My English project--Akeelah and the Bee

Ok, this is due Friday. It's a scene from 'Akeelah and the Bee', so if you haven't seen it, it probably won't make sense.

But anyways, I really need reviews fast...please!

P•S•- I can't exactly add any more description, because there's a limit of 510 words.

THE NATIONALS

My heart is beating so loud I can hear it. I wonder if Dylan, sitting beside me, can too. A thin film of sweat has formed on my palms and forehead, and I'm shaking.

But at the same time, I feel an odd thrill. Think about it; if I were to win, everything would be perfect. We could move into a big house and I could go to a decent school.

But what if I lose? Everyone is counting on me to win this Bee, and I don't want to let them down. Besides, If I lose, Dylan will obviously win, so his dad won't be angry. This is his last chance. I have next year.

But still...I've worked so hard to get here. And last time I tried to let him win, it didn't work.

I guess I'll just have to try my best, and see what happens.

"Dylan, please step up to the microphone."

I feel a slight rustle beside me as Dylan leaves his seat to stand before the audience. I wonder how he feels--nervous probably, even though it's not his first time.

"Your word is staphylococci."

He hardly pauses before spelling the word, "S-T-A-P-H-Y-L-O-C-O-C-C-I." His voice is so methodical, so unwavering. I remember vaguely what Mr. Larabee had said about note-memorization.

"That's correct," the judge intones, and he sits down again.

I feel my skin prickle with a strange mixture of dread and anticipation as I hear the familiar, "It's your turn, Akeelah."

The silence is absolute as I take my place at the microphone. I can see a sea of faces staring up at me; some black, some white, some familiar, some unfamiliar. But they all have the same tense, expectant look. I swallow nervously. They all want me to win.

I look up suddenly as I hear the female judge's placid voice, "Spell appoggiatura."

I stare at the massive, arching alabaster walls, at the soft splotches of sunlight dancing in the stain-glass windows. Slowly, the letters and the beat form in my mind, traveling down to my voice, my hands.

Without thinking about doing it, my hands start tapping my legs in a rhythmic pattern. The letters sizzle on the tip of my tongue.

I can do this.

Memories flood over me; sunny afternoons with Mr. Larabee, a multitude of voices...

"A-P-P-O-G-G-I-A-T-U-R-A."

To my surprise, I can hear another voice, blended with mine--Dylan's. Suddenly I remember that this is the twenty-fifth word; if we get this right, we both win.

A thunderous gale of applause crashes over my ears like a wave, and even though through the sound I can't hear the judges, I knew what they've said.

We've won.

I feel, through a haze of bliss, something cold and smooth being thrust into my hands. I opened my eyes to see what it was...

The National Bee trophy!

Dylan is holding the other handle, and I give him a grin of sheer happiness before turning once again to the roaring crowd.