Akeelah and the Bee by James W. Ellison Page B

the pronunciation again?” he said.
    “He’s given it to you five times now,” the Judge said, clearly running out of patience.
    Javier tapped his hearing aid. “Hello? Is this thing
working? Mom,” he called out to the audience, “did you bring my spare battery?” There was a wave of nervous laughter in the audience.
    When Javier saw Akeelah and Mr. Welch rushing down the aisle, he said, “Ah, never mind. ‘Ratatouille.’ R-a-t-a-t-o-u-i-l-l-e.”
    He winked at Akeelah and strolled to his chair, leaving the Judges dazed and confused.
    “Okay, where’s Number seventy-three?” the Judge said. “I’m afraid she’s going to have to be—”
    “She’s right here,” Mr. Welch yelled out. He ushered Akeelah back onstage. Dylan, watching closely, shook his head and frowned. As Akeelah walked past Javier, he whispered, “Where were you? I was about to start tap dancing, and if that didn’t work I planned to faint.”
    “Thanks, Javier,” she whispered, and stepped up to the mike.
    “The word is ‘pluviosity,’” said the Pronouncer.
    Tanya entered the auditorium and stood in the back, watching her daughter onstage, a whisper of a proud smile on her lips.
    “Can I get a definition?” Akeelah said.
    “‘A state characterized by much rain; a condition of being rainy.’”
    Akeelah took a deep breath and looked out at her mother watching her closely. She smiled and then said, “‘Pluviosity.’ P-l-u-v-i-o-s-i-t-y.”
    Tanya, her face suffused with amazement and pride, applauded heartily as her daughter took her seat.
    Finally the contest was reduced to the three who
would go to Washington, D.C., for the National Bee: Dylan took first place, Javier second, and Akeelah third. Photographers snapped pictures of the three finalists. Flashbulbs burst and the three were interviewed.
    Akeelah said, “I’ve got so many people to thank for this chance to win the National Bee, I don’t know where to start. But there’s my teacher, Ms. Cross, who got me to enter my school bee. Then there’s Mr. Welch, my principal, standing over there. And a whole lot of other folks, friends and fellow students. And then there’s Dr. Larabee, my spelling coach, and without him I wouldn’t be here talkin’ to you now. And there’s my mother, Tanya Anderson, who’s been so great. I love you, Ma….”

Ten
    A huge blown-up newspaper photograph of the three finalists with the caption GOING TO THE NATIONAL BEE! was hanging over a pep rally in honor of Akeelah. The Crenshaw Middle School students cheered as the band played. Akeelah, overwhelmed by the fanfare, stood to the side while Mr. Welch addressed the crowd.
    “We at Crenshaw have a lot to be proud of today,” he intoned. “Thank you all for coming to this pep rally to honor our very own Akeelah Anderson. When she goes on and wins the National Spelling Bee”—the cheers ratcheted up to roars—“Crenshaw Middle School will be on the map!” He turned to Akeelah and gave her a hug. “Now, why don’t I let the star of the moment say a few words. Akeelah…”
    She simply stood there, staring out at the sea of faces, almost in a state of shock. Was this really happening to her or was it all a dream? How was it possible that little Akeelah Anderson, the one-time school weirdo, bookworm, and social outcast, could now suddenly be the flavor of the month? If it was a dream, she never wanted to awaken.
    She slowly stepped up to the mike at Mr. Welch’s frantic urging while the applause rained down on her.
    “Um…thanks,” she said. “Thanks a lot.”

    She looked over at Mr. Welch, not sure what else to say. He rushed back to the mike.
    “What do you think about your chances in D.C., Akeelah?”
    “Well…it’s gonna be hard. ’Cause a lotta the other kids come from schools with Latin classes and stuff. One school I know of even teaches Greek.” She smiled out at the audience. “Y’know, I’ve been buggin’ Mr. Welch here for, like, a month to get a Latin