Escape from Mr. Lemoncello's Library: Chapters 6–13

Working on his library essay like he’d never worked on any essay in his whole essay-writing life, Kyle crafted a killer thesis sentence that compared libraries to his favorite games.

He attached his essay file to a “high priority” email addressed to Mr. Lemoncello at the Imagination Factory.

“That’s Dr. Yanina Zinchenko!” gushed Miguel Fernandez, who was sitting on Kyle’s right.

“All right, boys and girls,” said the principal at the podium.

“Twelve years ago, this town lost its one and only public library when it was torn down to make room for an elevated parking garage. Back then, many said the Internet had rendered the ‘old-fashioned’ library obsolete, that a new parking garage would attract shoppers to the boutiques and dress shops near the old bank building...."

“Twelve years ago, this town lost its one and only public library when it was torn down to make room for an elevated parking garage. Back then, many said the Internet had rendered the ‘old-fashioned’ library obsolete, that a new parking garage would attract shoppers to the boutiques and dress shops near the old bank building...."

Kyle was so close he could see a sly twinkle sparkling in Mr. Lemoncello’s coal-black eyes.

They were too mesmerized by Mr. Lemoncello’s rat-a-tat words.

Dazed, Kyle made his way up the steps to join the others onstage.

“I’m hoping to find a classic board game,” mused Curtis.

Kyle had decided to divvy up his gift card five ways.

“They only have one left!” he gushed, tearing off the cellophane shrink-wrap and prying open the lid.

Kyle flew up and down the aisles and grabbed a couple of board games he didn’t own yet, including Mr. Lemoncello’s Absolutely Incredible Iron Horse—a game where you build your own transcontinental railroad, complete with locomotive game pieces that actually puff steam.

Kyle spread out the remaining cookies in his palm: U N F E H A V. He grinned as he deciphered an easy anagram.

“As Dr. Zinchenko informed you, I’d like to say a few brief words. Here they are: ‘short,’ ‘memorandum,’ and ‘underpants.’

Mr. Lemoncello flourished his arm toward the ballroom doors.

The crowd cheered as they marched out of the ballroom, all toting their sleeping bags and suitcases.

The building was a boxy fortress, three stories tall, with stately columns that acted like bookends, because the windowless walls had been painted to resemble a row of giant books lined up on a shelf. “It’s like a majestic Greek temple,” gushed Miguel.

Kyle had to smile when he saw what was tethered to the railings on either side of the steps: balloons!

The burly guard wore his hair in long, ropy dreadlocks.

The first thing Kyle could see inside was a trickling fountain in a grand foyer of brilliant white marble.

Kyle noticed a quote chiseled into the statue’s pedestal: KNOWLEDGE NOT SHARED REMAINS UNKNOWN.

Kyle noticed a quote chiseled into the statue’s pedestal: KNOWLEDGE NOT SHARED REMAINS UNKNOWN.

Kyle heard the whir of spinning wheels, the clink of grinding gears, and a reverberating clunk.

The entire underside of the dome looked like space as seen from the Hubble telescope: A dusty spiral nebula billowed up, a galaxy of stars twinkled, and meteorites whizzed across the ceiling.

The entire underside of the dome looked like space as seen from the Hubble telescope: A dusty spiral nebula billowed up, a galaxy of stars twinkled, and meteorites whizzed across the ceiling.

“Those are the ten categories of the Dewey decimal system,” whispered Miguel, sounding awestruck.

Tucked beneath the ten screens in arched niches were incredible 3-D statues glowing a ghostly green.

“I believe those are holographic projections,” said Andrew Peckleman, waving up at a statue that was waving down at him.

The other half had balconies on the second and third floors that reminded him of the open atrium of a hotel he and his family had stayed at once.

While everybody was gawking at the architecture, Dr. Zinchenko said the words Kyle had been waiting to hear all day:
“Now then, who’s ready for our first game?”

“This will be a live, three-dimensional version of that game. Each of you will be asked a trivia question. If you are able to answer it correctly, you will roll the dice and advance the equivalent number of desks. When you return to the starting point, you will move into the next concentric circle of desks. When you complete that ring, you will move into the next, and so on. If one of you makes it all the way to my desk at the center, you will be declared the winner.”

“Tonight’s first prize,” said Dr. Zinchenko, “is this golden key granting the winner access to Mr. Lemoncello’s private and very posh bedroom suite up on the library’s third floor. Instead of spending the night on the floor in a sleeping bag, you will be relaxing in luxury with a feather bed, a seventy-two-inch television screen and a state-of-the-art gaming console.”

He rolled snake eyes and moved up two measly desks.

And Charles Chiltington surged ahead with a correct answer about the Beatles' "Hey Jude” and a double-sixes roll.

“She’d be a hundred and ten if she were still alive.”
“But she’s dead and working here?”
“Let’s just say her spirit lives on in this hologram.”

The security guard, Clarence, and a guy who looked like his identical twin brother entered the rotunda, each of them carrying an aluminum attache case.

“Kindly deposit all cell phones, iPods, and iPads in the receptacles provided by our security guards, Clarence and Clement. Your devices will be safely stored for the duration of your stay and will be returned to you at the conclusion of our activities...."

“The bottom of that platform you are standing on is a magnet,” said Dr. Zinchenko. “There are ribbons of electromagnetic material in the lining of the bookcases. The strength of those magnets will be modulated by our maglev computer based on the call number you input.”

“The hover ladder must use advanced magnetic levitation technology,” said Miguel, seated at the desk to Kyle’s right. “Just like the maglev bullet trains in Japan.”