Mr. Lemoncello's Library Olympics

by Chris Grabenstein

  Thoze four beople who will reprasent awl of the bibrareans id the creat and heroik Mountain states knaw one thing aboot anything primted in a card cadalog sydtem. Without it, library users would simply be lost.

  There were so many mistakes most of the contestants didn’t know what it meant, what they were supposed to do, or why the judges hadn’t proofread their paragraph before passing it around.

  But the final four knew the mistakes were the secret code.

  By writing down the letters that should have gone where the wrong letters were, they came up with a simple lesson about library card catalogs:

  S P E L L I N G C O U N T S.

  In San Antonio, Texas, the final contest was a fresh and very complicated rebus puzzle.

  “The category is ‘famous quotes,’ ” said Cynthia Alaniz, the librarian who would be coaching the Southwest team. “Good luck!”

  The eight finalists wrote their answers as quickly as they could. When they were finished, they put down their pencils and bopped bright yellow hotel bells.

  The four fastest puzzle solvers nailed it: “ ‘Google can bring you back one hundred thousand answers. A librarian can bring you back the right one.’ —Neil Gaiman”

  Marjory Muldauer, who had aced every test and game thrown her way during the first eight rounds of the regional competition, was in Madison, Wisconsin, for the Midwest finals.

  And she was feeling invincible.

  In the Midwest’s “elite eight,” she played a rapid-fire “first lines” game.

  A librarian stood at a podium and read from a note card. The contestants had to buzz in like they did on Jeopardy!

  “ ‘Where’s Papa going with that axe?’ ” said the librarian.

  Marjory slammed her fist down first.

  BUZZ!

  “Charlotte’s Web, by E. B. White!”

  “Correct. ‘All children, except one, grow up.’ ”

  Marjory banged her button.

  BUZZ!

  “Peter Pan, by J. M. Barrie!”

  “Correct. ‘In the light of the—’ ”

  BUZZ!

  Marjory didn’t wait for the librarian to finish.

  “The Very Hungry Caterpillar, by Eric Carle.”

  “Correct. ‘Mrs. Rachel—’ ”

  BUZZ!

  “Anne of Green Gables, by L. M. Montgomery.”

  The other contestants never had a chance.

  To lock down her spot on the four-person team, Marjory competed against five other finalists in one last Dewey decimal challenge.

  “Give me the Dewey decimal number for ‘freedom of speech,’ ” said Tabatha Otto, a librarian from Lincolnshire, Illinois.

  Two contestants began weeping.

  Three wrote down the same answer: 323.44.

  “Very good,” said the librarian.

  “But not good enough,” said Marjory. “Three-two-three-point-four-four is the call number for ‘freedom of action,’ also known as liberty. But three-two-three-point-four-four-three would be ‘freedom of speech.’ ”

  And that’s what she had written on her card.

  Marjory Muldauer was good.

  Scary good.

  On March 18, two days before the Library Olympic Games were scheduled to start, Mrs. Yunghans, the middle school librarian, showed Team Kyle a viral video of Marjory Muldauer’s brilliant performance at the Midwest finals.

  “Wow,” said Akimi.

  “Yikes,” added Miguel. “She’s amazing.”

  “She’s also incredibly tall,” said Akimi. “Like a praying mantis.”

  “She looks sort of sad,” said Sierra.

  Kyle didn’t say a word.

  This was the last straw.

  Seeing Marjory Muldauer in action, watching her guess first sentences of books with just one or two words for a clue, Kyle knew he didn’t stand a chance. Not against that kind of competition. The girl knew Dewey decimal codes down to the one-thousandths place. Kyle still wasn’t sure what “the four-two-three” meant.

  Plus, the Lemoncello Library had been closed to the public for a week. Mysterious imagineers from Mr. Lemoncello’s headquarters in New York City had come to Alexandriaville to make what the local newspaper called “a few minor alterations.” They’d been working inside the locked building under the supervision of Dr. Zinchenko, adding new surprises for the Olympic Games.

  Surprises Kyle knew would totally baffle him.

  He would go into the Lemoncello Library a champion and come out a chump. There would be no more cake days.

