Mr. Lemoncello's Great Library Race Page 3

  “Simple infrared technology, actually,” said Mr. Raymo modestly.

  “And now,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “I will use the device to dial up a holographic, interactive, and very attractive Supreme Court justice—Oliver Wendell Holmes Junior. He will administer our official Lemoncello Vow of Secrecy Oath before revealing something we need to keep secret.”

  “Holmes was on the court from 1902 to 1932,” whispered Miguel.

  “His opinions are still quoted and cited to this day,” added Katherine Kelly from across the table.

  “Oyez, oyez, oyez,” said Mr. Lemoncello, bopping a button. “Here comes the judge.”

  The ghostly image of a very somber-looking man draped in black robes appeared next to Mr. Lemoncello at the head of the table. He sported a bushy walrus mustache and wore a starched shirt with a stiff collar that stood straight up.

  “Now, if it please the court,” Mr. Lemoncello said to the hologram, “will you kindly administer our super-duper double-pinky secrecy oath?”

  Justice Holmes turned to the diners gathered around the table. “Please rise, raise your right hand, and repeat after me.”

  All the guests stood.

  “I, insert your name.”

  Everybody said “I” and added their names.

  Except Mr. Lemoncello.

  He said, “I, insert your name.”

  The former Supreme Court justice cleared his throat disapprovingly.

  “Oh. Right. I, Luigi Libretto Lemoncello…”

  Justice Holmes continued: “Do solemnly swear or affirm that I will never reveal any of the secrets I am privy to as a member of this esteemed board of trustees. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a booger in my eye.”

  When all the trustees quit giggling, they repeated the oath.

  Mr. Lemoncello flicked off the Nonfictionator. Justice Holmes disappeared.

  “Since you are all duly and officially sworn to secrecy,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “how’d you like a sneak peek at what I hope will be my game company’s biggest hit this holiday season?”

  “Woo-hoo!” shouted Kyle.

  “We’d love it!” added Angus.

  “Very well,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “But remember—it’s a secret. Even Santa doesn’t know about it yet!”

  “Right now,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “the tremendous holographic magic of the Nonfictionator only works inside the library or here in this extremely expensive portable unit. But…”

  Mr. Lemoncello let everybody hang in suspense for a few seconds.

  Finally, when Kyle thought he might burst, Mr. Lemoncello tapped the remote button on top of the Nonfictionator box.

  A giant flat-screen TV brightened inside the wall behind him.

  “This November,” he announced, “just in time for the holiday shopping season, we will introduce what could be a real game changer of a game. Fantabulous Floating Emoji! It’s like charades, except the clues are given by three-D emoticons projected over the board by the ‘magic holographic eye’!”

  A computer-generated animation of the game appeared on the TV screen. There was a trail of spaces winding around the edges of the board. An emerald-green disk sat in the center, between stacks of red, green, blue, and yellow cards.

  “Choose a category!” said Mr. Lemoncello.

  On the screen, an animated yellow card flipped over to reveal “classic children’s books.”

  Suddenly, a three-dimensional rotating plate of spaghetti—complete with a twirling fork—floated over the board.

  “That is so cool!” said Pranav.

  “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs!” guessed Andrew.

  Mr. Lemoncello honked like a goose. “Sorry. Incorrect. Next emoji!”

  A rotating apple appeared next to the spaghetti.

  “Johnny Appleseed’s Italian grandmother!” guessed Akimi.

  Everybody sort of looked at her.

  Mr. Lemoncello goose-honked again.

  A third emoji appeared over the board: a fuzzy bug.

  “Finding the Worm by Mark Goldblatt?” said Sierra hesitantly.

  This time Mr. Lemoncello just shook his head.

  A fourth and fifth 3-D emoji simultaneously materialized over the game board: a hamburger and a lollipop.

  “The Very Hungry Caterpillar!” shouted Kyle.

  “Ding, ding, ding!” said Mr. Lemoncello. “We have a winner!”

