The crowd shouted a collective “Woo-hoo!”
“So, over the next two hours, those are the stakes you four citizens of Hudson Hills, you sons and daughters of my beloved factory workers, shall be playing for: a chance to one day own everything in the global Lemoncello empire. Good luck to you all!”
More cheers from the crowd. Simon was clapping like crazy.
Mr. Lemoncello glanced down at his gold pocket watch.
“It is nearly six. When the clock in the museum’s grand hall strikes the hour, pay very close attention. For that is when the big game truly begins!”
A clock chimed somewhere inside the Board Game Hall of Fame.
“Open the doors!” cried Mr. Lemoncello. “It’s time for our contestants to visit the past, present, and future of board games!”
Mr. McClintock rushed toward the stage. His new set of keys—one for every lock in the Board Game Hall of Fame—jingled on the shiny new ring clipped to his belt.
“Out of my way. Coming through. Head of security. Coming through. Man with keys. Step aside.”
He reached Jack. Dragged him away from the kid with the goggle glasses. Peckleman.
“Jack will be right back,” Mr. McClintock snapped.
“But we’re supposed to go inside right now,” whined Peckleman. “Mr. Lemoncello opened the doors.”
Mr. McClintock gave him his steeliest stare. “I said he’ll be right back. Do I make myself clear, soldier?”
Peckleman looked like he might wet his pants. “Oh. Okay. See you inside, Jack.” Peckleman ran through the open doors.
Mr. McClintock braced his hands on Jack’s shoulders.
“Son?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take no prisoners in there. Victory belongs to the swift. This is our shot. You know how we talk about what we’d do if we were Mr. Lemoncello?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, son, now we can be. Win that titanium ticket at all costs!”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll do whatever it takes. No holds barred.”
“That’s my boy. Now go make me proud.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll also go make us rich!”
“Whoa!” said all eight contestants the instant they stepped through the towering twin doors and entered the Board Game Hall of Fame’s four-story lobby.
It was a glistening atrium with banks of brightly colored elevators resembling bubble-tipped game pieces shooting up and down like rocket-propelled Hershey’s Kisses. Projections of emoji, the stars of Mr. Lemoncello’s Fantabulous Floating Emoji game, drifted across the walls, which were covered with enlarged game board art: box tops, advertising posters, and shelves displaying sculptures of famous tokens and playing pieces. Curling clear tubes, like something you’d see at a water park, snaked their way through the open area overhead.
A giant portrait of Mr. Lemoncello hanging on the wall sprang to holographic life.
“Welcome to the Board Game Hall of Fame! Have a great day and enjoy your stay, hey hey hey!”
“Thank you, sir!” Andrew shouted up at the talking painting.
“You’re welcome, Andrew!” the Mr. Lemoncello in the oil painting shouted back.
There were columns of colorful game board boxes stacked on top of each other climbing up to the glass ceiling. The floor was tiled to look like Mr. Lemoncello’s famous Cheesy Squeezy Pachisi board. An ornate grandfather clock, at least fifteen feet tall, stood against one wall, surrounded by framed antique game boards.
Simon peered up at the clock. It was fascinating, with frozen, hand-painted figurines of children at play. Simon could see two kids on a tilted seesaw, a juggling boy looking up at three suspended balls, a girl holding a balloon, and one boy in a top hat with a board game tucked under his arm who looked like a young Luigi Lemoncello. All of the miniature characters, with jointed marionette limbs, looked ready to spring into animated action the instant the clock struck its next full hour.
Simon would’ve loved to tear the clock apart to see how it worked.
“Welcome to the Board Game Hall of Fame,” said the hologram of a portly man in a purple tailcoat. He looked around suspiciously. “Don’t tell anybody, but I did it with the candlestick in the library.”
“That’s Professor Plum!” shouted Piya Sarkarati. “He’s from a board game!”
“Um, they all are,” Akimi told her partner.
“Help yourself to all the snacks and candy you like!” Professor Plum continued. “Feel free to play with your food.”
There were crystal bowls filled with Mr. Lemoncello’s Anagraham Crackers, Linking Licorice, and Squisheroo Marshmallow Building Blocks.
A parade of famous board game characters whirled its way through the atrium, all of the 3-D holograms waving at the contestants.
“Look, Simon,” whispered Soraiya, “there’s Rich Uncle Pennybags from Monopoly!”
Simon gulped.
Did Soraiya just call him Simon?
“Um, my name is Mario….”
“I know.” Soraiya was still whispering. Fortunately, the other three Hudson Hills contestants were off with their partners, playing with the snacks or pointing at the holograms. “So, does Mr. Lemoncello know you’re doing this?”
“Doing, uh, what?” Simon put both hands on his hips and stuck out his chest. He was trying to act cool dudish, the way Haley had taught him.
“I recognized your eyes, Simon,” Soraiya said with a smile. “Nobody else’s are that green.”
“Actually, they’re hazel….”
“Are we cheating right now?”
Simon shook his head. “No. I can’t win. They just wanted someone to fill in for Kyle Keeley. He’s sick. Some kind of stomach flu.”