  It wasn’t so much that Kyle was afraid of losing (even though he was). He didn’t want to be the reason everybody else lost, too.

  “What kind of new gadgets and gizmos do you guys think Mr. Lemoncello has added to his library?” asked Mrs. Yunghans.

  “It’s top-secret,” said Miguel.

  “Nobody knows,” added Akimi.

  “Probably not even Mr. Lemoncello,” said Sierra.

  Once again, Kyle remained silent.

  “I guess all we can do now to prep is read more books,” said Miguel.

  But the books would have to come from the middle school media center. The week the library was closed for its “alterations,” nobody could check out books, which made the League of Concerned Library Lovers very upset.

  “A public library should serve the public,” said Charles Chiltington’s mother on the radio and TV. “Not the whims of an eccentric billionaire.”

  Fortunately, nobody in Alexandriaville paid much attention to Mrs. Chiltington or her group. They were too excited about the upcoming Library Olympics. All the local hotels and motels lit their “No Vacancies” neons. Restaurants hired more staff. Mr. Lemoncello’s wacky idea was an economic boon for the whole town.

  The opening ceremonies were scheduled for the first day of spring, March 20. The twelve games of the duodecimalthon would start on the twenty-first and run for six days (two games a day). Closing ceremonies would take place the following night.

  The public was invited to attend and watch. For free. The games would also be broadcast on many PBS stations, the Book Network cable channel, and NPR.

  That meant everybody in America would be able to watch and/or listen to Marjory Muldauer destroy Kyle Keeley, big-time.

  The Alexandriaville four, as well as the seven visiting teams, their coaches, and tutors (so they could keep up with their schoolwork for the week) would be staying at what Mr. Lemoncello had dubbed Olympia Village. It was actually the Blue Jay Extended Stay Lodge, where Andrew Peckleman had a part-time job.

  And that’s where Kyle was headed—as soon as Mrs. Yunghans wrapped up this final team meeting.

  “You guys have done a great job,” said the school librarian. “And, Kyle? We’re all very glad you’re still on the team.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yo, Kyle,” said Miguel, “don’t let this Marjory Muldauer get under your dome. We can take her.”

  “You’re not thinking about quitting again, are you?” asked Akimi.

  That was the problem with best friends. They knew what you were thinking even when you were pretending not to be thinking it.

  “I’m fine,” said Kyle. “Just, you know, nervous.”

  “I think we all are,” said Mrs. Yunghans, who’d be staying with the team at Olympia Village as one of their chaperones. “Look, guys—tomorrow’s Saturday. I think we should all take a break. No more studying. No games. Just head over to Liberty Park, take in some fresh air, and don’t read anything.”

  Sierra raised her hand. “Is that an order, Mrs. Yunghans?”

  “No, Sierra. You can read if you want to. But read something for yourself—not the competition.”

  Kyle said goodbye to his friends, and when he was absolutely certain nobody was following him, he biked to the Blue Jay Extended Stay Lodge.

  He needed to talk to Andrew Peckleman now—before Marjory Muldauer came to town.

  The motel’s sign looked like a big blue birdh
ouse.

  The reader board out front, where the letters used to say “Ask About Our Early-Bird Specials,” now read “Welcome to Olympia Village.”

  Kyle checked out the property. It looked like an apartment complex, with maybe a dozen or so two-story structures and parking lots spreading out in either direction from a central building that had a lobby, a dining room, and an office.

  There was also a ton of bird feeders. Everywhere. Birdbaths and birdhouses, too.

  Andrew Peckleman was working near the motel sign, pouring a sack of birdseed into one of the feeders. Kyle biked over to talk to him.

  “Hey, Andrew.”

  “Kyle.”

  “So. Sunday’s the big day.”

  “For what?”

  “The Library Olympics.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “I was wondering…”

  Before Kyle could say another word, a black SUV crawled to a stop behind him. One of the rear doors swung open, and out stepped Charles Chiltington.

  “I’ll only be a second, Mummy,” Chiltington said to someone in the backseat. Kyle squinted at the tinted front windshield. The Chiltingtons had a chauffeur. The guy was even wearing one of those floppy black hats with the shiny brim.

