The Friendship Riddle (31 page)

“Perfect!” she said. “I'm trying to keep you on your toes. I imagine up there on the stage under the hot lights, it would be easy to get distracted, to lose your flow.”

“I'll be okay.”

“You'll be more than okay. And I will be there. And Mom. I promise.”

Sometimes the more someone promises, the less you believe them.

The twelve chairs were in a semicircle on the stage. Our names were printed on paper and taped to them so we knew where to sit. We were all jumbled up. My seat was between Coco's sister, Emma, and a seventh-grade boy. Charlotte's seat was across from mine. We were standing off to the side of the stage, in the wings, because Dr. Dawes was going to announce our names the way Ms. Wickersham did at pep rallies.

I stood in Wonder Woman stance, just like Lena had made me promise.

Mum had made it back in the night, after all, well after I'd gone to sleep. She'd driven me to school that morning.
We didn't talk, just practiced words. She and Mom sat in the front row with Alan and Eliot. Mum had a piece of paper, ready to write down all the words so we could study them for the county bee. She was so sure I would be one of the top two to make it.

Lucas stood next to me. He bounced from foot to foot. Charlotte stood off to the side, all by herself. Her eyes blinked slowly like a toy doll's.

“Look at this,” Lucas said. He pulled something golden from his pocket. He held it up right in front of my nose so I could see it in the scant light: a bee encased in amber. “It's my good-luck charm.”

“I thought you didn't need luck.”

“Coco told me I didn't have it in the bag, after all.”

Coco.
He sat out in the audience, too, with Adam and Lena. Behind them was Melinda. She had written
CD
for “Charlotte Diamond” on her cheeks with blue marker and wore a blue ribbon in her ponytail. All the girls in that group did. They had pom-poms, too. Were pom-poms even allowed at a spelling bee?

Dr. Dawes snaked her way through the crowd of spellers, then turned to look back at us. “You all ready?” she asked.

We nodded and mumbled yes. Because what else could we do? Run screaming for a dictionary?

She raised her fist in the air and then flipped it into a thumbs-up before striding across the stage in her red suit. The podium was on the far side. When she reached it, she held up
one hand, and everyone in the audience did the same as they quieted down. Lucas, too. “Pavlov,” he mumbled.

“Welcome to the Frontenac Consolidated Middle School Spelling Bee.”

Then she explained the rules. The most important rule, the one most people don't understand, is that even if you miss a word, you might not be out. You have to wait until the whole round is done. If everyone else misses their words, too, then the round starts over. That's not very likely in round one or two, but when you're down to three or four spellers, it can happen. When you get down to the final round, the rules change again, but Dr. Dawes waited to explain that.

And then we began.

My first word was “alligator.” Easy. Still, I asked for the country of origin just so Coco didn't blow a gasket.

“Spanish,” Dr. Dawes told me.
Who knew?

While I spelled, Ms. Lawson and Ms. Wickersham compared my answers to the official spelling lists in special binders they held on their laps. They sat in the first row right in front of the microphone so they wouldn't miss a single letter. Ms. Lawson was the head judge, and she gave a quick nod to Dr. Dawes who said, “Correct.”

Charlotte got an even easier word: “unity.” She didn't ask any questions, only traced out each letter on her hand as she said it. She didn't hesitate after each letter like some of
the kids I've seen on television; still, I was surprised she had a strategy.

When Dr. Dawes nodded that she got it right, the crowd around Melinda cheered. Not just the sixth graders, but the popular kids in all the grades. It was like they decided they were going to take over the spelling bee along with everything else in the school. Then Lucas got “pretzel,” and when he asked for a definition, everyone laughed. Even Dr. Dawes chuckled.

The seventh grader next to me got out on “access.” He forgot the second
c
.

And then there were eleven.

It kept going like that for four more rounds. The words weren't too hard. Some people made mistakes. Charlotte didn't. Lucas didn't. I didn't. Emma got the hardest word of the round: “banzai.” She bit her lip and tugged at her blond hair. I tried to see something of Coco in her. She was all round cheeks and an upturned nose. The only thing the same was the way they turned red, starting at the neck and working up to their cheeks. “Can I get the country of origin?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Japanese,” Dr. Dawes told her.

She looked up to the ceiling. I looked up, too. I couldn't help myself. In the audience, I saw their dad. He leaned forward. Coco examined his hands in his lap.

It's Japanese
, I wanted to tell her. The tree.
B-O-N-S-A-I
.

“Can I please have the definition?”

“
 
‘A Japanese cheer or war cry.'
 
”

Oh. Not the tree.

“Banzai.
B
,” she began, then hesitated. I could feel the audience waiting, waiting for her to fail. “
A-N-Z-A-I
,” she said all in a rush. “Banzai.”

“Yes!” Dr. Dawes exclaimed.

I felt lucky that my word was “magnolia.” If I'd had “banzai,” I'd be right out.

Dev came right after her. He was doing well. He spoke confidently into the microphone and even joked with Dr. Dawes.

“
 
‘Periphery,'
 
” Dr. Dawes told him.

“Periphery.
P-E-R-I-P-E
—” He stopped, catching his mistake. It wasn't his brain confusing him: just a simple mistake, a slip of the tongue. “No,” he said, but he shook his head. Once you start, you have to keep going. You can go back and start over again, but you can't change anything. “
R-Y
,” he finished. He was out. When he went to sit in the audience, Adam gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder, which I figured might be the closest Adam ever came to hugging someone. The fifth round was over and we were down to six: Charlotte, Lucas, Emma, an eighth grader named Chloe, a seventh grader named Max, and me.