“Well, I’m glad they picked you. There’s nobody else I’d rather play with. Check it out!” She pointed at a jolly red polar bear. “He’s from Don’t Break the Ice. And there’s Gramma Nutt and the princess from Candy Land!”
“Cool,” said Simon. Since his grandfather never let him play board games, he had no idea who any of these characters might be. He touched Soraiya’s elbow. “You sure you’re okay with this? They told me Mr. Lemoncello would be.”
Soraiya nodded. “I’ll be even more okay with it if we win! Oooh, gross. Stay away from that guy!”
A big plastic head, rumbling around on wheels like a float in a parade, cruised through the atrium. It was at least ten feet tall and sculpted to look like a young guy with an awkward smile, a cowlick flip to his waxy black hair, and nubby bumps all over his face.
“That’s Pimple Pete,” said Soraiya. “That red dot on the tip of his nose? It’s an exploding mega zit!”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s gross.”
Several plastic bumper-car-sized cars, a minibus, and a white ice cream truck scooted around the room. “Those are from Rush Hour,” Soraiya explained.
Simon was relaxing a little. He was relieved that he didn’t have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t around his friend.
Another plastic character rolled into the room. This one had a bright-red nose, an apple for an Adam’s apple, and butterflies in its stomach.
“Who’s that?” Simon asked.
“Cavity Sam,” said Soraiya. “From Operation! It’s a classic.”
“Hey,” Jack called out. “Does anybody know—is this parade part of the game?”
“Probably not,” said his partner, Andrew, tapping their lPad. “There’s nothing on this stupid screen except nothing.”
A panel in the glass ceiling opened and a hydraulic lift slowly lowered a very large egg timer.
“All right, contestants, may I have your attention, please?” Mr. Lemoncello’s voice echoed out of speakers planted all around the room. “We have put exactly two hours’ worth of sand into that timer. I should
know. I counted the grains myself. When it tips over, your lPads will illuminate and tell you where to find your first item in this seriously stupendous scavenger hunt through our brain-boggling new hall of fame. Remember: No two teams will be following the exact same path. You might go to an exhibit that nobody else visits. Or you may go to one with all the other teams.”
Dr. Zinchenko took over the narration. “Your lPad tablets will present you with your virtual answer sheets. As you pick up letters at each exhibit, you will simultaneously start building a seventy-six-letter phrase. That phrase will be your key to finding the titanium ticket. A floor plan of the museum will also be available to you on your device.”
“Oh, boy,” said Mr. Lemoncello as the two-hour timer started to slowly tip over. “It’s time. On your mark! Get set! Lemon, cello, go!”
All four lPads DINGed at the same time.
Simon and Soraiya looked down at their device and read what was scrolling across the screen: His life was very checkered. To find out more, visit Famous Game Makers on the second floor.
“Elevator or stairs?” said Soraiya.
Simon looked over to the elevator banks. The other players were taking turns jabbing the up button repeatedly.
“Stairs!”
They raced to the steps, which were made out of thick glass planks in a rainbow of colors like the keys on Simon’s glockenspiel. They bounded up the stairs. Every step produced a higher note on the musical scale.
“It is like my glockenspiel!” said Simon.
“So, who’s our famous game maker?” asked Soraiya, when they reached the landing at the staircase’s halfway point.
“I don’t know. I think we just need to do what the clue says. Go up to the second floor and find this Famous Game Makers exhibit.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Soraiya. “But, Simon?”
“Yeah?”
“Your nose is wobbling.”
“Haley made it out of rubber for me.”
Soraiya laughed. “Reminds me of that wobbler you plucked out of the Kujenga tower!”
Simon laughed, too. “I just hope it doesn’t start blinking.”
They reached the top of the stairs (it was a high C).
Soraiya, who was carrying the team’s lPad, showed its display to Simon.
“There must be a GPS tracker inside the device,” she said. “That dot? That’s us. Now, where are the Famous Game Makers?”
“Calculating route,” said the lPad (which sounded like Dr. Zinchenko).
A jagged line appeared on the screen.
Soraiya took off running. “Follow me!”
Simon trotted as fast as he could. He didn’t want his disguise to fall off. Soraiya might be fine with the truth about “Mario.” He doubted Jack McClintock would feel the same way.
“There!” said Soraiya, pointing to an illuminated sign. “Famous Game Makers.”
“And there!” shouted Simon, pointing to an antique game board displayed in a glass case.
It looked like a red-and-white checkerboard. Some white spaces had good things like “Bravery,” “Industry,” and “Fame” printed on them. Others had bad things like “Crime,” “Prison,” and “Ruin” stamped on them.
“Check out the box top!” said Soraiya, pointing to another display case. “The Checkered Game of Life, by Milton Bradley Company, Springfield, Mass. It fits the clue perfectly!”
“This was Milton Bradley’s very first game,” said Simon, reading the wall plaque. “Created in 1860, when he was just twenty-three years old. It came back as the Game of Life in 1960.”
“The one with the cars and the pink and blue peg people,” said Soraiya. “Let’s see if it fits.”
Soraiya swiped right, and a new image filled the lPad screen:
“It’s a two-word answer,” she said. “Six letters. Seven letters.”