  “Hello, Keeley,” said Charles, who never called Kyle by his first name (probably because “Keeley” made him sound more like a servant).

  “Hey, Charles,” said Kyle.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Andrew.

  “Following Keeley.”

  Andrew looked confused. “Why?”

  “Because I knew that, sooner or later, he would come here and beg you to take his place in the Library Olympics.”

  Kyle faked a chuckle. “What?”

  “My mother and I have been enjoying the regional competitions,” said Charles. “You don’t stand a chance against that Marjory Muldauer girl, Keeley. I know it. You know it. The whole country knows it. And since Mr. Lemoncello is so eager to let Andrew back in the game…”

  “He is?” said Andrew. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I have my spies,” said Charles.

  “Spies?” Kyle said with a laugh. “Mr. Lemoncello was talking about you back in January, Andrew. When he first announced his idea for these Olympics. He knows you were bullied into stealing Sierra’s card during the escape game. He’d really like to have you come back to his library.”

  “Well, I won’t do it,” whined Peckleman, pushing his goggle-sized glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Lemoncello is stupid. His whole library is stupid. And Library Olympics? That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. You’re wasting your time, Kyle. I won’t take your place.”

  “Who said that’s why I’m here?” asked Kyle.

  Andrew pointed at Charles. “He did.”

  “Look, Keeley, I’ll take your place,” said Charles. “Mummy and her group are keen to have me on the inside, keeping an eye on Mr. Lemoncello. Besides, who knows? I might be able to whip your atrocious teammates into shape. With me at the helm, we could actually bring home the gold.” He stood proudly, looking down his nose at Kyle. “Do I need to fill out a form or something?”

  “For what?”

  Charles rolled his eyes. “To take your place. We all know that’s why you came here, Keeley. You’re afraid. Abashed. Apprehensive. Frankly, I don’t blame you. You’re a loser who got lucky. Once. I, on the other hand, am a Chiltington. Chiltingtons never lose.”

  “Except when you lost,” said Andrew, nervously fidgeting with his glasses. “You know. Last time.”

  “I did not ‘lose,’ Andrew. I was eliminated by Mr. Lemoncello.”

  Kyle shook his head. “I hate to disappoint you and your ‘mummy,’ Charles, but I didn’t come here to ask Andrew to take my place.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Nope. And I sure don’t want you anywhere near Akimi, Miguel, and Sierra. I just wanted to make sure Andrew saved Miguel and me a good room. We’re checking in Sunday afternoon.”

  “What?” said Charles. “You’re not quitting.”

  “Nope. Just wanted to check out our accommodations. Haven’t you heard, Charles? Winners never quit, and quitters never win.”

  The next day, when Kyle and his teammates were dropped off at Olympia Village by their parents, the motel was swarming with kids and chaperones.

  “Uh-oh,” said Akimi. “They all have slick warm-up outfits.”

  The seven other teams were decked out in brightly colored hoodies and sweatpants. Kyle and his friends were wearing jeans, sneakers, and mismatched jackets. So were their chaperones.

  “That’s okay,” said Sierra. “We’re saving our uniforms for the parade of champions.”

  “Check it out, you guys,” said Miguel. “There’s Andrew Peckleman.”

  Their classmate marched briskly out of the hotel lobby wearing a bright blue sweatshirt and a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap.

  “May I have your attention, please?” Andrew shouted through a bullhorn. “May I have your attention?”

  No one gave him any attention.

  All the kids from out of state and their chaperones kept gabbing and giggling.

  “So when do we get to check out this Lemoncello Library?” said a boy with the kind of tough edge New Yorkers always have in movies.

  “I sure do want to ride one of those hover ladders,” said a girl who sounded like she might be from Alabama or Louisiana.

  “Dude,” said a kid from California, “I’m heading straight to the Electronic Learning Center so I can half-pipe the craters on the moon.”

  Andrew tried again. His bullhorn squealed with feedback. “WILL YOU STUPID PEOPLE PLEASE SHUT UP?”

  Every single Library Olympian glared at him.

  “Thank you. Um, now, here with a few words about the motel is my boss and, uh, great-uncle-twice-removed, Mr. Woodrow ‘Woody’ Peckleman.”

