, with lots of rest stops, map checking, and a picnic lunch by the river. Mom told stories, Dad led sing-alongs, and they each took turns practicing spelling with India. They tried the hardest words they could think of, but no one could stump her.

  When they reached the outskirts of Sydney, the houses grew smaller and were jammed tightly together. Trucks and cars sped by in a terrible hurry. Closer to the city center, apartment and office buildings blocked the sky, and traffic crawled along the roads.

  India had never seen such a flurry of activity in one place: people rushing by in business suits or on bikes, street singers, shoppers, school groups—even a man in a long, white robe, holding up a sign that said, “The End is Near.”

  “It’d better not be,” Nanna Flo said, “or at least not until this spelling bee is over.”

  When they caught their first glimpse of Sydney Harbor, the Wimples fell silent. Yachts and ferries zigzagged across the sparkling water. As they drove beneath the metal arches of the Harbor Bridge, they all craned their necks to see the white sails of the Sydney Opera House, gleaming against a perfect, blue sky.

  The Wimples were amazed that they, a humble family from Yungabilla, were here in Sydney.

  “We made it,” Dad said, blinking away a tear.

  Mom directed him through the bustling streets to their hotel. After only a few turns, she looked up from her map and pointed ahead. “This is it!”

  The Wimple family simply stared.

  “This is where we’re staying?” India asked.

  Mom double-checked the address. “That’s what it says here.”

  “But it’s so… so…”

  “Magnificent,” Boo finished.

  Dad turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of the polished gold-and-glass doors of the hotel. The van backfired and lurched forward before it came to a shuddering stop.

  People all around flinched.

  A man in a burgundy suit and white gloves stepped over to open Nanna Flo’s door, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried again, this time with both hands, yanking it as hard as he could. When that didn’t work, he put his foot against the van and tugged again. The handle snapped off and he almost toppled to the ground as the door creaked open. He straightened himself up and announced with a small bow, “Welcome to the Hotel Grand.”

  The Wimples scrambled out, and two more men in suits took their bags.

  “I could get used to this,” Nanna Flo said.

  “Sorry about that.” Dad took the handle and threw it in the back seat.

  A sleek, black limousine pulled up behind them and more hotel staff moved quickly to open the doors. A young boy climbed out—the same boy who’d smiled at India during the last round.

  India moved behind Dad and tried to look as small as she could.

  The boy was followed by a man in a crisp, white shirt snugly stretched across a generous belly. He held a very large book and was reading out words for the boy to spell.

  Which the boy was doing perfectly, India noticed.

  The man was about to call out another when a small woman in a bright-blue sari stepped between them. “Let Rajish have five minutes without those blessed words.”

  “If he doesn’t practice, how is he going to win?”

  “You have been practicing for three months straight—morning, noon, and
long into the night. It’s time to let the boy relax.”

  “Relax?” The man looked as if he’d been asked to wrestle a crocodile. “We haven’t come this far to risk losing now.” He held a spindly finger in the air. “I am only speaking the truth.”

  Rajish met India’s eyes. This time she didn’t look away but gave him a small wave. He smiled and entered the hotel, dragging his heels after his arguing parents.

  “Someone needs to lighten up,” Nanna Flo mumbled.

  Dad stepped in front of the hotel doors and waited for his family to gather by his side. “Ready, Wimples?”

  “Ready!”

  They entered the lobby, which sparkled with gold trimmings and lights that dangled from the ceiling like stars. In the center was a fountain, and on either side were opulent sofas where people in fine clothes sat sipping tea and listening to a man in a tuxedo playing a grand piano.

  Nanna Flo raised an eyebrow. “If I’d known it was going to be this posh, I’d have worn my good hat.” She noticed bowls of fruit sitting on tables. “Do you think these are free?”

  “I’d say so,” Dad answered. Before they could stop her, Nanna Flo poured the entire bowl into her bag. “And I should have brought a bigger bag.”

  More hotel staff hurried past carrying luggage, while others in white aprons wheeled carts layered with cream-filled cakes.

  Guests mingled in excited groups, while above them a flashing sign read:

  The Hotel Grand welcomes contestants for the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee

  Seeing it made India feel light-headed.

  And slightly sick.

  Dad slipped his hand into hers. “That’s for you,” he said.

  Hearing his voice instantly settled India, as if she were a balloon he’d caught just before it floated away.

  “Whatever happens from here on, you’re already my champion.” Dad grabbed Boo’s hand, held his head high, and put on a posh voice. “Would sir and madam like to check in?”

  Boo and India followed Dad’s lead and stuck their noses in the air too.

  “Sir and madam would like that very much,” India said.

  14

  Imperious

  (adjective):

  Overbearing, haughty, and downright bossy.

  From the day she was born, she was an imperious child.

  The Wimples strode to the reception desk, where a man with impeccably combed hair and a perfectly pressed burgundy suit greeted them with a broad, inviting smile. “Welcome to the Hotel Grand. My name is—”

  But they never heard his name, because a rather pushy girl with blond hair and a sparkly, silver coat entered the hotel, speaking in a loud, commanding voice.

  “But I told you I needed it!” She was so loud that everyone momentarily stopped, even the piano player. The only one who didn’t stop was the rather pushy girl, who marched on, while a woman scurried behind her loaded down with boxes and bags.

  “Did you at least remember to pack my dress, the lace one by Dior that Mommy bought for me in New York?”

  “Yes.” The woman’s voice rose from behind the boxes.

  “And did you pack my favorite blue Armani trench coat that Daddy sent from Milan?”

  She struggled to keep up. “Yes, I—”

  “And have you told the organizers I only eat organic food?”

