It was Wednesday, but to Lyza it still felt like Monday. Not in the sense that the day had the attributes of a Monday: fresh start to the beginning of the week, sleeping in the day before, and having only a little more than half a day to herself. It just felt like Monday—like Monday had never ended.
As the day wound down, she thought of what she had done between yesterday and today. She had to prove that this was a separate day than Monday. Indeed she did go home, and pulled out the vocab book. Until dinner she wrote out every word from unit one to unit four, six times each; stopping only when her hand began to cramp up.
The spelling bee was on her mind all day. Somewhere, some part of her knew exactly what was going on. It was obvious that Rini, who was currently across the room talking with Bitty and Betty, had put her name down on the list.
So why did she go with it? She could not truly figure that out. Even now she got the impulse to go to Ms. Hupp and rescind her participation. But something in a part of her brain always managed to quickly quell that impulse and convince her that she should play along. That she should just take on this role as if she had signed up of her own volition. She felt this rationale had a plan; it knew something she didn't. If she played along, she would find out.
When the bell rang, and all of the kids began shoving their way out of the door, she stayed behind. There wasn't any point in messing with that crowd today, even if Ritzer was still out sick—so Panda deduced. Practice for the bee was going to be held in the music room.
After that it was a mystery. Kval said he would handle telling mom and dad about the meeting with Ms. Hupp. When she asked last night to make sure, he said it was taken care of. She didn't want to think about that any more, and let it go.
”Hey Lyz,” Emeral said, coming to sit by her friend. “Is your brother running late?”
She shook her head. “No, I'm... staying after.” She noticed that Emeral was pulling out some of her books. “You're... staying after, too?”
”Yeah,” Emeral stated, a little hesitantly. “Why are you staying?”
”Spelling bee.” She replied.
”Oh! I didn't know you signed up for that.” The tigress smiled. “So is today that practice-thing?”
Lyza nodded. “Why are you staying late?” It was a fair question.
”Uh...” She looked over at Ms. Hupp across the room.
She was with Ket, and they were getting started on his extra studies.
“Ket and I both stay after,” she explained carefully. “He's... actually studying for the sixth grade RSBT. If he passes it, he can go into seventh grade.”
”Oh.” Lyza said, loosening her nonchalance just a little. “I didn't know you could get promoted like that... But, why do you still have to stay?” When she looked back to her friend, Emeral's hand was clenched around the pen she held.
”We walk home together,” she said lightly. “My house is kind of on the way to his.”
Lyza smiled, but it wilted very quickly. “I guess I should get going, see you later.”
”See ya,” Emeral said. As Lyza pulled her backpack up and went out the classroom door, exchanging goodbye with Ms. Hupp, she couldn't help but feel a sense of jamais vu; as if she had just met Emeral for the first time.
* * *
The music room was one of Lyza's most favorite of places in the whole school. Just across the hall from Ms. Hupp's room, more-or-less, the music room had the same uniform things about it that every room of the fifth-grade hall had. The back was a white-tile floor with shoe-scuffs and a crack in the corner. The rest was carpeted in a color between blue and purple. Along the wall opposite the door was a row of windows that gave a feint glimpse of the outside world. On the adjacent wall, where there was carpeting, was the whiteboard.
But what made this room special were all the instruments. Instead of wood-top metal desks and plastic blue chairs, the kids sat upon the ground. Usually, in a big group facing the front or in a big circle facing each other.
And around them, where they could be placed, were instruments. Several keyboards, some oft-coveted drum-pads, a xylophone and a bucket full of percussion instruments: claves, cowbells, chácaras, ganzás, a güiro, maracas, ratchets, sand-blocks, tambourines, triangles, wind chimes, and wood blocks. In the back-cabinets were even more instruments that were rarely, if ever, brought out to see the artificial light. That was where the recorders were stored, and there was also a steel drum that Lyza knew about.
But the instruments were also flawed, which made them kind of endearing. The percussion instruments were much-abused, contusions and abrasions abound. The xylophone keys would pop off sometimes from loosened screws and one of the mallets had broken so the set was always an unmatched pair: one soft, big and red; the other small, rubber and gray.