  A skinny bald man—who sort of resembled a plucked chicken in a bright blue suit—strutted out the lobby door. He had a very pointy nose that looked like a beak. He twitched and fidgeted and squinted in the sunshine. Kyle half expected him to start scratching the toe of his shoe at the dirt, searching for chicken feed.

  “Welcome,” said Mr. Peckleman, with a voice even more nasal than Andrew’s. “The Blue Jay Extended Stay Lodge—also known, this week, as Olympia Village—is, as you may have noticed, my personal bird sanctuary. Please enjoy our feathered friends’ colorful, song-filled company and merry antics.” He gestured toward a nearby bird feeder. “But, please, do not feed the squirrels. Squirrels are nothing but thieving rodents. Rats with fluffy tails.”

  Oh-kay, Kyle thought. Andrew’s great-uncle is a little nutty.

  “Also,” Mr. Peckleman continued, “you are free to enjoy the brand-new Lemoncello video arcade machines recently installed in the motel’s game room, right off the lobby. There is no charge for any of these games.”

  “Woo-hoo,” cried Kyle.

  Now everybody in the crowd turned to gawk at him.

  Right. Kyle figured his competition was more into books and libraries than video games. He felt as out of place as he’d known he would.

  “That’s okay,” whispered Akimi. “I’ll play Dragon Bop Bubble Pop with you.”

  “Me too,” added Sierra.

  “Ditto,” tossed in Miguel.

  “Thanks, you guys.”

  Suddenly, an old-fashioned horn went AH-OOGA.

  Kyle looked at the motel entrance.

  A car resembling a pouncing cat, with glowing green eyeballs for headlights, had just eased off the highway and pulled into the parking lot.

  “The cat is one of the tokens from that board game,” said Sierra, who had been studying Lemoncello games the way Kyle had been studying libraries and books. “Family Frenzy!”

  “Correctamundo,” said Akimi.

  The cat car was followed by eight Winnebago-sized vehicles, their sides covered with vinyl graphics designed to make them look like bookshelves on wheels.<
br />
  “And check those out,” said Miguel as the vehicles gracefully glided into a reserved row of angled parking spaces.

  The catmobile’s paw door swung up, and out stepped Dr. Yanina Zinchenko, wearing a blazing-red flight suit. She strode through the crowd and politely took the bullhorn from Mr. Peckleman.

  “Welcome, everybody, to Ohio and Olympia Village,” she said. “Kindly report to the bookmobile with your region’s name affixed to its side. Our library staff will give each of you a welcome packet containing the card key for your room, meal tickets, and information about this week’s exciting events. The bookmobiles will be at your disposal throughout the games. They will take you wherever you need to go. They are also filled with books to make your commute more enjoyable. The opening ceremonies for the games of the first Library Olympiad will be held this evening, here at Olympia Village. Start time is eight p.m. There will be fireworks. And cake. Also balloons. So please, settle in, freshen up, and get ready for an exciting week.”

  Everyone applauded. Dr. Zinchenko clicked her heels and bowed.

  Two smiling Lemoncello Library staffers in yellow jumpsuits with ID badges lanyarded around their necks emerged from each of the eight bookmobiles with stacks of manila envelopes.

  “Let’s go get our room assignments,” said Mrs. Yunghans, the middle school librarian. Mr. Colby Sharp, one of the middle school’s ELA teachers, would be Team Kyle’s other chaperone.

  Kyle, Akimi, Miguel, and Sierra followed the two adults to the bookmobile with “Home Team/Defending Champions” proudly displayed on its side.

  The gangly Marjory Muldauer was standing with the two yellow-suited library staffers in front of it.

  “Excuse me, Miss Muldauer,” said Mrs. Yunghans, who of course recognized the girl immediately. “Are you looking for the Midwest team’s bookmobile?”

  “No,” said Marjory. “I was just curious if any of the reigning ‘champions’ knew when the first perambulating library appeared in the rural villages of Cumbria County, England.”

  Kyle looked to Miguel and Sierra. They looked blankly at him.

  “The first what?” said Akimi.

  “Perambulating library.” Marjory gestured over her shoulder. “A bookmobile. A mobile library?”