Mr. Lemoncello's Library Olympics: Chapters 25–38

The two kids flailed their arms furiously. Both of their avatars shot off like rocket ships, streaking the cloudless sky with white contrails.

Kyle tried his best to mimic Abia’s moves but was buffeted in the wake created by her back draft. He moved his arms up and down and up and down until he looked like a berserk bicycle pump.

He lowered his chin and sent his dino-bird swooping into a dive, then leveled it out when it was just a few inches above the video ocean’s churning waves.

Ahead, Angus Harper appeared to be flying on vapors—barely sputtering, lurching and jerking forward.

His battery icon went red just as Kyle zipped past him. “You must’ve cheated!” Harper screamed right before his pterodactyl plummeted to its watery grave.

When Kyle’s pterodactyl reached the volcano, a hot-air balloon rose from the smoldering basin.

When Kyle’s pterodactyl reached the volcano, a hot-air balloon rose from the smoldering basin.

“Hearty and splendiferous congratulations, Kyle Keeley,” boomed Mr. Lemoncello. “You played hard but you studied harder. You are the true Lord of the Fliers. Therefore, by the power vested in me by the electric company, even though they didn’t know I would be wearing a vest today, I hereby award you the Olympian Researcher medal for meritorious fish mongering...."

Shame on you, Mr. Lemoncello, she thought, seething. If I didn’t need a scholarship to even think about attending college, I’d quit these inane games!

Shame on you, Mr. Lemoncello, she thought, seething. If I didn’t need a scholarship to even think about attending college, I’d quit these inane games!

Marjory grabbed a book off a shelf in the back. Bleak House by Charles Dickens. It matched her mood.

Andrew smiled. “Isn’t informational organization awesome?”
“Yes,” said Marjory. “It’s certainly more intellectually stimulating than video games.”

When the bookmobiles arrived at the Lemoncello Library, the security guards, Clarence and Clement, gave each team member a brand-new smartphone.
“You will need it for today’s first game,” said Clarence.
“But you get to keep it, too,” added Clement.
Sweet, thought Kyle. Even if his team lost this round, they’d all just scored some excellent swag.

“This will be another solo competition. Please pick one player to represent your team. A parade of costumed characters as well as stagehands carrying props will soon march from the lobby, promenade along the back wall, and exit into the Children’s Room. Your chosen player will assemble the characters and props into titles of famous children’s books. The player who can correctly figure out the titles and identify their authors the fastest will win our sixth medal, the ‘I Did It!”’

“What did you and Mrs. Chiltington talk about?” Andrew Peckleman asked Marjory Muldauer. They were sitting together on the patio near the motel’s stone-cold gas-powered fire pit.
“How much we both hate what Mr. Lemoncello’s doing at his so-called library. Do you know what insane game they had us play today? Reading while eating.”

To help them succeed (and to earn her scholarship from the Willoughby-Chiltington Family Trust), all Marjory had to do was remove one book from the library’s shelves. She had no qualms about it. No doubts or misgivings.

To help them succeed (and to earn her scholarship from the Willoughby-Chiltington Family Trust), all Marjory had to do was remove one book from the library’s shelves. She had no qualms about it. No doubts or misgivings.

Marjory was standing on one side of the motel’s swimming pool with the other contestants and their coaches. The blithering buffoon, Mr. Lemoncello, and his head librarian, Dr. Zinchenko, were standing on the other.

“Have you guys seen Marjory Muldauer?” asked Akimi as she and Sierra joined the boys at the breakfast table. “I like to keep my eye on our competition at all times.”
“What about all these other kids?” said Sierra, gesturing to the tables filled with the country’s top young bibliophiles. “They’re our competition, too.”

“Welcome back, everybody!” said Mr. Lemoncello, addressing the contestants and the crowd from the second-floor balcony, where he was seated in a canvas director’s chair. He was wearing a floppy beret and an ascot like movie directors sometimes do—in cartoons. “I hope you’re all having fun!”

He shot Mrs. Chiltington a toothy smile, then pivoted back to the players.
“But I can’t remember the title or the author or whether this book...”
Another smile for Mrs. Chiltington, who wasn’t smiling back.
“...is fiction or nonfiction. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find this one needle in our haystack of five million different titles.”

