Free Spelldown by Karon Luddy

deeply and think about Jesus as a Jewish boy studying in thesynagogue. And then I think about when he grew up, how he stormed into the temple, popping a whip at the people who were selling oxen and sheep and doves to be slaughtered. He was pissed off about their defiling a holy place with their bloody business, so he overturned their tables and chased them out of the temple. I bet that’s when the church leaders decided Jesus was a heretic and needed to be squelched.
    Miss Sophia clears her throat twice.
    I ask her to repeat the word.
    She pronounces it again:
her—easy—ark
.
    I see
heresy
in my mind. Then I see
monarch
. I put them side by side and let them melt together. I pronounce the word, and then say the letters that I see:
“H-e-r-e-s-i-a-r-c-h.”
    Mrs. Harrison’s earsplitting whistle tells me everything I need to know.
    “Congratulations, Miss Bridges, you are the new Spelling Champion of Shirley County!” Miss Sophia says it like she’s introducing a royal “heiness.”

11 pre·rog·a·tive
    1: an exclusive or special right, power, or privilege
    2: a special superiority of right or privilege
    “Jiminy Cricket, it’s seven thirty! We need to be at the party in thirty minutes.” Mrs. Harrison rises from the table. “Karlene, there’s some sherbet in the fridge. And you two,” she says to Celia and James, “you need to help clean up the kitchen.” “The food was delicious,” I say.
    “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Mrs. Harrison smiles and rushes from the table to get ready for the fancy Day-After-Thanksgiving gala at the mayor’s house.
    “I’ll clear the table.” Mr. Harrison picks up all the plates and silverware, but I stop him and tell him we’ll do the rest. He says thanks and leaves to get dressed.
    By the time the Harrisons come downstairs, the kitchen is spotless, and the kids and I are sprawled on the Oriental rug in the den, playing a game of Old Maid. Mrs. Harrison is wearing a pale blue backless dress; her healthy shoulders glow under a lace shawl. Mr. Harrison’s tuxedo fits him perfectly. He is terribly handsome, but he has a sweet, dignified smile, like Kelly. He winks at me. “Okay, you two, promise me you’ll be good for Karlene.”
    The children grab him around the legs, promising to begood. Mrs. Harrison gives them a quick hug and writes down the phone number at the mayor’s house for me. Then she puts her hands on my face and looks me in the eye. “Don’t forget the ten-yard rule, Your Craziness.”
    Her hands feel soft as rose petals on my face, so I stall. “Whatever are you talking about, Your Saneness?”
    “The rule that says if you get within ten yards of the dictionary, your tongue will be surgically removed.”
    “Oh, that silly rule.”
    She chuckles and walks out the kitchen door.
    After building a fortress with Tinkertoys, we go to the guest room, which now belongs to me, because there’s a white ceramic star on the door with KARLENE painted on it. Celia and James stretch out on the new white bedspread with lavender rosebuds embroidered on it and color another turkey in their Thanksgiving coloring books. I prop myself up on two fat pillows made out of the same silky fabric, and look at the art book full of paintings by Marc Chagall. Each painting is like a happy dream that’s about to turn into a nightmare. They’re full of upside-down choo-choo trains, animals floating sideways, mermaids playing violins, lovers with their faces melted together, and angels opening bedroom windows.
    My favorite picture is called
I and the Village
. There’s a profile view of a handsome, human-looking lamb wearing a necklace of multicolored beads talking to a green-faced man with white lips. Painted on the lamb’s jaw is a goat with a bulging udder that’s being milked by a woman in a greenskirt, sitting on a stool. The village is in the background, perched on a hill. In the middle of the village, a woman is standing on her head, and a man is walking toward her