Across the circle Charlotte scuffed her feet along the floor and twirled her hair.

In the audience, Mum gave me a thumbs-up.

Charlotte stepped up to the microphone.

“Charlotte, your word is ‘vendetta,'
 
” Dr. Dawes told her.

“Vendetta,” Charlotte said. She traced the letters on her hand. She hesitated. “Can I please have a definition?”

“Go, Char!” Melinda called.

“Quiet from the audience, please,” Dr. Dawes said. “Vendetta: ‘a very long and violent fight between two families or groups.' A secondary definition is ‘a series of acts done by someone over a long period of time to cause harm to a disliked person or group.'
 
”

I couldn't be sure, but I thought her gaze flicked over to me. I wanted her to get this word wrong. This word.

“
V
,
 
” she said. I watched her trace the letter on her hand. “
E-N-D
.” She took a deep breath. “Vendetta,
V-E-N-D-E-T-T-A
.” Melinda started cheering even before she knew Charlotte got it right, and the crowd around her joined in. Dr. Dawes seemed uncertain about what to do with this newfound enthusiasm for the spelling bee.

Lucas's turn was next. “Lucas, your word is ‘dugong.'
 
”

Lucas grinned.

“Do you need a definition?” Dr. Dawes asked.

I was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to do that. But Lucas said, “A dugong is like a manatee. You can find them in Asia, Africa, and Australia. When I go to Australia, I'm going to go scuba diving and I hope to see one. Also a cuttlefish. That's ‘cuttle' with
T
s, not ‘cuddle' with
D
s. They are definitely not cuddly.”

“That's interesting, Lucas. But not relevant. Are you ready to spell ‘dugong'?”

“Yes. Dugong.
D-U-G-O-N-G
. Dugong.”

“Correct.”

Max was given the word “flotilla.” You could tell right away he wasn't sure of himself. He rocked back and sucked in his cheeks. But he didn't ask any questions. “Flotilla.
F-L-O-A-T-I-L-L-A
.”

I shook my head as Dr. Dawes said, “I'm sorry, Max. That's not it.”

He sat back in his seat and waited for the round to end.

Chloe got the word “robot.”

Country of origin: Slavic, from “
robota
,” meaning compulsory labor. I looked down at Coco, who smiled back at me. Charlotte was looking at me, too. I could feel her eyes boring into me, and when I checked, she was indeed glaring.

He likes you.

Well, she might feel jealous, but she shouldn't blame me about stupid Mitchell. She could have him if she wanted to. I was still pretty sure that he'd loved her forever.

My turn was next. “Ruth, your word is ‘keelhaul.'
 
”

I think they would have kicked me out of town if I didn't know this nautical word. Still, I asked for the definition because of Coco, and because I just like it.

“This isn't a pleasant one,” Dr. Dawes said. “
 
‘To haul under the keel of a ship as punishment or torture.' Thus, also, ‘to rebuke severely.'
 
”

I didn't know that secondary definition. I wished I could use it in a sentence.
Hey, Charlotte, thanks for keelhauling me.

“Country of origin?”

Mum nodded in the front row.

“Dutch,” Dr. Dawes said.

“Keelhaul.
K-E-E-L-H-A-U-L
. Keelhaul.”

“That is correct. Emma, you're the final speller for this round.”

When Emma and I passed, she gave me the smallest of smiles. I wondered what it meant.

“Emma, your word is ‘mizzle.'
 
”

Emma giggled. “Mizzle?”

“Yes, mizzle.”

“Are there any alternate pronunciations?” She was still smiling. I watched Coco. He was biting his lip. Did he really want her to lose? I didn't think so. And I didn't want him to.

“No, just mizzle.”

She nodded. “May I please have a definition?”

“Mizzle, ‘to rain in very fine drops.' Now
that
is a useful word.”

“Mizzle.
M-I-Z-Z-L-E
. Mizzle.”

“Very good! That ends round six.”

She should have told Max to return to his seat, but she didn't, and he didn't move. She called Charlotte to the microphone. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Max. “Dr. Dawes, I think you—” She was not near enough to the microphone for it to pick up her voice, but we could hear her on the stage. “I mean I think Max—”

“Oh!” Dr. Dawes called out. “I'm so sorry. Max, please take a seat in the audience. A round of applause for Max.”

He scowled at Charlotte as he walked by and whispered something under his breath, something that unsettled her. I saw it in the flash of pink on her cheeks and the way she rubbed her hands on her skirt.

“Charlotte, your word is ‘oolong.'
 
”

Charlotte sucked in her lower lip. I didn't want her to go out this way, thrown off by whatever Max said. But then again, she'd done far better than I thought she would, and she was making me a little nervous.

“Country of origin?”

“Chinese,” Dr. Dawes said merrily.

“You've got this, Char!” Melinda called out, as if Charlotte had somehow absorbed the entire Chinese language in the month she'd spent in an orphanage there.

“Oolong,” Charlotte said. “
O-O-L-O-N-G
. Oolong.”

Correct.

Lucas got “linseed,” Chloe spelled “boysenberry,” I got “genre,” and Emma spelled “honcho.” And so, another round began. And another, and another. We were up to round eleven when Chloe finally went out on “fennec,” an Arabic word for “a small pale-fawn fox.”

Four remained.