A Chance to Bee the Best

For Brayden, with love.

I sat at our secondhand kitchen table chewing my Froot Loops dutifully even though my stomach sloshed with nervous energy. Later this morning, I’d either be crowned the 1989 Giffin Elementary School Spelling Bee Champion or return home as a L-O-S-E-R for the third year in a row. I’d been trying to win since the 3rd grade, almost making it into the final round the previous year before flubbing a homophone I should have known. Afterwards, I promised myself that I would never again let my mouth run ahead of my brain, an impossible undertaking not only for me, but for most people in general. 

Usually, breakfast was my favorite meal of the day, along with lunch, dinner, and after-school Slush Puppies from the Handy Dandy market.  This morning, I had no appetite for anything except victory. Being smart was the only way I had to stand out, unless you counted my free lunch card or the general sense of embarrassment that clung to me just as tightly as the smell of cigarettes and cheap bacon.  

I wanted to leave elementary school as triumphantly as possible, although being the best at anything often felt unattainable in a family as large as mine. I had a dozen cousins on my daddy’s side, and every one of them was popular and athletic. The Burchfield bunch was full of cheerleaders, skateboarders, baseball players, football players, homecoming court beauties, musicians — and me, the dorky, chubby crybaby. My only extra-curricular activity was tooting on my rented clarinet in band class, in hopes it would one day launch me into the Miss America pageant and eventual fame.  

Even though I was about as graceful as a boneless chicken and always the last to be picked for the kickball team, I was a fast reader and a great speller. Maybe even the best in the school. I longed to make my family proud. 

My cousin Brayden had ended up in my class at the beginning of the year. He and I were closer in age than any of my relatives. He’d been like a brother to me right from the start, as evidenced by a faded snapshot in the family album – the two of us in saggy diapers, playing with blocks on the floor and happy as clams.  

I adored Brayden but was also intimidated by his devilish charm. He was irresistible to child and adult alike. I’d lost count of the number of times he’d been forgiven youthful misbehavior after flashing a dimpled smile and promising slyly never to do it again. For every time he’d patiently shown me how to beat Dracula in Castlevania, he’d twice farted on my head and fled the room giggling. 

He was both a natural leader and a born ringleader, a combination well known and, to my bafflement, well respected in the Burchfield family.  

We appreciated each other’s abilities. I was a bookworm, but he liked me anyway. I knew better not to follow in Brayden’s daredevil footsteps – especially when there were no grown-ups around – yet I knew he’d be the first to bop a bully straight in the mouth if they dared mess with me. And when Brayden was the Battle Ball captain during P.E., he’d pick me to be on his team, even knowing that my default setting was to run screaming from the flying foam projectiles rather than trying to catch them. Once I’d escaped unscathed, I’d strut around like the world’s most delusional peacock, thankful that I had been chosen at all. 

After finishing my bowl of cereal, I carefully considered my small wardrobe and chose my favorite dress, a Sears special with white poofy sleeves and a thin pastel pink pinstripe that made me feel like a princess. It had been a gift from Aunt Lola, who would always send a new dress to me and Sissy at the beginning of each school year. Aunt Lola’s taste was more old-fashioned than mine, but I had to agree that every dress she’d picked suited me. I knew I’d be standing in front of the whole school, and I wanted to look my best. 

Mama, Sissy, and I walked abreast down Felix Street. We’d just passed my friend Ginny’s grandma’s house, the halfway point between home and school. Sissy wasn’t yet old enough to attend school, but since babysitters were too expensive and she was plenty smart anyway, she came to Giffin as much as Mama did. 

Mama was the historian of the PTA, a room parent, and a school clinic volunteer. I’d hardly attended a day of school without her. Most of the time, as long as Mama didn’t burst into Mrs. Bird’s room just to make sure I had milk money, I was glad she was around. 

“Thorough. T-H-O-R-O-U-G-H,” I mumbled under my breath. I could spell all of the troublesome “th” words with no problem, if I remembered to go slowly and ask for the definition.  

“How’s it going, Heather Pooh?” Mama asked. 

“I’m nervous,” I answered truthfully. 

Mama had complete confidence in her family’s abilities, yet her encouragement was always seasoned with a dash of pessimism. Life had taught her not to get her hopes up. She knew that poverty was often more of a barnacle than lack of opportunities or lack of sense. I understood her reasoning but still found it nerve-wracking, like a high diver whose coach would never fail to mention that the gold-winning jump would be into a half-empty pool.  

“Heather Pooh, you can win this ole spelling bee. I just know it,” she said. She considered my jittery pace as we crossed over Allen Avenue and added, “but if you get up there and feel like you’re gonna pass out, just look out into the audience and imagine everybody in their drawers. You’ll be fine.” 

Everything made me anxious. I’d survived countless band concerts and music class extravaganzas in front of parents, teachers, and bored, nose-picking kids. At this point, I’d imagined more people in their underwear than the president of Fruit of the Loom.  

“Please stop telling me that,” I said wearily. “It doesn’t help.” 

“Ok,” Mama relented. “There are skidmarks in plenty of pairs of fancy panties, though, and don’t you forget it.” 

I crinkled my nose, grossed out. Luckily, the rest of the walk was uneventful, and I made it to Mrs. Bird’s classroom before the bell. I was glad that the morning’s activities would begin with the spelling bee. I didn’t think my nerves would hold all day. 