  “Yes!” Kyle arm-pumped in triumph.

  “Way to go, bro,” said Miguel.

  Mr. Lemoncello bopped a button on his boxy controller, and the screen went blank.

  “We are all set to begin production next week so that this holiday season kids everywhere can bring home their own hologram projector at a reasonable price. It’s so cheap even my family could’ve afforded it. And we were so poor we used to eat cereal with a fork to save money on milk!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “I’m here all week.” He brandished a rolled-up tube of blueprints. “And these are the incredibletastic new game’s complete design schematics.”

  He bent down and pulled back the rug to reveal a floor safe.

  “Should I not be able, for whatever reason, to fulfill my duties as head of the Imagination Factory, I want you, my trusted trustees, to pick up the torch and carry on. Not that I want you to burn these blueprints to make a torch, mind you, because you will need them to build the board game. You will also need to know the combination to this floor safe. Kindly keep it a secret, too, for it is the same series of random letters I use all the time: R right. E left. A right. D left. That’s right. There’s nothing left. It’s just R-E-A-D. The key to unlocking everything in the universe!”

  Across the table, Katherine Kelly was writing the combination down in her small notebook. Kyle didn’t need to. He could memorize four letters. Heck, anybody could.

  “So much for fun and games,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Let’s move on to the next item on our agenda. Lemoncello Library business.”

  Sierra, Pranav, and Andrew clapped.

  Kyle wanted to play another round of Fantabulous Floating Emoji or hear the exciting announcement Mr. Lemoncello had promised he was going to make. Library business sounded boring.

  “It’s time for my major announcement!” said Mr. Lemoncello.

  Woo-hoo, thought Kyle. So much for being bored. It was showtime!

  “To thank you all for your dedicated service,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “I have created a brand-new, board-members-only board game—without a board!”

  Kyle leapt out of his seat. “Yes!”

  He pumped both fists over his head.

  Everybody else just stared at him.

  “Sorry.”

  Kyle sat back down.

  “No need to apologize, Mr. Keeley!” exclaimed Mr. Lemoncello. “For I am as excited as you are. Now then, where was I? Ah, yes. My dining room. But this game will take you far, far away from here! And if you win, it will take you even farther—on a tour of libraries all across North America!”

  Now Kyle was super excited. He and his family had never really done much traveling. Except to Disney World. Once.

  Oh, they’d also been to Cedar Point, an amusement park in Ohio. Kyle tried to forget that trip. His brother Curtis had thrown up on the Corkscrew roller coaster. Kyle was in the seat in front of him.

  “What’s this new game called?” asked Akimi.

  Before he replied, Mr. Lemoncello struck a finger-pointed-to-the-sky pose, just like his statue in the fountain in the lobby of the library—only there wasn’t any water spurting out of his mouth.

  “Mr. Lemoncello’s Fabulous Fact-Finding Frenzy!”

  Angus Harper’s hand shot up.

  “Yes, Angus?”

  “Are you sure it’s a game, sir? Finding facts sounds an awful lot like a homework assignment.”

  “Oh, it’s a game, all right,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Perhaps the most challenging one any of you will ever play. That’s why the prize is so amaze
rrific. And why only ten of you will even have a chance of winning it!”

  All the trustees were buzzing excitedly.

  Mr. Lemoncello tapped the side of his water glass with a spoon to regain everyone’s attention.

  “The Fabulous Fact-Finding Frenzy will consist of two rounds,” he announced. “The first elimination round I like to call ‘the elimination round,’ because it is the round in which players will be eliminated. You will be paired up in two-person teams as we endeavor to see who amongst you is most like Mike Mulligan with his steam shovel and knows how to dig, dig, dig. The top five teams, consisting of ten players total, will move on to round two. The rest of you will be sent home with lovely parting gifts.”

  “What’s the second round, sir?” asked Pranav Pillai.

  “Ah! Good question, Pranav.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “The second round will come after the first one and last a few days, so you might need to miss some school….”