The electric drum sets were probably the most damaged. Superficially they did not seem so, albeit the bright scars on the plastic frames about the pads. Signs of missed aim and careless abandon, always most prevalent on the near side of the two middle pads, and of them the right-most. The real damage resided in the electronics; on almost all the quartet of sets, there was at least one pad that, when hit, did not produce a sound. Other than the abusive thump, of course.
The most prevalent instrument, the keyboard, was also the most reliable. While they looked a little ugly in some cases—with worn-down keys more the color of two-day old neglected teeth than ivory, some with crusty-things on them like barnacles, and a few with a crack or a chip—there was only one keyboard with a few keys that did not work. And even then, they could be coaxed to play, if they were pressed very very hard.
The music room was one of Lyza's favorite rooms; but, after school it was much different than during. The only change in its ambiance was that the lights had been turned off. But that was enough to make it a completely different place. While the natural lighting was plenty to see by, the objects of the room gave the feeling of stepping into a living chiaroscuro painting.
Were it not for the near-octet other people in the room, Lyza would have felt too perturbed to take another step.
”Ah,” spoke the voice of Mr. Wiggin; “You must be Lyza. Come in, don't be shy.”
He had a voice that reminded her of a Native American. His words were spoken deliberately, and he pronounced certain consonants in a way that caught the ears' attention just a bit. He was a red wolf, and the only one she knew of. He had the body of a wolf, but his face made her think of a fox; it made his appearance to the eyes like that of a Rubin vase.
There were seven other kids in the room, seated in a circle on on the floor—as was Mr. Wiggin. She took her place to the left of a beaver-boy, who was biting his nails.
”Now that we're all here,” Mr. Wiggin spoke, tapping his pen on a binder that was set in his lap. “Why don't we go around the circle and introduce ourselves. Say your name, what grade you're in, who your teacher is, and maybe tell us your favorite word? Let's start with you, Max—fingers out of your mouth. please.”
The beaver, almost shamefully, removed his fingers. “M...my name is Max... I'm in fifth grade. You're my teacher,” he said to Mr. Wiggin, “and...my favorite word is...” He thought for a few seconds; “Pickle.”
”Thanks for starting us off, Max. Next?—We'll go to the right.”
”My name is Andrew,” spoke the otter, “I'm in fifth grade, Mrs. Rinder's class. My favorite word is 'Radius'.”
”Thank you Andrew. Next?—You don't have to wait for me, when they're done just take the reigns.”
”My name is Alexis,” the corgi spoke daintily, causing a giggle from the girl next to her; “I'm in the best grade—fourth—and my favorite word is 'Googol'.”
”That's not a word,” Max protested. “That's the internet.”
”Now, Max—“ Mr. Wiggin tried to speak, but the girl next to Alexis interrupted.
”It is too a word. A googol is a one, followed by a hundred zeros.”
”Tell us your name?” Mr. Wigging chimed, trying to keep the momentum going.
”My name is Hannah,” She was a very spunky-looking sugar-glider; “I'm also in fourth grade, my teacher is Mrs. Grigner, and my favorite word is 'Antidisestablishmentarianism'.”
”Now that isn't a word!” Andrew stated defiantly.
”Yes it is, Drew,” the boy next to Hannah muttered, a little bit annoyed. “Goren. Fifth grade. Mrs. Rinder. 'Simultaneous'.”
”Das nodda wurrd!” Alexis jibed, looking at Andrew and Max.
Hannah stuck her tongue out.
”Now everyone,” Mr. Wiggin spoke patiently. His voice, although soft, somehow gripped their attention and disobedience. “I'm glad you're all so competitive, but let's be nice and have good sportsmanship. Let's keep going.”
”My name is Barney,” the sun bear almost interrupted Mr. Wiggin. “And my favorite word is 'gallop'.”
”Thank you, Barney—“
”Oh! And I'm in fourth grade.”
”Thanks—“
”Oh! And my teacher is Mrs. Laundry.”
”Tha—“
”Ah! I mean, Mrs. Lundary—please don't tell her!”
”Okay, okay,” Mr. Wigging said, gesturing a pressing-motion with both his hands.
”My name is James.” The rat replied calmly. “I'm in Alexis' class. My favorite word is 'noodle,' I guess.”
”I'm James,” Alexis teased, her voice deep, “I like to doodle, with macaroni noodles, and I have a poodle—“
”Alexis that's enough.” Mr. Wiggin's voice actually managed to sound a little bit strained to the last person to be introduced. He turned to her; “Last, but not least...”
