Logainne Schwartzandgrubenierre bolted upright in bed, gasping for air and sweating heavily. She didn't know if she had screamed.

Another nightmare. She swallowed and looked over at her blue Democratic Party alarm clock, complete with a small emblem of a glow-in-the-dark donkey. 3:45 AM. "Not again," she murmured softly. Her hair was loose, free from the tight pigtails that cascaded regularly over her face. After wiping her forehead she fell onto her back, gently landing onto her pillows. (These were also blazoned with Democratic Party symbols.)

"I'm never going to get enough rest before the Bee in two days," Logainne said worriedly. "I'm so scared. And after last year…"

Last year. Last year was terrible. … Well, not absolutely terrible—Logainne came in third. Technically. But she had embarrassed her fathers—especially Carl—in front of so many people.

Vug. Who would have thought vug could have been so simple?

"So simple…" Vice Principal Panch's words echoed in her brain.

'Stupid man,' she muttered, now annoyed.

And so The 26th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee was coming 'round the bend rather quickly, and Logainne was short on energy. It was her third nightmare in two weeks. In between studying so many words every day, Logainne had little time to sleep. The nightmares only made it worse.

She wouldn't tell her dads about it. She knew they would tease her about them. Especially Carl… Carl…

The door creaked open. Logainne gasped and shut her eyes. In stepped Carl, quietly, holding a small black flashlight. Through her eyes Logainne could feel the beam bouncing back and forth slowly between her bed and the walls of her room. She felt Carl step closer to her and peer down on her. She was so afraid to open her eyes.

'I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping…'

"I hope you win, Logainne," Carl said softly. His daughter's face remained unchanged. "But I hope… I hope you're happy."

He took off his thick black glasses and wiped them with his red pajama shirt. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll try not to go crazy this year… I just want you to be happy. And proud. P-R-O-U-D. Heh…"

He stared at her for a little while longer, wiped his eyes, and left. Logainne opened one eye after she heard the door close. She sat up and stared at her white door sadly.

"Daddy."

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"They're so cute together, aren't they?" said Mr. Ostrovsky who watched two children from his kitchen.

"'Taxidermy' can also be rewritten as 'Dirty emax.'"

"Or 'Tired axym'!" Amused laughter.

"They are… it's a shame they'll be competing against each other again…" replied Mrs. Ostrovsky, who wiped a wet dish with a green cloth.

Olive and William played together in Olive's living room. She wore her favorite pair of pink overalls and had her hair tied into two cute pigtails. William wore a blue shirt with loose brown shorts, and, for some reason, carried shoelaces in his pocket. Scattered around them were crossword puzzle booklets among other collectives of word games. They both sipped from their apple juice boxes happily, until Olive asked William something.

"What's it called when you have a word that you can spell backwards the same as if you spelled it regularly?"

"Uh… isn't that called a palindrome?"

"I think so. Hmm. Mama? Can William and I go play in my room?"

"Sure, but clean up the mess first," her parent called back. The two of them groaned and pouted, but slowly picked up all the books. William courteously took the majority of them and carried them for Olive. Olive led him into her white, simple room. "Just drop them there onto the floor," she said, pointing to a corner in front of the bookcase.

William did so, and handed Olive a half-full juice box. He had forgotten which was his and which was hers, but it didn't matter. As long as Olive didn't think he had cooties.

"So… are you excited about the spelling bee?" William asked.

Olive blinked. "Oh, yeah. I had a lot of fun doing it last year, so I don't mind doing it again. How about you?"

"I'd like to go to Nationals again," William sighed. "But being 47th really isn't nothing to sneeze at." He subconsciously sniffed his nose.

"Not at all!" She beamed. Barfee blushed.

"Olive?" he asked after quickly rubbing his cheeks.

"Yes?"

"Not saying this would happen…" He cleared his throat. "But if what happened last year happens again... I'd like you to win." Olive's expression softened at her friend's stare.

"Barf," Olive said, then gently put a hand onto his shoulder. "You know it's all gonna depend on how well I spell."

"I still felt bad," William admitted.

"And I said it's okay. Second is fine with me. And I wouldn't mind being second again this year. I'll be happy as long as my parents are there."

