The Light Fantastic by Sarah Combs

Author:Sarah Combs [Combs, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7636-8737-3
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2016-09-12T22:00:00+00:00

“Fortuitous,” Ms. Gregory says, overenunciating, hissing on the s.

It’s sixth grade, the year of Gina’s broken ankle. The year of hating Leona Reece. The year of that one spelling bee, which has come down to me and Pal Gakhar. Pal took the prize in elementary school, but that was just practice. Now we’re in middle school and eligible for the citywide bee and this is for real and here we are: just me and Pal. The silence in the room buzzes. Somebody coughs, and as someone else stifles a giggle, a third voice goes shhhhhhh.

“Fortuitous,” Ms. Gregory says again, peering at me over the half-moons of her glasses.

My palms are prickly and damp. I know this word, I know it, but Pal is making me nervous. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him shaping his mouth around the syllables. If I get it wrong, the word will volley back to him, and he will do that thing where he uses the pointer finger of his right hand to trace invisible letters on the palm of his left. Then he’ll ask for the etymology and to hear the word used in a sentence, even though he already knows the origin and could use fortuitous in a sentence right now, as in, How fortuitous that I’ve just been given such an easy word.

“Fortuitous,” I repeat. “F-o-r-t . . .”

The word hovers at the edge of my line of vision, just out of reach. In a front-row desk, just feet away from me, Nate Salisbury is busy drawing something in his notebook. Nate is the best artist in the room, but he doesn’t seem to know it or care. It’s just this thing he does. Now, hearing me pause, Nate stops his pencil and looks up, waiting. He smiles and something loosens in my chest. Behind him, two rows back, Gavin is sleeping, a line of drool connecting his cheek to the desk. A row over from Gavin, Gina is glaring at me. She knows I know this word. Her eyes say, What’s your problem? Girl, hurry up!

Just like everybody else, Nate and Gina want me to win, not necessarily because I’m their friend but because it would be interesting — an unexpected development, a surprise — if somebody other than Pal or Izzy Goff went on to the citywide bee. They are excited about it the same way we all get excited if there’s a storm or a fire drill in the middle of the day: here is a departure from the predictable norm.

Next to me, Pal shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He smells like he always does: spicy-warm and close, like an overheated room. And, God, he’s so skinny. His khaki pants, cinched at the waist with a belt, are too short, missing the tops of his shoes by a couple of inches. Embarrassing. But his eyelashes are thick and long and make me think of deer. It’s weird, but Pal’s lashes, they

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