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clean auditorium, Akeelah noted with envy. Many of the parents were giving their children last-minute spelling drills. Akeelah was dumbfounded, and more than a little overwhelmed, at the number of kids entered in the competition.
    “Dang,” she said to Mr. Welch, “I didn’t know there would be this many.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said, squeezing her arm.
“Go get your number. We’ll sit as close to the front as we can get.” He smiled. “Break a leg, Akeelah.”
    She looked puzzled. “Break a leg?”
    “That’s an old saying in the theatrical world, wishing an actor good luck.”
    “Break a leg,” she said, nodding. “That’s funny.” Akeelah eyed the baby apprehensively and said to her sister, “Maybe you shouldn’t sit too close.”
    “Good luck, Keelie,” Kiana said with a grin and a wink.
    Looking numb and scared, Akeelah walked slowly up to a long table at the front of the auditorium, where volunteers handed out large-size numbers for the contestants to pin to their shirts.
    “Name?” a volunteer said, smiling up at Akeelah.
    “Akeelah Anderson.”
    The volunteer scanned the list and said, “Here you are, right here at the top. Hmm, I think you’re the first speller we’ve ever had from Crenshaw Middle School.”
    Akeelah responded with a forced smile. “How many kids are entered in this thing?”
    “One hundred thirty-nine.”
    “That many?” Akeelah shook her head, feeling way out of her league. One hundred thirty-eight against her. Well, no. She had a one in ten chance to make it to the next round, but still, the odds were overwhelming. She took her number, thanked the volunteer, and struggled to pin it to her shirt.
    “Need some help?”
    Akeelah turned to face a young Hispanic boy, about
her height, who had a cherubic face and a cheerful expression. He wore a hearing aid and his speech was slightly slurred.
    “Javier Mendez,” he said with a wide grin. “Twelve years old. Brilliant speller. Suave dancer. May I pin you?”
    “Akeelah Anderson,” she said with a giggle.
    “Akeelah—that’s a pretty name. Well, Akeelah, l’ll try not to impale you. This your first time?”
    “Yeah. Except for a bee at my school this week. You?”
    “Second year. I made it to the Nationals last year. I finished thirteenth. Lucky thirteenth.”
    He struck a heroic pose and flexed his muscles. Akeelah began to realize that he was a bit of a clown. She also sensed that he was kind and she instantly warmed to him.
    “You went all the way to D.C.?” she said.
    “Yup. Three of us made it from my school, Woodland Hills. See that kid over there? His name is Dylan Watanabe.” Javier pointed to a Japanese boy Akeelah recognized from the telecast of last year’s National Spelling Bee. He was sitting next to his stern-faced father, listening attentively.
    “Dylan’s come in second place at the Nationals two years in a row. This is his last year of eligibility and everybody thinks he’s gonna win. Frankly, I’d like to shove him off a steep precipice.”
    “That’s good thinking,” Akeelah said. “That way you get rid of the competition.”
    Javier gave a high-pitched giggle. “I like girls with a sense of humor. I hope you make the top ten.”
    “I hope I’m not the first one eliminated.”

    The Judge’s voice boomed out over the PA system. “Will all the spellers take their assigned seats on the stage, please?”
    “Ten- hut ,” Javier said, giving a mock salute. “Now remember”—he peered hard at her name pinned to her shirt—“Akeelah Anderson, if you don’t know a word, spell it the way it sounds. Kids mess up all the time thinking they’re being thrown a curveball when they’re not. They outsmart themselves.” He reached for her hand and they shook. “Good luck,” he said.
    “Good luck to you, too, Javier.”
    He started goose-stepping up to the stage and Akeelah could not help giggling. She nervously looked back at Kiana and Mr. Welch, who gave her the