Mr. Lemoncello whipped off the beret and tugged on an Ohio State Buckeyes baseball cap. “I will now play the patron. Before I do, however, I’d like to express my sincere gratitude to my brilliant acting coach, the renowned thespian Sir Donald Thorne, for his assistance in helping me craft my portrayal of this role.”

Mr. Lemoncello whipped off the beret and tugged on an Ohio State Buckeyes baseball cap. “I will now play the patron. Before I do, however, I’d like to express my sincere gratitude to my brilliant acting coach, the renowned thespian Sir Donald Thorne, for his assistance in helping me craft my portrayal of this role.”

Kyle and his teammates headed to a desk in the outer ring so they could converse privately.

“So what fruit was first discovered in 2014?” asked Akimi, zeroing in on that part of the clue. “Craisins?”
“Hold up,” said Miguel. “You’re being too literal.”
“Miguel’s right,” said Kyle. “Mr. Lemoncello is way too wacky to mean exactly what he said.”

Akimi’s eyes lit up. “‘Flora,’ meaning ‘vegetation,’ is the opposite of ‘fauna,’ meaning ‘wildlife.’”

Kyle’s platform finally drifted up from the floor and set off on a diagonal tangent for the 2014 Newbery Medal winner—and a very possible midair collision with the three other players, who were all aiming for the same target.

Kyle stayed on his direct trajectory to Flora and Ulysses, but within seconds, his hover ladder’s infrared collision sensors picked up the approach of Marjory’s platform.

“Yield to traffic,” cooed a computerized voice from the tiny speaker in Kyle’s control panel.
Marjory thumbed her red emergency stop button.
Her hover ladder froze, right where it would block Kyle’s ascent.

Meanwhile, Dr. Zinchenko had commandeered a hover ladder and sailed up to the spot where the missing book should’ve been shelved.

“How weird will it be,” said Akimi, “if the next time we head downtown to the library, we’re not famous anymore? What if we’re just a bunch of losers?”
“Thanks for that inspirational thought, Akimi,” said Miguel. “You should really consider a career as a motivational speaker.”

Each member of Mrs. Chiltington’s crew was carrying a one-word protest sign. Together, they read “IS THIS ANY LIBRARY? WAY TO RUN A.” Bow-tie man, who was holding the “LIBRARY?” placard, was standing in the wrong spot.

“If this library is to be a true public institution,” said Charles’s mother, “then it requires public oversight. It should be governed by a board of community trustees, not by a one-man band.”
“Especially,” said Charles, “when the batty bandleader is a disingenuous and mendacious charlatan.”

“If this library is to be a true public institution,” said Charles’s mother, “then it requires public oversight. It should be governed by a board of community trustees, not by a one-man band.”
“Especially,” said Charles, “when the batty bandleader is a disingenuous and mendacious charlatan.”

“If this library is to be a true public institution,” said Charles’s mother, “then it requires public oversight. It should be governed by a board of community trustees, not by a one-man band.”
“Especially,” said Charles, “when the batty bandleader is a disingenuous and mendacious charlatan.”

“That’s why we’re here today. Our children deserve a proper library, not an indoor amusement park. Mr. Lemoncello is exposing their impressionable minds to things such as a smell-a-vision version of some book called Walter the Farting Dog that children and their impressionable noses simply should not be exposed to.”

“I was so looking forward to this day,” sighed Mr. Lemoncello from his lofty perch.

“But instead of being giddy,” Mr. Lemoncello continued, “I feel like a Watership. Down. Dr. Zinchenko? Will you kindly run game eleven? My internal Olympic torch is dimming and is in desperate need of fresh batteries. Therefore, I will be in my private suite working on the clues for game twelve, the final and most important game of the Lemoncello Library Olympics.”

“But instead of being giddy,” Mr. Lemoncello continued, “I feel like a Watership. Down. Dr. Zinchenko? Will you kindly run game eleven? My internal Olympic torch is dimming and is in desperate need of fresh batteries. Therefore, I will be in my private suite working on the clues for game twelve, the final and most important game of the Lemoncello Library Olympics.”

“What’s this game going to be about? Drinking milk shakes while floating books in a hot tub?”
“No, Miss Muldauer, although your sarcasm is duly noted. Game eleven will celebrate your freedom to express yourself with snarky scorn as well as everyone else’s freedom to read. Today’s first game will be all about banned books.”