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Wrote this for Young Authors a couple years ago. I can see now all its mistakes. xd
They say you never know what you have until you�ve lost it.
�Serendipity. S-E-R-E-N-D-I-P-I-T-Y. Serendipity.�
We met in the oddest of places. A regional spelling bee. I never would have noticed her had it not been for her accent. The rolling of the R in her first word, �serendipity,� caught my attention pulling me out of my reverie of spelling in my head. She looked very professional; her seemingly long, dark brown hair was coiled into a knot atop her head, a dark blue pantsuit fitted custom to her dark, slim frame. I watched her finish her word, humbly take in the applause, and return to her seat. I barely had time to ponder my curiosity with her before the next speller took the microphone, and I abruptly returned to my litany of words, drilled tediously into my head by my mother.
By the time they called my name as the last person, I was back in my zone.
�Miss Hallway, spell �Fortuity.��
�Fortuity. F-O-R-T-U-I-T-Y. Fortuity.�
At the nod of the lead judge�s head, I took my seat. I, pattern obsessed child that I was, had noticed that both my word and Mystery Girl�s had, loosely translated, meant �fate.� An odd coincidence. I decided to mark the meaning of the rest of our words.
The next round was more difficult, at least to the other people. Contestants were dropping like flies. By the time Mystery Girl was to take her turn, none of the former thirteen people who had gone after me, I being the last, were still in the running. She was to spell the same word everyone had spelled wrong.
�Miss Dean, spell �extinction.��
�Extinction. E-X-T-I-N-C-T-I-O-N. Extinction.�
More applause. She took a seat. I noted her word’s meaning, “death.��? Seven more people got out on, “treachery.��? Five people were left when my name was called.
“Miss Halloway, spell ‘elude.’��?
“Elude. E-L-U-D-E. Elude.��?
“Elude��? meant “to run away.��? To run away from death? Hmm.
Two words later, we were two of the three left.
My word was “catastrophe.��? I spelt it correctly. I was still in, though my word was one of loss. Now it was her turn.
Dean hesitated, then said, “Immortal. I-M-O-R-T-A-L. Immortal.��?
“I’m sorry, that’s incorrect.��?
Her face fell, her shoulders slumped. Her professional illusion was lost. I felt a small pang of sympathy for her, though I still didn’t even know her first name.
The next person, a male, correctly spelled immortal, leaving me to spell my word. If I was wrong, I was out.
“Miss Halloway, spell ‘persevere.’��?
“Persevere,��? I paused; it hadn’t been on my list. “P-E-R-S-E-R-V-E-R-E. Persevere.��?
“I’m sorry, that’s incorrect.��?
I had lost; he had won. I clapped for him, then hurried to find her. She was gone.
***
After Spring Break, we sat in our 8th grade homeroom, awaiting the new student we had been told we where to have. As Mrs. Garner walking in, I gasped.
It was her. The Mystery Girl!
She smiled shyly at us. �You can call me Amara.�
�Kate, will you be Amara�s guide through the school?� asked the teacher.
My first reaction was surprise that a guide was needed. The school only had one hallway. How could anyone get lost? I agreed anyway.
�We were in the spelling bee together,� she informed me as we left the room to go to our first class. Like I would- or rather could- forget that.
�I remember. You got out on �immortal.��
�Of course,� she replied. �No one is immortal.�
�I got out on persevere. Does that mean that no one can persevere?�
�No, that means you�re going to need some help in that area�
This confused me, but so did a lot of things about Amara. Every day, she would have me spell immortal incorrectly to her, just to show she wasn�t. It became a sort of greeting. I would spell immortal faultily to her, and she would spell persevere improperly to me. We pointed out each other�s- and our own- flaws by spelling words wrong. To praise, we�d spell them correctly. Amara showed me a new world of words, one that had been just waiting for me all this time.
�I-M-O-R-T-A-L!� I greeted her one day.
�P-E-R-S-E-R-V-E-R-E,� she said. �Would you like to come over after school?�
�Sure! That would be great!� I was thrilled. I was going to go over to her house!
All day I waited impatiently for the dismissal bell. I had phoned my mom at lunch, earning her permission.
When the bell finally rang, we grabbed our stuff and headed for the door.
�It�s about ten minute walk from here, Kate,� Amara told me.
�That�s okay, I-M-O-R-T-A-L! I�ll just have to P-E-S-E-R-V-E-R-E!� I teased.
We walked across the school yard discussing what we would do today, and splashing through puddles left by last night�s storm. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large yellow school bus slipped through the water, hydroplaning uncontrollably. It didn�t seem able to stop. We screamed in terror. If it didn�t swerve away�
�Run!� I cried, putting words into action, but Amara froze in fear.
Looking behind me, noticing that Amara hadn�t followed me, I shrieked, half from fear, half to mask the dull crunching sound following impact.
�NO!� I wailed, running to her body, which had flown 30 feet from the bus.
She was still alive, gasping for breath.
�I told you I wasn�t immortal,� she whispered raggedly. �But you must persevere. P-E-R-S-E-V-E-R-E.�
�But�� I faltered, tears slipping down. She had spelled persevered correctly.
�You�ve earned it, Kate, and now you must do it,� she wheezed. She gasped, clinging to life.
One last breath, and she was gone.
I was bawling my eyes out, but I knew she was right. I had to persevere. Amara had shown me the real meaning behind words. It had been fortuity that we met. She couldn�t elude extinction, for she was not immortal. However, I, Kate, could persevere.
They say you never know what you have until you�ve lost it.
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