"Are they going to see you?"

"Oh yeah! As soon as I knew I was going to be in the competition, I let them know as early as possible."

"When?"

"Four months in advance."

"That'll work! Um…" William did not know how to continue. "How are things with you and your parents?"

"Fine," Olive said, suddenly distant. William had noticed her parents were actually home, and it seemed they had been around for a while. And yet Olive didn't seem right.

"You sure?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah! Of course!" Olive suddenly went to her dictionary on her shelf and pulled it down. It was a thick and red book, and well cared for. "Say, Barf, how do you spell anemone?" She began to flip through her familiar book before he spoke.

William knew she wasn't telling him the entire truth. But still, he smirked at her. "Aw, come on, Olive! You know how to spell anemone. Don't be silly!"

"'Mean one'! Beat that!" Olive laughed.

"You're such a liar! 'Eon amee'!" William retorted.

"What's that mean?" she asked curiously.

"I dunno," he responded. "I'll think of a definition later."

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The plate of cookies and milk left for one Chip Tolentino still sat there on his desk, uneaten. He ignored the scent of rich chocolate chips wafting into the air.

Instead, he re-read page 420 of his Oxford Dictionary/Thesaurus (Platinum Edition), then began to rewrite "vivisepulture" on a piece of paper about fifty times. Noun. The burial of a live person. He stared at the word. Of course, it was obvious that the definition was what it was. "Vivi-" meaning living, alive; "sepulture" coming from "sepulcher," a tomb. Chip was sometimes amazed at any word's structure or pronunciation. It was just interesting.

He kicked his desk with his black Chucks as he swung his feet while he sat. He glanced over to his window by his bed and found his backyard was in full-bloom. It looked pleasant outside. Summer was upon him, but Chip had no time to enjoy it. Yes, his backyard looked pleasant, indeed. Filled with butterflies and bright flowers, like daisies and violets and—

He blanched.

Marigolds.

He twitched. How did he not notice those stupid flowers before? He turned back to his dictionary, but his face felt hot. Memories leaked into his mind. "No, no, no..." He tried pushing them away. "I won't—NO. NO. I won't lose this year. I'll re-claim my place as a spelling bee champion, I will. No one will know what hit 'em."

But Marigold appeared again in his head, wearing that nice snug sweater he liked. He began to feel hot again, but did his best to ignore it. After a quick swig of cold milk, he felt better, but after realizing the Bee was a day away, he began to get nervous once more.

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"Meow! Meow! Meow!"

"Hush, Frisket, I have your dinner right here!" Leaf poured his one of many cats nearly too much food into its bowl. Frisket began to dig in. His owner proudly smiled and set the bag of dry cat food aside. Suddenly, his mother called out,

"LEAF! LEAF!"

"WHAT IS IT, MA!"

"DON'T YOU HAVE A SPELLING BEE TOMORROW!"

He looked at his refrigerator and found a magnet he had not noticed before. Ooh, it was a watermelon slice. He suddenly felt hungry for watermelons. Delicious, cold watermelons.

"... I HAVE A WHAT!" he yelled back.

"A SPELLING BEE!"

"Oooh, icees," he whispered in excitement as he tried to think of where his mother hid the blender and the chocolate syrup. She liked to do that, hide things.

"LEAF YOU HAVE A SPELLING BEE TOMORROW DON'T YOU REMEMBER!"

"Maaaa, do we have any syrup?" Leaf asked as he ran to a cabinet, jumping over Frisket. Frisket screeched in surprise. He wasn't used to having hyperactive kids jump over him as he ate. Leaf's red cape swooshed behind him, like his red hair, but cooler.

"HAVE YOU STUDIED!"

"Studied for what!" Leaf was now pouring syrup into a large bowl, sitting on the kitchen floor next to Frisket. Frisket peered at him and blinked. Leaf was a strange, strange boy.

As he licked at the bowl of chocolate syrup, he remembered the word "capybara." He shrugged. 'Wonder what it means,' he mumbled. "Maaaa! What's a capybara?"

He heard his mother sigh audibly from the living room. 'She always does that,' Leaf thought.