“Mom, I look dumb,” said Bethany, looking at herself in the bedroom mirror, trying to smooth down the obnoxious ruffles of her pink and white dress. “Why do I have to wear this stupid thing?”
Her mother smiled at her through the mirror, her brown eyes twinkling. “Honey, you look adorable. You have to wear this. Now, why don’t you let me fix your hair?” She reached for her daughter’s abundant curls, but Bethany pulled away.
“No, you’ll just put in ugly French braids again.”
“You have to look your best, Bethany. This is your special day!"
Bethany crossed her tan arms across her small chest and frowned at her mother. This was a spelling bee, not a wedding. She was nervous enough already; the last thing she needed was to stand out like a sore thumb.
“Fine, Beth. Dress yourself. But don’t look too trashy.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Bethany slipped out of the itchy dress, handing it to her mother to put back in the closet. In her underwear, she walked to her dresser and pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a comfy blue sweater. “This will work, Mom. People wear jeans to these things,” she said when she noticed the skeptical look on her mother’s face.
“Are you ready? Have you practiced your words?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Okay. Spell ‘elegiacal.’ ”
Bethany sighed with impatience. “E - L - E - G - I - A - C - A - L. Can we go now? The school is twenty minutes away.”
“Okay, Honey. Get your coat.”
“But I’m wearing a sweater.”
“I said, ‘get your coat.’ ”
Bethany sighed again, frustrated that her mother felt the need to be so controlling. Still, she put on her ugly puffy winter coat anyway, even though it was 50 degrees in February.
The car ride was almost unbearable for Bethany, mostly because her heart wouldn’t stop pounding in her throat. Her gut kept attacking her, giving her the worst gas imaginable, which was especially bad due to the fact that they were in a small enclosed space with the heat blasting (even though it was fairly warm outside, her mother refused to turn it off).
After a few minutes of this mega Dutch oven, her mother was forced to roll down a window, waving her free hand in front of her face.
“Good lord, Bethany. I told you not to get the chili last night; you know what beans do to you.”
Bethany sunk low in her seat. “Sorry, Mom.”
“That reminds me…” her mother said, a playful grin on her face. “Spell ‘gorgonzola.’ ”
Bethany’s face flushed red, and she put her hands over her eyes. “Mom, no...”
“It’s on your list. Spell it!”
“G - O - R - G - O - N - Z - O - L - A,” she said reluctantly, her hands making her voice sound muffled.
Her mother chuckled lightheartedly. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”
And sure enough, it was less than a minute before her mother’s minivan pulled into the parking lot of Oak Creek High School, where the Regional Spelling Bee was taking place this year.
Bethany’s heart rate picked up, knowing that in just a few minutes, she would be spelling against 14 other eighth graders, all of whom won their own District spelling bees.
“Mom, I’m nervous,” she said, still crouched in the passenger seat, the seat belt wrapped around her knees.
“You’ll be fine. You know all these words. You can win, I just know it!” Her mother was already out of the car, trying to coax her out of the passenger side door. “Come on, get out of the car. We’re gonna be late.”
Bethany resisted even further. “No. I don’t wanna.”
Her mother smiled at her sympathetically. “Bethany, I know you love the spelling bee. Think of how sad you’ll be if you miss it.”
Bethany looked at her mother through her dark eyelashes, knowing very well that she was right. Although she was nervous, she knew that she had to do it. The word list was very easy for her; the spelling bee would be a piece of cake.
She took in a deep breath, unbuckled her seatbelt, and stepped out of the car. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Her mother gave a satisfied smile, and together they walked across the parking lot and through the double doors of the high school.
Immediately, they were met with a sea of fifth-through-eighth graders and their parents, all running through their word lists one last time. Bethany’s eyes widened as the pit in her stomach grew larger, taking away her ability to breathe comfortably. She should’ve known that the place would’ve been packed, but she was caught way off guard, giving her a terribly uneasy feeling.
“Mom,” she said, out of breath. “Too many people…”
Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “We’ve been through this before, Bethany. Your thoughts about it are much worse than actually doing it. You’re always fine.”
Her mother was right. The spelling bees always turned out okay, even if she’d rather lie in a corner and avoid human contact for hours and hours. She’d just have to convince her nerves of that.
“Bethany, over here,” her mother said, guiding her to a table with a sign that said “8TH GRADE.” Bethany’s name card was easy to find; she was one of the last ones there. She hung the string around her neck, now letting everyone know that she was “Bethany Nolan,” contestant number thirteen.
“How do I look?” said Bethany, trying to take her mind off her nerves by showing off her official spelling bee name tag. She spun around once for effect.
Her mother gave her a round of applause. “Fabulous! I’m sure you’re the smartest kid here.”
“I hope so…” Bethany said, uncertain. “Well, I have to at least be the smartest eighth grader…”
“Do you want to practice your words to make sure?”
“Okay…”
Her mother fiddled with the papers, taking a moment to find a good word for Bethany to spell. “Spell ‘xanthosis’.”
“Xanthosis,” said Bethany. “X - A - N - T - H - O - S - I - S. Xanthosis.”
“Very good. Spell ‘promiscuous’.”
“Promiscuous. P - R - O - M - I - S - C - U - O - U - S. Promiscuous.”
After that, Bethany spelled “serrefine,” “croissant,” “psoriasis,” “vignette,” “intelligible,” “insouciant” and “chlorophyll” all perfectly before the spelling bee director came out to tell all of the eighth graders that it was time to take the stage. As per usual, the spelling bees for all grades would take place at the same time in different places throughout the building. The eighth graders were to spell in the auditorium.
