Akeelah and the Bee (8 page)

“It ain’t no whim.”

“It is to me.”

“It was the same thing on the weekend. You couldn’t come. All the other kids had their parents at the District Bee.”

“Well, maybe the ‘other kids’ got parents with time on their hands. Time and money. Now I will
not
have another child disappearing at all hours. One Terrence is enough. So if this spelling thing means sneakin’ off to the
suburbs by yourself, then you can just forget about it. We’re calling it off.”

“We can’t call it off! I’m going to the Regional Bee.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Akeelah. You’re eleven and I’m still your mother.”

“I’m going, Ma. I have to.”

“Not if you flunk out of school you’re not. I just got a letter that says you gotta take summer school to make up for all the classes you skipped.”

“Summer school? But, Ma, I hate Crenshaw. It’s boring, it’s full of idiots, and nobody cares. I mean the students
and
the teachers.”

“You think they care about you at Woodland Hills? You think all those rich white folks are gonna welcome you with open arms?”

“Well, at least they got Latin classes and the kids don’t have to study in the stairwells. They’re doin’ things right at their school, and we ain’t doin’
nothin’
right.”

“Good for them,” Tanya said. “Hur
ray
for them. But until you finish summer school at Crenshaw, where last I knew you’re still a student, there’s gonna be no more talk of spelling bees.”

“But, Ma, the State Regionals happen
during
the summer.”

“Then you’re just gonna have to wait to do it next year. Getting a passing grade is more important than a buncha words.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“Not only is it fair,” Tanya said, “it’s final.”

Beside herself with frustration and anger, Akeelah turned and stomped off to her room and flung herself down at her desk. She was seething now, all sleepiness gone. She looked at her father’s picture, studied his face closely as she had done so many times before.

“You’d let me do it,” she said out loud. “I know you would. You always encouraged me to do everything. ‘Sky’s the limit,’ you used to tell me.”

She sat there fuming for a long moment, looking at her father expectantly, as though she was waiting for him to talk, to ease her pain. Then it occurred to her what she needed to do. From her notebook she pulled out the parental consent form for the Southern California Regional Spelling Bee. She studied it and then looked up at her father’s picture.

“You know I have to do this, Daddy. I don’t have a choice.”

She took a deep breath and slowly signed the bottom of the form, forging her father’s careful handwriting.

Akeelah stood in front of Dr. Larabee’s house the following Monday, the first day of summer vacation. She took a deep breath, muttered “Good luck, girl,” then rang the buzzer. After a few moments, Dr. Larabee answered the door. They stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to start the conversation.

Akeelah said finally, “1979. ‘Maculature.’ M-a-c-u-l-a-t-u-r-e. 1990. ‘Fibranne.’ F-i-b-r-a-n-n-e. 1996. ‘Vivisepulture.’ V-i-v-i-s-e-p-u-l-t-u-r-e.”

She took a breath. He looked at her, his head cocked to one side, the trace of a smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

“I learned all the winning words since 1924. Just like you said I should.” She waited for him to respond, but when he didn’t she rushed on, saying, “I’m sorry for being so insolent last time. That’s not gonna happen no more—anymore. I promise.” Again she waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. “So I was wondering…I was wondering if you might reconsider coaching me for the State Bee. ’Cause I need a coach. Bad.”

There was a long pause as he seemed to consider what she was proposing. Then he let out a long, deep breath.

“Badly,” he corrected her. “You need a coach badly.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He stepped back into the house, leaving the door half open behind him. Akeelah hesitantly ventured into the foyer and was immediately impressed by the antique wooden moldings and by how immaculate and well kept the house was. He might live in a bad neighborhood—her neighborhood—but his house was really cool.

“Wipe your feet,” he said.

She turned back to the doormat and did as she was told. Dr. Larabee disappeared through an office door at the end of a long hall. Akeelah hesitated and then followed him. Swallowing back nervousness, she entered the impressive room flanked by two towering bookcases made of polished walnut. On the wall were framed university degrees from Yale and UCLA, as well as photographs of Dr. Larabee as a younger man on the Yale football team and with a pretty black woman with a dazzling smile.

Dr. Larabee moved behind his desk, every inch the professor. Standing hunched over his computer, he finished typing something and then, without looking up, said, “So tell me, Akeelah. What guarantee do I have that I can trust you?”

“’Scuse me?”

“I don’t want to squander my time on someone who’s not committed. Commitment is crucial for success. Work, hard work, work all the time, practically in your sleep. That’s what it’s going to take.”

“Well, I’m committed.”

He finally looked up at her, but she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. She thought she detected a hint of warmth.

“How do I know that? You’re a very unpredictable little girl. Blowing warm, then blowing cold.”

“All I can do is make you a promise,” Akeelah responded calmly. “And if that’s insufficient, well, I’m sorry, sir. All I have is my word.”

She held Dr. Larabee’s gaze as he slowly nodded. After a pause, he sat down behind his desk and gestured for her to take a seat. Akeelah saw a more recent photo of Dr. Larabee and the pretty woman with the dazzling smile.

“She’s beautiful,” Akeelah said, nodding at the wall. “She your wife?”

Ignoring her question, Dr. Larabee said, “Listen—you got lucky at the District Bee. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “I’m aware of it.”

“The competition’s much stronger at the state level. You’re up against kids who have practiced for years, kids who can afford private tutors. So if we were to prepare for that, we’d do it on
my
schedule. I administer online classes in the afternoon”—he glanced at his computer—“so that means we’d work in the mornings. Can you handle that? You must know by now that I won’t tolerate tardiness.”