Before I knew it, our class was walking in a line down the hallway on our way to the gym, where the assembly would be held. We paused across from the library as usual before turning right and entering. Several grades had already filed in and were sitting on the floor. My heart started to gallop at the sight of the other kids, dreading the moment when they’d all be paying attention to me. 

I broke away from my classmates and joined the other contestants receiving their numbers at the far end of the gymnasium. I took mine from one of the judges and slipped the laminated construction paper over my head, mussing my hair in the process. I sat down in the row of chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of everyone and tried to still my trembling knees. After a minute or two, I was brave enough to scan the room. I thought I caught a glimpse of Mama’s blue school clinic volunteer vest and auburn hair at the back of the room. Sissy was surely standing close by. Brayden and the rest of our class were sitting on the floor, squirmy with excitement. 

Ms. Milani, our principal, called the assembly to order. I liked Ms. Milani. She was young and pretty and dressed in the latest fashions. Today, she’d worn a long blazer over a blouse and slacks and added to it one of the weird skinny ties I’d seen on Mammaw’s favorite TV show, Dallas. J.R., Dallas’ villain, was a big fan of those skinny ties. Unlike J.R., I didn’t think that Ms. Milani would ever punch someone hard enough to fall into a swimming pool, no matter how loud the gym got. 

Ms. Milani warned the audience not to be disruptive. Polite clapping for everyone was ok. Cheering loudly or woof-woof-woofing like Arsenio Hall for class favorites was not. 

My distraction was short-lived. The first contestant had already left his seat and was standing at the microphone. The spelling bee rules were simple – if a contestant didn’t know what a word meant, they could ask for a definition, but they couldn’t stand there all day stalling. If they spelled their word correctly, they’d move onto the next round. This would be repeated until only the winner remained. 

The boy spelled his word correctly and sat back down. When it was my turn, I shuffled to the microphone, legs cramped with fear, and tried to concentrate on a corner of the gym’s yellowed oak floor. I didn’t want to have to look anyone in the eyes or the imaginary underwear. 

I relaxed a little when I heard my first word. It was one I knew. After spelling it quickly, I returned to my seat, and the process repeated twice more until one of the contestants missed a word and was eliminated. 

Time passed quickly, and slowly, dragging me to the limits of elementary school sanity. I had dissociated several rounds ago, no longer feeling my pinched dress shoes or the goosebumps that tightened my forearms. After what felt like an eternity, I began to sense an expanse in the room that had formed after several eliminated contestants. I recognized it as something good, and my mind popped gently back into my body. 

Only two contestants remained – myself and my classmate Lily, a pretty fourth grader with long blonde hair. I thought Lily’s hair was beautiful. She wore fluffy bows or cute barrettes or fancy braids every day, and I longed for locks – and accessories - as lovely as hers.  

Lily was also smart and sweet. I’d enjoyed some time at her house earlier in the year when her mother had hosted all the girls in our class for a sleepover. I couldn’t allow myself to remember how much fun we’d had giving her Barbies makeovers or how good the snacks were. This was war. Nothing mattered now but winning.  

The last minutes of the competition slowed to an agonizing crawl as I waited for the judge to give me my final word. If I spelled it correctly, I would be victorious. I took a shaky breath. 

“Agate,” she said. 

Aaaa-gut I repeated to myself. The word sounded familiar. I know this, I thought, but from where? 

“Agate,” I parroted. “A…” I began, then paused. 

Suddenly, the cloud of letters swirling in my brain settled into their correct order.  

 I know this word! It’s a ROCK! I thought deliriously.  

“A…g…a…t…e,” I spelled carefully. 

“Correct,” the judge said with a smile. 

Correct?  

“Heather, you are the Giffin Elementary School Spelling Bee champion!” said Ms. Milani.  

In shock, I turned to face the audience. They begin to clap, and a few began to woof forbiddingly. The warmth of their congratulations washed over me like a wave. I saw Brayden leap to his feet in jubilation, punching his fist through the air in triumph, and the warm wave grew as tall as a skyscraper.  

Along with Brayden’s cheers, I heard Mama’s happy hollering from the back of the auditorium. The wave crashed, an ocean’s worth of love pouring over me. They were proud of me! Really, really proud.

Embarrassingly, tears sprung to my eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry. I repeated to myself. Only Miss America gets to cry when she wins.  

My tears did not listen. Desperately, I tugged at Ms. Milani’s oversized blazer. She bent down to meet me. 

“Can I get a drink of water?” I asked, idiotically. It was the only way I could think to reset without completely running out of the room. She looked confused but nodded.  

As the audience continued to clap, I walked quickly to the white ceramic water fountain in the corner of the gym and flipped the handle to activate the stream. Luckily, I misjudged how far I needed to turn it, and cold water shot up in an arc and splashed me in the nose. The surprise was so great, it shut off my tears.  

I wiped my wet nose on the back of my hand and hurried back to Ms. Milani before the applause died completely. She handed me a beautiful gold and blue trophy. The colors were deep and rich. Gold was the color of royalty and the color of winning medals.  

I knew I’d place it on my and Sissy’s shared dresser at home, so I could look at it every day. Even better than the trophy would be my memory of Brayden leaping high into the air as I finally left my mark. The Burchfield family had another c-h-a-m-p-i-o-n, and this time, it was me.