Bethany’s stomach churned, and for a moment, she considered making a trip to the bathroom, but decided against it; she didn’t want to make everyone wait for her.
She walked into the auditorium behind the other eighth-grade spelling bee champions, while her mother took a seat in the audience with the other parents. She waved to Bethany, giving her a thumbs-up. Bethany gave a weak thumbs-up back.
Finally, all the spellers were on stage, in order of the numbers on their name cards. Bethany sat in the thirteenth chair, feeling the foam seat squish under her butt. She sat on her hands, trying to stop the shaking before it was her turn to spell.
Bethany could barely hear the introductions made by the announcer and the judges; she was too busy listening to the blood pounding in her ears.
Finally, the spelling bee was under way, and the first speller, Jonathan Maki, contestant number one, stood at the microphone.
The pronouncer, a tiny little woman with barrettes in her hair, told him his first word, “apricot.” She was starting at the beginning of the list, getting the easy ones out of the way before they got to the tough stuff.
Jonathan cleared his throat and began. “Apricot,” he repeated. “A.P.R.I.C.O.T. Apricot.”
Bethany was stunned by how quickly he spat out the letters. He spelled the word perfectly. Even though it was a simple word, Bethany felt intimidated by him; she had always resented the Fast Spellers.
The next word was “feather,” which Amelia MacDonald, contestant number two, spelled with ease. Bethany liked her pace better. She enunciated each letter clearly, which was exactly how Bethany did it. Slowly and carefully was how she avoided silly mistakes.
The next few spellers spelled their words correctly, and as her turn approached closer and closer, the tighter her stomach felt. Her hands were starting to feel clammy, even though she was still sitting on them.
Finally, Penelope Grange, contestant number twelve, spelled “American” in a choppy pattern, which was another pet peeve of Bethany’s. The Choppy Spellers just made her feel even more anxious than she already was.
Penelope sat back down, and now it was Bethany’s turn. She stood up, her legs already starting to feel like Jello, and made her way to the microphone in the center of the stage.
“Bethany,” said the Barrette Lady in a soft tone. “Your word is ‘doorbell.’ ”
Bethany’s stomach loosened up a bit as she prepared to spell this simple compound word. “Okay,” she said. “Doorbell. D - O - O - R - B - E - L - L. Doorbell.”
“Correct,” said the Barrette Lady as Bethany sat back down.
The last two spellers spelled their words correctly, and thus began round two.
Everything went as smoothly as the first time around, except that Jeremy Landon, contestant number six, ironically misspelled “misspell.” Bethany almost laughed out loud at this, but, once again, her nerves were getting the better of her.
When it was her turn again, Bethany stood at the microphone again, but this time, there was a different feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Uh oh, she thought. I really should’ve gone to the bathroom.
“Bethany,” said the Barrette Lady once more. “Your word is ‘climax.’ ”
Even though her stomach was gurgling, she relaxed a bit, because she was able to spell this word in her sleep.
“Climax,” she said, but before she could say anything else, she felt an intense pain in her stomach that felt like diarrhea. Her stomach gurgled audibly, and she had to hold on to the mic stand to keep herself from doubling over. “Climax,” she repeated. “C.” Gurgling. “L.” Stabs of pain. “I.” More gurgling. “A.” Bethany clutched at her stomach. She was desperate to be finished with this word. “X.” She was finished. She turned to sit back down, relieved to have gotten through that, but then she heard the dreaded “ding” of a misspelled word. She spun back around to face the Barrette Lady, an incredulous look on her face.
“I’m sorry, Bethany, but the correct spelling was C - L - I - M - A - X. You’ve been disqualified.”
Bethany couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could she have misspelled one of the easiest words on her list? Six little letters, but she somehow only mentioned five? Her stomach gurgled again, reminding her that if she had just gone to the bathroom, she wouldn’t have forgotten that petty “m.”
Still, she obediently scurried off the stage and straight to her mother, who had both of her hands over her mouth. Like Bethany, she was speechless.
“Come on,” she said quickly.
“Oh, Beth, I’m so sorry. But don’t you want to stay and get your ribbon?”
“No, I don’t want a stupid participation ribbon,” she said. “Let’s just go. I really have to use the bathroom.”
After Bethany relieved herself, she and her mother walked to the van in silence. The drive home was even more painful. Bethany cried. Whenever her mother tried to talk to her, she either ignored her or snapped at her. She just wanted to wallow in her own misery and not talk to anyone ever again.
When they finally arrived home, Bethany made a beeline to the living room, where she curled herself into a tight little ball in the corner of the couch, her fuzzy blue blanket wrapped around her arms and over her head. Tears were steadily trickling down her cheeks and her sobs were gradually turning into hiccups, the type of hiccups that she could never get rid of no matter how long she tried to hold her breath.
“Hey, are you in there?” she heard her mother say through the thickness of her blanket.
She covered her face further. “No,” she replied stubbornly.
Suddenly, the couch cushion shifted next to her and she knew that her mother was sitting there to violate her personal space. She just wanted to be alone.
She felt her mother’s hand touch her shoulder gently, but she jerked and pushed that hand away. “No, Mom, don’t touch me!” she cried.
She heard her mother sigh deeply. “Everything will be okay. I promise. It was just a spelling bee.”
Bethany said nothing because her mother didn’t understand that this was much more than just a spelling bee.
This was her dignity, her pride, her reputation as the “smart girl.” It felt like the end of the world to Bethany that all of this, all that she had worked for, was utterly and completely undone just by a little bit of gas.
