“Can you repeat the word please?”
“Chihuahua.”
“Could you use it in a sentence please?”
“The Chihuahua is the smallest breed of dog.”
“Chihuahua. C-h-i-h-u-a-h-u-a. Chihuahua.”
“That is correct.”
Natalee took her seat and focused on appearing calm. Inside, a roaring sea of panic raged, her heart beating against her chest like a rabid baboon breaking out of a pickle barrel. Her placid, almost sleepy appearance as she took her seat was a testament to her father’s training. But this time her internal unrest did not stem from the fear of a poor performance. This time, she was anxious about the rebellion she and her sister had planned.
***
Her father had been a gifted speller and made it to “the show” several times before he aged out. He did well, but never tasted the winner’s circle. On his college applications he mentioned his spelling achievements in vague terms and could feel his interrogator’s interest wain as he explained the reasons he came in fourth two years in a row. America is only interested in winners. That was Jerry’s bitter lesson.
In college he studied engineering, trying to distance himself from the spelling and all things grammatical. He did well, but not at the top of his class. Jerry found himself in the second round of graduates recruited by a prestigious Silicon Valley engineering firm. It was a good job, except for living under the scrutiny of the first-round picks who became team leads, helming choice projects and making presentations to hungry venture capitalists. Jerry remained at his desk grinding through code. Every year when the National Spelling Bee was splashed across social media Jerry shut down his feeds.
Jerry prospered despite his slow start. Although he was not a “power programmer,” nor did he leave the company to spawn his own start-up, he gradually moved up the ladder and garnered respect. He met Gert, a fellow programmer, at a single’s night event. A random number-generator paired them to solve a Rubik’s cube together, each partner using only one hand. They came in third. After seven months of dating they married with plans to start a family. Jerry’s also-ran curse followed him into matrimony. After several years and no pregnancy, Jerry and Gert’s A-list specialist informed them of Jerry’s dismally low sperm and testosterone levels. He put on a brave face as the doctor explained his inadequacies, looking furtively at Gert for signs of regret.
They approached the problem as engineers do, with a carefully planned and plotted strategy built on discipline and routine. At four-thirty every morning Jerry’s personal trainer coached him through yoga, weightlifting, water aerobics, ice baths, and indoor rock climbing.
At work each day he was greeted by a stack of containers on his desk, carefully crafted by a licensed nutritionist and naturopath. He ate sixteen micro-meals regulated by reminders on his phone, watch, work computer, home computer, car, and the thermostat in his house. Every evening Gert injected Jerry with a proprietary mix of hormones and vitamins. For good measure, Gert was also put on hormone therapy to ensure her uterus warmly welcomed Jerry’s feeble seed.
At work and at home the couple swam in a brothy flux of mood swings, insomnia, and flashes of passionate rage. After Jerry threw a white board across the room during a brain-storming session his supervisor suggested he take a leave of absence. Jerry punched him in the face and was immediately escorted out by security.
In his unemployed hormone haze Jerry left a seething smear across the internet, letting loose his frustrations on any social media site that would have him. His scorched earth approach to his grievances burned all his Silicon Valley bridges. He wound up as a customer support representative for Amana, fielding questions from seniors frustrated with the video screen on their refrigerators. He worked from home, and spun his disgrace as a way to be a stay-at-home father for his would-be child.
After eighteen months of injections, curated diets, alcohol-free beverages, and workmanlike intercourse Gert was pregnant. Jerry titrated off his hormones but the bitterness lingered. When the ultrasound revealed twins he saw an opportunity.
The girls, Natalie and Natalee were identical, and Jerry intended to keep it that way. Same clothes, same food, same nap time, and same indoctrination into the world of competitive spelling. Vocabulary recordings played on and endless loop throughout the house and every toy sported words or letters, either by manufacture or Jerry’s Sharpie scrawl. Gert yielded to Jerry’s parenting plan. The fertilization ordeal frayed their already thin bond and she welcomed late night and weekend work, taking on the role of an absentee parent. Jerry remained at home, saving the couple the outsized cost of Silicon Valley daycare. He barely noticed Gert’s absence as he obsessed over the girls’ indoctrination. Taking his cue from Tiger Woods’ father, Jerry withdrew affection if the twins failed to master their latest spelling task. The reward for achievement was only slightly warmer. By the age of three Natalie and Natalee could spell most words up to seven letters. Jerry pitted one against the other to suss out strengths and weaknesses.
“Baloney,” Jerry said.
“What’s baloney?” Natalee asked.
“Doesn’t matter, spell it,” Jerry said.
“B-u-h—”
“Stop right there.” Jerry turned to the other twin. “Natalie?”
“Baloney. B-a-l-o-n-e-y. Baloney”
“Good.”
“Sorry Daddy,” Natalee said.
“Sorry won’t get you into the winners circle.”
Jerry started entering the girls in regional spelling bees when they were six. He knew they weren’t going to win but wanted to harden them for competition. Natalie made it through the first two rounds and when she grew fatigued, Natalee took her place. Jerry reasoned a competitor with two brains had a significant advantage. This was his master plan.
Every year the girls performed better and better, and by age eleven made it to the semi-finals before they were eliminated. Jerry knew next year the Bee could be theirs so redoubled the girls’ training.
***
Like all twins, Natalie and Natalee spoke a secret language. At first it was for fun but as they grew older it became a matter of survival. Jerry thought it was meaningless garble and ignored it. The girls spoke to each other to soothe and console one another when Jerry dressed them down for a poor performance. As they became more successful and gained confidence, the twins hatched a plan to break their father’s grip.
***
At the age of twelve, Natalie and Natalee quickly advanced at the National Spelling Bee. Being able to tap out when necessary gave them an unstoppable advantage. At the eighth and final round Natalee was the featured twin. She waited calmly for her turn, just as she’d been taught. When her turn came, she stood before the microphone, stage lights nearly blinding her.
“Auslaut,” the announcer said. Natalee did not ask for the definition nor usage in a sentence. Their father taught the girls to always ask for this, as it may yield useful information and give them time to think. Plus it adds some suspense, which could make the video go viral and lead to endorsements. Natalee dove right into spelling.
“Abuse. A-b-u-s-e. Abuse.”
The announcer, judges, and audience were all silent. Even Jerry was flummoxed. Natalee’s answer did not compute. Finally the announcer recovered, “um, Natalee, the word is Auslaut.”
“Thank you. Child endangerment. E-n-d-a-n-g-e-r-m-e-n-t. Child endangerment.”
The live broadcast cut to commercial as two judges and seven audience members rushed the stage. In the confusion, Natalie walked on stage and held her sister’s hand as they raised their fists in solidarity.