”My name is... Lyza,” she spoke, just now realizing in the back of her head that Mr. Wiggin had spoken her name earlier, and had pronounced it perfectly without needing to ask how it was said. “I'm in fifth grade, Ms. Hupp's class. ...I don't...really have a favorite word...” She admitted.
”I'm sure you can think of one,” Mr. Wiggin encouraged, “Just think of one off the top of your head. Whatever sounds good right now.”
”...I guess... 'Agog'?”
Several eyes squinted at her. “That's a silly-sounding word.” Hannah spoke up.
”Not even I've heard that word before,” Mr. Wiggin chuckled. “What does it mean?”
Lyza gritted her teeth; she should have just picked 'flower' or something! “Uhm...it's like, another word for 'excited'.”
”Ah.” Mr. Wiggin clapped his knee. “So...would you say you're agog for the spelling bee?”
”I guess so...” The rabbit replied.
”Well then, now that we're all introduced to one another, let me just explain a little about what's going to happen.” He passed around a sheet of paper that had several paragraphs of what he was about to explain. “The spelling bee will happen shortly after Fifth-grade lunch, at the end of the day. We'll go until someone wins, or until wind-down time. Yes, Max?—Fingers.”
The beaver again pulled his hand from his lips. “What does the winner get?”
”Oh,” Mr. Wiggin chuckled. “There's not really a grand prize or anything—this is all just for fun. It's to give you guys a break, especially you fifth-graders.”
There was a bit of disappointment on Max's and Andrew's faces.
”So, the rules will be very simple. It'll be fourth against fifth, and we'll alternate between sides. Let's say Max and Alexis are the next two up. Max will be asked to stand up—stand up, please, Max.” The teacher gestured.
Max stood.
”Then you'll be given a word, like 'Pickle'. What'll happen is, you repeat the word, spell it, and then repeat the word again. So, Max, why don't you demonstrate—Fingers.”
”Pickle.” Max said, moving his hands to behind his back. “P-I-C-K-L-E. Pickle.”
”And then Max can sit down,” Mr. Wiggin said, letting him sit. “Now, either way it will be Alexis' turn next, but let's say Max actually spelled it wrong.”
”Don't you mean—”
”Yes, Lyza?”
The rabbit cursed herself. “N—nothing,” she muttered.
”Don't be shy. If you have a question, ask,” Mr. Wiggin encouraged.
”Well it's—it's not a question. I just... you mean 'wrongly,'” She finally stated.
”I'm sorry?” The wolf squinted an eye. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
”It's nothing,” Lyza said quickly. “Sorry.”
”Well... okay. So, let's pretend Max spelled his word wrong. Alexis has a chance to eliminate Max if she spells her word right. Alexis, please spell 'Googol'.”
”G-O-O-G-O-L.” Alexis said.
”No no, spell it like Max did. Say the word, spell it, and say it again.”
”Googol. G-O-O-G-O-L. Googol.”
”Very good. Max would now be eliminated, and it would be Goren's turn. If Alexis did not spell 'googol' correctly, then Max would be safe and Alexis could get eliminated if Goren spells his word right.”
”And if he got it wrong, I could get him?” Hannah asked, almost deviously.
”That's correct,” Mr. Wiggin replied. “And it goes like that until only two people are left.”
”But what if all of one grade gets eliminated?” Asked Andrew.
”Then we keep going with the other grade the same way. So, unless anyone has any questions about how that part works, I was thinking we could pair off into partners and you guys could drill each other for a little bit.”
”I wanna be with Lexi!” Hannah said immediately, holding her friend's hand up.
”Actually,” Mr. Wiggin said. “I was thinking each pair be a fourth- and fifth-grader, so why don't you and Lyza be partners, okay?”
The sugar-glider's long tail flopped on the ground in a circle all about her. “Oh... fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
Mr. Wiggin paired them up accordingly and handed each pair a stack of index cards with words on them to practice. When each group was situated, he set back down nearby and opened his binder, pulling out a few sheets of paper and a red pen.
”Here,” Hannah said, handing over half of the flash cards. “Who goes first?”
Lyza shrugged, taking them. “It doesn't matter to me.”
”Okay then, you go first,” the glider sat back and rested her long tail over her shoulder like a lock of hair. “Your word is 'pineapple'.”