“Milton Bradley!” said Simon.
Soraiya tapped the keyboard, typing in M-I-L-T-O-N B-R-A-D-L-E-Y.
When she hit return, the lPad made a very pleasant GA-LING-PA-TING! sound, signaling that the answer was correct. Next, the screen did an animated transition to a new visual and the twelve numbered letters plopped into their assigned spaces in a seventy-six-letter phrase:
“Yes!” said Soraiya. “We’re on our way!”
“We definitely are,” said Simon.
“Huh. I wonder why some of the circles look like lemons,” said Soraiya. “See? Check out number twenty-two, where our ‘D’ went.”
Simon stared at the screen. “I have a feeling those lemony letters will, when the phrase is all filled in, help us find Mr. Lemoncello’s titanium ticket.”
“Of course. Well done, Simon…I mean, Mario!”
“You’re right! You should call me Mario. Just in case Carolyn, Piya, or Jack hears us talking.”
“Yeah,” said Soraiya. “Especially Jack.”
“Where to next?”
Soraiya tapped the lPad screen. The image of the seventy-six-letter phrase shook itself clear like an Etch A Sketch. Up came the next scavenger hunt clue.
This one was a rebus.
“Oh, man,” said Soraiya, loud enough for anybody on the second floor to hear. “I wish my friend Simon Skrindle was here. He’s excellent at these picture puzzles. Best I’ve ever seen.”
Simon grinned. “Why, thank you,” he whispered.
“Me? I’m terrible at these things. I mean, what’s that picture at the end? Some kind of sack?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a sack of flour. So we take away the ‘L’ and add an exclamation point, giving us ‘four!’ ”
Soraiya made a rolling circle gesture. “Keep going, Mario.”
Simon hummed a little ditty to help him think, studied the puzzle, and gave Soraiya the answer. “It says, ‘Ready for more? Go connect four!’ Of course, I have no idea what four we’re supposed to connect….”
“It’s another board game!” said Soraiya. “Connect Four. It’s a two-player game. You pick a color, red or yellow, and take turns dropping one disc at a time into a plastic grid.”
“So, where do we find Connect Four?” said Simon.
“Upstairs,” said the navigator voice from the lPad. “Third floor.”
“Let’s go,” said Soraiya, seeing an empty elevator. She and Simon hopped into the waiting car.
“Wait a second,” said Simon as they slowly ascended. “If it’s a two-player game, does that mean I have to play you?”
Soraiya shrugged. “I guess. Maybe.”
The elevator DINGed and the doors slid open.
“There you are!” shouted Jack McClintock.
“Took you two long enough,” whined his partner, Andrew Peckleman.
“What’s the matter, Mario?” Jack sneered. “Did you guys have trouble finding your first answer?”
“We’re on our third,” said Andrew proudly. “But our stupid lPad keeps telling us to ‘wait here’ until our opponents arrive.”
“Are you guys playing Connect Four?” asked Soraiya.
“Yep,” said Jack. “Against you two!”
Lights dimmed and the panels surrounding the Connect Four exhibit were filled with grainy, washed-out images from what was labeled as a “1977 Television Commercial.”
A brother and sister with strange hairdos slid discs into a seven-column, six-row, vertically suspended grid.
“Object?” said the commercial’s announcer. “Connect four of your checkers in a row while preventing your opponent from doing the same! But, look out—your opponent can sneak up on you and win the game! Connect Four. The vertical checkers game!”
A panel in the floor popped open and a mammoth Connect Four game rose up. It was at least ten feet tall and twelve feet wide. Next, two circular panels in the floor slid open and up rose two columns of s
tacked colored discs—each one the size of a pizza pan.
“These aren’t so heavy,” said Simon with his best Mario ’tude. He picked up a couple. “Now, how do we drop ’em down the slots?”
“Easy,” said Jack. “You have to scale the wall, bro.”
“Cool,” said Simon.
“Show him how it’s done, Jack,” said Andrew.
Jack grabbed a yellow disc, tucked it under his arm, and climbed up the giant game board, using the rims of the open circles for handholds and footholds.
He dropped the yellow disc into the middle slot. It slid down to the bottom row.
“I’ve got this, Mario,” said Soraiya.
“You want me to heave the discs up to you?” said Simon.
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
Soraiya scurried up the side of the game board and dropped a red disc down a column.
“Hand me up another disc, Andy!” shouted Jack.
“Um, no one really calls me ‘Andy,’ ” said Andrew.
“Now they do. Come on. Move it.”
Andrew grunted and tried to hoist the thick yellow disc up to Jack.
“Never mind,” said Jack, scampering down to grab the plastic circle from Andrew. “You need to work on your upper-body strength.”
Andrew just nodded.
Jack scaled the game grid again and dropped another disc down another slot.
“Here you go, partner,” said Simon. He passed the next red disc up to Soraiya. She dropped it down a slot and instantly blocked Jack’s attempt to do four in a row across the bottom of the game board.
The game continued. It reminded Simon of tic-tac-toe, a game that was impossible to win if both sides knew how to play.
Mr. Lemoncello and the Titanium Ticket Page 11