  “Yes, they—”

  By now she was at the reception desk. She pushed India’s dad aside and rang the bell, even though, as she no doubt knew, ringing the bell was only necessary if the counter was unattended—and this one was most definitely attended.

  “My name is Summer Millicent Ernestine Beauregard-Champion. I’m one of the contestants for the Stupendously Spectacular Spelling Bee.”

  “Let me help you,” Dad said to the woman carrying the boxes, but Summer spun around as if she were about to be robbed.

  “I think not! I can’t have just anyone carrying my things. They’re very expensive.” Summer turned back to the receptionist. “I will not be accommodated in the standard rooms. My father has reserved the penthouse suite for me, the one with views overlooking the harbor.”

  She was still speaking in her overly loud voice to make sure everyone in the lobby—and even some people outside the hotel—could hear.

  “Yes, madam,” the receptionist said with a sour-lemon smile. “I am quite familiar with that room, but I am in the middle of serving—”

  “Oh no.” Dad waved his hand. “Don’t worry about us. We can wait.”

  “They certainly can,” Summer agreed wholeheartedly. “I need to go to my room immediately. It was a very turbulent flight and I’m feeling quite fraught. Oh, and my nanny will be accompanying me.”

  “How lucky for her,” Nanna Flo muttered, which made Boo and India giggle.

  Summer turned to them. “Is something funny?”

  “No,” Boo said. “I have this condition where I giggle when I’m excited. This, unfortunately, makes my sister giggle too.”

  Dad and Mom giggled into their hands. Summer shot them a glare.

  “And sometimes my parents,” Boo added.

  Summer stepped away, worried she might catch the same giggling condition, and turned back to the desk. “Have you located my room key?”

  “Here it is.” The receptionist handed it over. “There will be a meeting this afternoon at two o’clock in the Grand Ballroom for all spelling bee contestants, where you’ll be informed of everything you need to know for the next few days.”

  “My nanny, Francesca, will need to be there.”

  The woman carrying the boxes spoke up. “It’s Daniela.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Francesca was the last one.”

  Nanna Flo frowned. The more this girl spoke, the more Nanna Flo wished she’d packed her earmuffs.

  “I’m afraid the meeting is only for the spellers,” the receptionist explained. “Enjoy your stay.” Even though he was smiling, his tone sounded more like he was suggesting she step into a pit of slimy slugs.

  Summer took the key without a word of thanks and turned on her heel. Her nanny scurried quickly behind her.

  Nanna Flo scowled. “Best we stay away from that one in case we catch a dose of stuck-uppity.”

  “That’s not a word,” India said.

  “Yes, but it’s a whole lot nicer than what I was going to say.”

  “Now, where was I?” the receptionist said. “Oh yes, welcome to the Hotel Grand. My name is Byron, how may I help you?”

  “We are the Wimples,” Dad said, “and this is my daughter, India, one of the spelling bee finalists.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Byron,” India said.

  The receptionist shook her hand. “And you too. If only everyone I met could be as pleasant as you.” He sent a sharp look toward Summer, who was marching ahead while Daniela continued to struggle with the luggage. “Have you stayed at the Hotel Grand before?”

  India shook her head. “We’ve never stayed at any hotel before.”

  “Well, young lady,” Byron declared, “you are in for a real treat because the Grand is one of Sydney’s finest.”

  He tapped the keyboard, searching for their reservation, when he noticed something else. “You know,” he said in a hushed, secretive voice, “it looks as if the Grand Plaza suite is available. It has views equally as good as the penthouse.”

  Dad’s face flushed, and he whispered, “I’m afraid, Byron, we wouldn’t be able to afford—”

  “There’s no need to worry about that. There was a last-minute cancellation; the room has already been paid for. It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

  Dad was clearly uncomfortable. “Yes, but we were told all contestants’ rooms would be covered, but that families had to pay for their own.”

  Byron simply smiled. “Ah, but Mr. Wimple, the beau
ty of this room is that India and her entire family would fit very comfortably indeed. In fact, it’s not so much a room as a glorious apartment. And it won’t cost you a cent extra.”

  “Are you sure?” Dad asked.

  “Not only am I sure, it would give me great pleasure.” Byron handed over their room key. “I wish you all a pleasant stay and you, India, the very best of luck making the grand final at the opera house.” He looked wistful. “Truly one of the world’s most marvelous buildings. My cousin has worked there for years and says he never gets sick of it. Now, take the elevator to the penthouse floor and I will have your bags delivered to your room.”

  He gestured to a bellboy, who quickly wheeled over a cart and began loading their bags.

  “We can carry them,” Dad objected.

  “It’s all part of the service,” the bellboy replied and whisked the cart away.

  As they approached the elevators, they found Summer still barking orders at her nanny. “But I told you I wanted pink sheets. What do you mean they don’t have any? You simply must get some.”

  Daniela sighed, as if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days, maybe even weeks.

  The ping of the elevator sounded and the doors opened. Summer bounded through first, without a thought of helping her nanny. Dad stepped forward and held open the doors.

  “Thank you,” Daniela mumbled from behind the boxes.

  But when the Wimples went to step inside, Summer quickly pressed the Close button. “Sorry, this elevator is fully occupied. You’ll have to take the next one.”

  And, even though there was plenty of room, the doors closed in the Wimples’ faces.

  “Uppity,” Nanna Flo scowled. “A word meaning arrogant, snobbish, and an enormous pain in my rear end.”

  Boo and India giggled.

  Mom and Dad felt they should disagree—it would be the polite thing to do—but instead they giggled too and neither of them said a thing.

  15

  Panoramic

  (adjective):

  Extensive, scenic, a commanding view.