”Pineapple. P-I-N-E—A-P-P-L-E. Pineapple.”
Hannah puffed her cheeks in an exhale.
Lyza looked down at her cards. “'Garage'.”
”G-A-R-A-G-E.”
”No,” Lyza corrected, “You have to say the words first, then spell it, then repeat—“
”Pssh, I know,” Hannah cut her off, her small hand waving the instructions away. “But that's boring, we can go a lot faster if we just spell it.”
”But I think we're supposed to practice it the way it'll happen.” The rabbit reasoned.
”Who cares? Besides, these words are boring, I mean...” She looked down at her card, “'Cardboard,' really?”
”Cardbored. C-A-R-D, B-O-R-E-D. Cardbored.”
Hannah started cackling in a fit of giggles, rocking back on her rump.
”What?”
”You spelled it wrong!”
”Well fine, how is it spelled.”
”It's B-O-A-R-D not B-O-R-E-D.” She set the cards down. “And I'm B-O-R-E-D-bored, too. I was hoping there would be tougher words.”
Lyza began to scowl. “Like what?”
”Like antidisestablishmentarianism.” The girl responded, as if predicting the question.
”Can you even spell that?”
”Can you?” The girl questioned slyly.
”I...” Lyza bit her lip. “That word is too long. They wouldn't have us spell one like that.”
”A-N-T-I-D-I-S—Oh forget it,” she shook her head. “Even if I did spell it you wouldn't believe me cuz you don't know how to spell it.”
”A-N-T-I... D-I-S... …” Lyza looked at her hands, trying to count her fingers.
”And...?”
”... I forgot what the rest of the word was.” She grumbled.
Hannah smirked. “It's okay, not many people know big words like I do. My dad is an English professor at a big university. He knows lots of big words, and so I know a lot of big words too; like O-N-O—M-A-T-O—P-O—E-I-A.”
Lyza's ears swiveled behind her head. “What does that spell?”
”Onno-monno-pea-ya,” the girl responded smugly. “Y'know, like: Bam! Crash! Boom! Pow!”
”I know what an onomatopoeia is,” Lyza said with contempt. “But that can't be how it's spelled.”
”It is,” Hannah retorted. “It's another of my favorite words because it doesn't sound like how you spell it at all. If you said it how it's spelled it sounds like this: onno-matto-po-ee-aye-ay. In fact, saying it that way is how I remember to spell it; and other words with silent letters. Like 'through' and 'knife' and 'knob'. It sounds silly but you can spell really good if you do that.”
Lyza looked back down at her cards. The next word was Stumble.
She didn't like Hannah. The glider was really annoying and acting like she was better than everyone else. Not everyone was good with words; especially not... She looked to Mr. Wiggin. Maybe she could get out of this. She could say she forgot she had a doctor's appointment on Friday, and then skip school. She'd skipped before, a long time ago. She would just pretend she was—
”'Sick'.”
”Huh?” The rabbit questioned, looking at Hannah.
”You sound like you need a lot of practice,” the girl said. “Why don't I just quiz you for a bit? 'Sick'.”
Lyza looked down. She blinked a few times. “Sick. S-I-C-K... Sick.
* * *
After a half-hour of being quizzed, Lyza was ready to go home. She opened the door out into the hall, eager to be the first one to leave, when the sight of her brother caught her by surprise. He was standing outside of the door of her classroom, a Visitor sticker placed above the pocket on the left side of his button-up shirt. He wore khaki pants, that were bunched and wrinkled about his shoes.
”Mornin',” her brother greeted. “How was practice?”
”Good,” she replied; her tone belied her words. Behind her, the others were leaving the room, heading down the hall and chasing one another.
”Slow down, please!” Mr. Wiggin tried to admonish, but audibly gave up with a huff. He turned to the other two in the hall. “Oh, hello,” he smiled, his thin snout showing a row of white teeth. “I think I recognize you,” he proffered his hand to the up-and-coming adult; “You have a unique name...”
”Kval,” the young man informed, shaking the hand.
”Yes, I remember now. You were here last year; you're a Big Buddy to one of my former students aren't you?”
”Yes sir. Mr. Wiggin, if I recall.”
”Correct.” He inclined his head in response. “Well, I'm sure you're doing a good job with that. Graduating this year?”