“Well, I’m supposed to have summer school, but Mr. Welch said workin’ with you could take the place of it.”

“Summer school? Isn’t that for students who fail to perform satisfactorily during the year?”

“Yes,” Akeelah said evasively. “But sometimes it’s for kids who wanna get
ahead
for next year.”

She smiled, but could tell he wasn’t buying it. His eyes had that steely look that was a little scary.

“Do you have any goals in life?” he said. “Something you feel passionate about?”

“Huh?”

“Goals
. What do you want to be when you grow up? A doctor? Lawyer? Stand-up comic? You’re only eleven, but you must have given this some thought.”

“I dunno. The only thing I’m good at is spelling.”

Dr. Larabee studied her again at length.

“Go over there,” he said. “To that plaque on the wall. Read what it says.”

Akeelah hesitated and then walked across the room to a small brown plaque with an engraving on it. She started to read it to herself.

“Aloud,” Dr. Larabee said. “Read it aloud.”

“Uh… ‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.’” She frowned before going on, wondering if those words could be true. She had never seen fear that way. Fear diminished you, and it diminished you because it made you face your shortcomings. She was sure of it, and yet…. She continued to read: “‘We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you
not
to be those things? Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.’”

She looked at Dr. Larabee, wondering what he would say, what he would ask her, how she would respond.

“It’s a quote from Marianne Williamson’s book
A Return to Love
. Does it mean anything to you?” he said.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Akeelah. It’s written in plain English. What does it mean? You’re an intelligent girl. Use your intelligence.”

“That I’m not supposed to be afraid, I guess,” she said.

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of… me?”

“You’re close.”

He waved. “Come here.”

She approached his desk, tapping lightly on her thigh.

“This bee, this National Spelling Bee, it’s a tough nut. You don’t have any idea how tough it is. I’ve seen it chew kids up and spit them out. And if you want to get there, you can’t be a shrinking violet. You have to stand up and show people what you can do. All right?”

Akeelah nodded.

“And I’ll brook no nonsense,” he continued. “You show up every day, on time. With no attitude. Otherwise it’s over. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“The quote was telling you that you’re afraid of your potential. You have no need to be. If you work hard your potential will manifest itself, and my guess is, slowly you’ll lose your fear. Think about it.”

Dr. Larabee rose from his desk and said, “We start tomorrow. Nine a.m. sharp. You’re going to learn to visualize words, because words are not ethereal. They’re pictures. Pictures of ideas. And if you can see the picture, you can see the word.”

On the day of Javier’s birthday party, Kiana drove a nicely dressed Akeelah through Woodland Hills. Kiana had borrowed the car, an old red Mustang, from her current boyfriend. Georgia sat in the backseat, and they were listening to rap on the radio while Akeelah monitored the passing house numbers.

“Mama’d trip if she knew I borrowed the car from Maurice. She hates Maurice.”

“Well, you got to admit, Kiana, he’s a little slow on the uptake.”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t need no rocket scientist. He’s a good guy. That means a lot to me after the experiences I’ve had. Anyway, what Mama ain’t gonna know ain’t gonna hurt her.”

“Stop!” Akeelah said suddenly. “Here it is.”

Kiana pulled up to the curb in front of Javier’s house, festooned with balloons. The house was a large white Colonial with four columns, and Georgia whistled. “That’s some crib, girl,” she said, nudging Akeelah. “These folks must be filthy rich.”

Akeelah got out of the car, but Georgia was not budging. She looked warily at Javier’s house—and the backyard party in full swing, mostly full of white kids.

“You coming, Georgia?”

“I guess I’ll go to the mall with Kiana instead.”

“I thought you were excited about this party.”

Javier had spotted them and came running out from the backyard, waving his hand and grinning.

“Hey, Akeelah!”

“Okay, whatever,” she said to Georgia. “I’ll see you later.”

Georgia looked uneasy as she watched Akeelah scamper off with Javier. She couldn’t understand Akeelah’s attraction to Woodland Hills and all these white kids. Their neighborhood wasn’t much, but at least it was their neighborhood. It was where they belonged, where they felt comfortable and they were with their own kind.

In the backyard Javier introduced Akeelah around. A blindfolded young girl took a whack at a piñata with a baseball bat. A group of kids threw beanbags into a cardboard clown’s mouth. Others played soccer, doing more screaming than kicking and ball-butting, and Dylan Watanabe deftly maneuvered the ball through his opponents.

Akeelah turned to Javier with a frown. “Why’d you invite
him?
You don’t even like him.”

They each had grabbed a slice of birthday cake and were eating at a table under a ginkgo tree.

“My dad’s friends with his dad. I’m surprised he showed up. I know he’s not exactly crazy about me.”

“Hey, Javier,” Roman shouted, “we need another player!”

“No, that’s okay. Count me out. Old war injury.” He tapped his hearing aid and grinned.

“You can’t play ’cause of your hearing aid?” Akeelah asked.

“That’s just an excuse. I suck at soccer. But the hearing aid gets me off the hook. Come on—I’ll show you my house.”

He took Akeelah by the hand and led her up the stairs and down the hallway. She noticed the paintings on the walls. The house was like a miniature museum.

“Dang, this place is like a mansion,” she said.

“I guess it is a mansion, though I’ve never thought of it that way.”