  “Woo-hoo!” shouted Kyle, doing a quick raise-the-roof dance move.

  Everyone else stared at him. They were mostly brainiacs. Not that there was anything wrong with that. They just seemed to enjoy going to school, doing homework, and memorizing math junk more than Kyle did.

  “The second round of the game,” Mr. Lemoncello continued, “is the actual Fact-Finding Frenzy! In it, our top ten research assistants will race against each other to see who can solve clues, unravel puzzles, pass through roadblocks, and overcome any and all obstacles to find the fascinating fact we’re looking for!”

  Kyle was super excited. This new game reminded him of that TV show where contestants raced each other around the world. It was one of his faves.

  “The facts,” Mr. Lemoncello continued, “will be linked to the five new interactive Nonfictionator displays we’re creating for the library. Displays that will be revealed to the public at a grand gala featuring cake, balloons, indoor fireworks, confetti cannons, and a surprise guest appearance by the one and only Haley Daley!”

  Everybody cheered.

  Haley had been one of the winners in the first escape game but had since moved out to Hollywood, where she was now a TV and singing star on the Disney Channel.

  “Who are the five historical figures to be honored with new exhibits?” asked Stephanie Youngerman from Idaho.

  “Those names will not be revealed until round two,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “We’re still tweaking the list.”

  Mr. Lemoncello went on to explain that the library lobby would be home base, just like the home square from his first big hit, the board game Family Frenzy, which he invented when he was still a teenager. It was the game that earned the bazillionaire his first millions.

  The teams in round two would race each other—out into the field and back to the library.

  “You may need to travel on planes, trains, and automobiles,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Not to worry. Our fleet of bookmobiles will be at your disposal—as will my corporate jets, airplanes, and helicopters. So be sure your parents or guardians sign these permission slips.”

  He handed out tightly rolled-up scrolls of paper.

  “They’re kind of long,” muttered Andrew after opening his.

  “Oh, yes,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Because they cover everything—even stuff I haven’t thought of yet!”

  Akimi raised her hand.

  “So what does the winning team actually win?” she asked.

  “Something more priceless than a million dollars, because let’s face it, a million dollars has a price: one million dollars. If you win, you will tour the country with these holographic exhibits and see North America—for free!”

  “Wait a second,” whined Andrew Peckleman. “I thought these new exhibits were for our library, downtown.”

  “At first,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Then, in the fall, we will take the Nonfictionator and our team of fabulous fact finders on the road to libraries all over North America! Whoever wins will have an all-expenses-paid trip to see Washington, Chicago, New York, Seattle, Vancouver, and San Francisco, where you will be greeted as library rock stars! But wait, there’s more. The two members of the winning team will also be the first two people in the whole entire world—including Antarctica—to take home my new Fantabulous Floating Emoji game the instant it rolls off the assembly line!”

  Kyle’s heart started beating a little faster.

  It always did that whenever he wanted to win, win, win!

  “We’re from out of town,” David Krinkle said to the holographic research librarian stationed behind her desk in the Rotunda Reading Room.

  “We’d like to do a little research,” added his brother, Frederick, clutching a flat briefcase with combination-lock clasps.

  “So I assumed,” said the research librarian. She pointed to the illuminated sign over her head:

  ADRIENNE WAINTRAUB, RESEARCH LIBRARIAN

  I may not know everything, but I know how to find it.

  “We hope we’re not too late,” said David.

  “The library is open until ten p.m. on Fridays,” said Ms. Waintraub without any emotion, because her interface was strictly data-driven.

  “We would’ve been here sooner, but we had to fly to Detroit and then rent a car,” explained Frederick. “Too bad this sleepy little burg doesn’t have a proper airport.”

  “Actually,” said the holographic librarian, “Alexandriaville is served by the Wood County Regional Airport. Although no commercial carriers operate out of the facility, it is home to many general aviation aircraft and is a destination for corporate aircraft doing business in the region.”