”Yessir.” he bounced away from the wall, idly. “If I push just a little harder I can make up for slacking off, and maybe walk away cum laude.”
”Well good.” He nodded again. “Anyway, sorry to leave in such a rush.” He motioned to the rabbit girl at the young-adults side. “We just got done practicing for a little spelling bee. As much fun as I had doing it—it was really supposed to be Mrs. McGuire. And my Misses doesn't know I'm coming home late today, so I'd better be gone by ten minutes ago.”
”By all means,” Kval said politely. “Don't let us keep you. We don't want her to flip her 'wiggin'.”
The teacher stood there for just a second longer while the pun hit, and he departed jollily.
When the laughter turned to echoes, and then even faster turned to silence, the siblings waited in the hallway against the wall.
”Ket and Emmy are still in the room,” her brother explained. “I think they're almost done.”
As if on cue the door opened.
“—You don't need to remember any of the specific dates, just know the order and maybe what part of the decade each event happens in.”
”Got it,” Ket replied, eager to get out of the room.
”Hey guys,” Emmy said, noticing her friends as she turned around to say bye to her teacher. “How'd practice go?”
”Fine,” Lyza replied, again having to force the opposite of truth. “How was yours?” She asked Ket.
He took a second to respond. “I really hate Social Studies,” was all he said, shaking his head. “See you guys tomorrow.”
”Zavtra.”
Ms. Hupp waited until the tigers were a bit down the hall before inviting the rabbits into the room. “So Mr. Alatyrtsev—”
”Kval,” he interrupted, making his way to a desk to lean on it while his sister sat in the seat. “Or Kev; it's easier.”
”Kev... You...” She gave him a quizzical look, and asked rhetorically: “You're not Lyza's father, are you?”
He shook his head. “No, I'm her brother, actually.”
”I see,” she bit her lip. “I was really hoping to meet with her mom or dad. Especially since... how old are you?”
”Eighteen,” he replied. “Nineteen in August. I know it's probably not what you had in mind, but trust me; they aren't really that easy to talk to. English is pretty much a second-language to them.”
”Really?” The raccoon's mask bowed with relaxation. “I didn't know they were that foreign.”
”Our parents aren't, but our grandparents are. Mom is too. Dad was just a little too old for the English to catch on too well.” He shrugged.
”Yup, you gotta learn it when you're young.” She turned to Lyza. “What do you think?”
The girl shrugged. “Dumayu.”
Ms. Hupp was a little caught off guard at the response.
”Anyway,” Kval said, bringing the meeting back on topic; “You wanted to talk about someone's grades?”
Ms. Hupp nodded, but she was still hesitant. “I'm required to by the district. I guess... even though you're still in school too, and it's really breaking confidentiality by telling you...”
”Don't worry, I've already seen her report card,” the older brother followed the teacher's trailing thought, holding up his hand. “And I've looked over her schoolwork too, since she refuses to clean out her backpack,” he grinned toward his sister.
She stuck out her tongue.
”At any rate,” the brother continued, resting both palms on the top of the desk he rested on, “Her grades were fairly good until just recently. They could have been better... but they only really dropped last report card.”
”You're right. Usually it's just because of end-of-the-year nerves,” Ms. Hupp agreed. She addressed her pupil. “You're finishing up an entire level of schooling, Pretty soon you'll be going to a new school with new people. I'm sure your brother can relate to how stressful that is.”
”Yup,” he smiled. “College is just around the corner for me.”
”Well,” she folded her hands together. “It sounds like you're well-informed of what's going on, then. I don't really think this meeting was all that necessary but,” she turned to the girl once again, “If you need to talk to someone, don't be afraid to talk to me. Or, if you'd like, I can write you a pass to go see Mrs. Oulryk. Okay?”
”Yes ma'am.” Lyza nodded, warming up more now that the daunting meeting seemed ready to end.
”Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Kev.”
”Same,” he smiled back, and pushed away from the desk. “Well... you ready to go home?”
Quietly, his sister got out of the desk she was in. “Yeah.”
They exited out into the hall, and from the hall into the cafeteria. Though she felt drained, as soon as they got in to the car and before her brother started the engine, she asked: “You think... you could practice spelling with me tonight. And maybe tomorrow?”
There was a pause before he turned the key. “Sure,” he said, and the car rumbled to life.