  David leaned forward. “Tell me, Miss Waynetree…”

  “The proper pronunciation of my name is WINE-trowb. It is a Jewish-German surname meaning ‘grape.’ My ancestor Abraham Waintraub’s name can be found on the New York arriving-passenger lists of 1824.”

  “Very impressive research,” said Frederick, sounding anything but impressed.

  “Research is my job, Mr. FREDERICK KRINKLE.”

  “What? How do you know my name?”

  “I am equipped with facial recognition software.”

  “So you know who I am, too?” said David.

  “Yes, DAVID KRINKLE. You two, together, are the Krinkle brothers, the game makers. You have a combined net worth of three hundred million dollars. You make most of the dominoes, marbles, pachisi, and Chinese checkers sets sold in America and Canada. You are considered Mr. Lemoncello’s chief domestic rivals in the toy and game-manufacturing sectors of the United States economy.”

  “So?” bristled Frederick. “Are you going to toss us out of the loony old bat’s loopy library just because we’re his main competitors?”

  “No,” said the flickering hologram. “This is a public facility. All are welcome here. Also I am a hologram, a three-dimensional projection of a photographic image. As such, I cannot toss anything. Excuse me. One moment. Data loading. Data loading.”

  Her eyeballs turned into spinning pinwheels for a few seconds.

  “Your most popular game to date is Whoop Dee Doodle, versions one through thirteen, which, according to Game Maker magazine, was a ‘Whopper of a Dee-saster.’ Your cat’s name, when you were growing up, was Lucifer. You like the crusts cut off your toast, soft-boiled eggs—”

  “How can you possibly know all that?” demanded Frederick.

  “I am a research librarian. Knowing things is what I do.”

  “You sound like a robot!” exclaimed David.

  “Yes. Because I am. A robot. My name was given to me by Mr. Lemoncello in an attempt to humanize my interface and to honor the research librarian at the New York Public Library who, in the early years of his career, gave him assistance, guidance, and all the answers he ever sought.”

  “Is Luigi here?” asked Frederick, his eyes darting back and forth nervously.

  “No. He is at his home. Entertaining his board of trustees.”

  “Oh, too bad,” said David. “Can you tell
us where we might find the so-called Lemoncello-abilia Room? We’d like to examine some of the artifacts from Luigi’s past.”

  Ms. Waintraub’s eyes grew wide. Her pupils dilated. She leaned forward and projected a 3-D animated display of the library’s multilevel floor plan above the reference desk.

  “You will find THE LEMONCELLO-ABILIA ROOM on the third floor,” she said as a blinking line of dots illustrated the shortest route. “It is conveniently located right next to THE ART AND ARTIFACTS ROOM. You may access the upper levels of the library via the spiral staircases, the elevator, or—if you have the proper mountain-climbing gear and will sign a liability waiver—the hover ladders.”

  “We’ll take the elevator,” snarled Frederick.

  “The Lemoncello-abilia Room will close in fifteen minutes,” said the hologram.

  “We’ll be quick,” said David. “Come on, Frederick.”

  Frederick hugged the briefcase tightly to his chest as the brothers bustled over to the elevator and rode it up to the third floor to do what they had flown to Ohio to do.

  Kyle couldn’t wait for the new game to begin.

  But he had to.

  The elimination round wouldn’t take place until the following weekend. A lot of the board members had to fly home to go to school, but most would be flying back to Ohio on Friday morning for the start of the new competition that night.

  Kyle had to go to school, too.

  On Monday, in social studies, he was supposed to give an oral report on his “favorite famous figure.”

  Of course, he chose Mr. Lemoncello.

  He concentrated on the billionaire game inventor’s early childhood in Alexandriaville, Ohio.

  “When he was our age,” Kyle told the class, “young Luigi Lemoncello loved the public library because, with nine brothers and sisters—all of them crammed into a tiny apartment with only one bathroom—the Alexandriaville public library was the only place where he could go to—and I quote from an interview he gave to NPR last year—‘hear myself think and work on my game ideas.’ ”