Mr. Lemoncello's Library Olympics

by Chris Grabenstein

  And just like that, the Hometown Heroes were tied for first place.

  “And now,” announced Dr. Zinchenko, “it is time for today’s second game. This way, please.”

  The teams followed her from the third-floor railing to the nearby Electronic Learning Center. All the video games and flight simulators were dark. The arcade was eerily quiet. Kyle noticed something new in what had always been his favorite room in the library: One whole wall was covered, floor to ceiling, with a panoramic (but blank) video screen. As Kyle squinted at the wide swath of shiny white, he noticed a series of evenly spaced glowing green LEDs at eye level on the wall.

  Kyle couldn’t move closer to examine the screen, because the area fifteen feet in front of it had been fenced off with a series of brass poles and velvet ropes.

  Suddenly, the floor on the other side of the ropes opened. Up came the smiling head and extremely long neck of a life-size Apatosaurus—what everybody used to call a Brontosaurus, thanks to The Flintstones.

  The giant dinosaur had leaves stuck between its teeth. Its breath reeked of rancid salad, smelling worse than the middle school cafeteria that time all the refrigerators stopped working on Taco Tuesday.

  “Woo-weee!” cried Mr. Lemoncello, who, in a complete cowboy costume, was riding in a saddle strapped around the giant audio-animatronic Apatosaurus’s neck. “I knew the dinosaurs were extinct, but I didn’t know they were extra stinky, too.” He took in a deep breath. “Ah, isn’t smell-a-vision wondermous?”

  He unbuckled some sort of seat belt and hopped out of his saddle.

  “Thank you, Brontie,” he said to the big Apatosaurus. “By the way, I love your sister Charlotte. Now, please—go floss.”

  The enormous creature roared pleasantly, rattling all the blank video screens in the game room, then disappeared back into the floor, which closed up around it like a collapsing ring of tiles.

  “Since today is all about flights of fancy and fancy flights, our next contest is to see which of you would make the paleontologically perfect prehistoric pterodactyl.”

  Mr. Lemoncello flung open his arms toward the wide screen filling the back wall.

  “This room was recently equipped with my Imagination Factory’s brand-new, revolutionary Gesticulatron Gameware. Motion sensors in that hugerific video wall can read a gamer’s body language and use human gestures to control the actions of your avatar inside the video game. Yes, with the Lemoncello Gesticulatron Motion Detector, you can fly through the sky like Harriet the Spy, if Harriet the Spy could fly.”

  Marjory Muldauer sighed very audibly and, once again, shot her arm into the air.

  “I see from my own internal gesticulation sensors that we have a question,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Either that or Ms. Muldauer is attempting to hail a taxi indoors.”

  All the other kids (including Marjory’s teammates) chuckled.

  Marjory ignored them.

  “Yes, Ms. Muldauer?” said Mr. Lemoncello.

  “What does flying like a dinosaur have to do with libraries?”

  “Actually,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “pterodactyls were not dinosaurs but rather flying reptiles that existed from the Late Triassic through the Jurassic and most of the Cretaceous eras. They missed, however, the disco era, for which they were extremely grateful. All of this information I first learned, years ago, at my local library. Now we can learn even more by bringing these extinct creatures back to virtual yet historically accurate life. This is how the library of the future can present the facts of the past. Dr. Zinchenko? Kindly explain how this next game will be played.” He tugged at his fringed leggings. “I’ll be monitoring this fourth contest from my private suite down the hall. I need to change out of my chaps before I chafe.”

  Spurs jingling, Mr. Lemoncello moseyed out of the Electronic Learning Center.

  “For our next competition,” announced Dr. Zinchenko, “each team will choose one player who will report back here in two hours. Your chosen flier will, with arm gestures and body movements, control the flight of a single pterodactyl. The player to reach the finish line of our airborne obstacle course first will be today’s second medalist. Launch time is four p.m. Until then, all of the library’s vast resources are available to you. Including, of course, all the games here in the Electronic Learning Center.”

  The blackened video screens on all the game consoles filling the room sprang to life. Dings, pings, bells, whoops, and techno music filled the air.

  “Awesome,” said a kid from the Southeast team when the Mars rover simulator whirred awake. “Who wants to race around the rings of Saturn with me?”

  Kyle was tempted.

  In fact, he was practically drooling.

  Then Akimi tapped him on the shoulder.

  “You’re flying our pterodactyl, correct?”

  “Sure. If you guys think I should.”

  “Yo,” said Miguel. “It’s a video game. You’re our gamer.”

  “The only flying I’ve ever done,” said Sierra, “was with Max, Fang, Iggy, and Nudge in James Patterson’s Maximum Ride books.”

  Kyle stared at all the kids blasting through outer space, flinging catapults of fire at castle walls, or scuba diving with dolphins on the glowing game screens surrounding him.

  “So,” he said, sighing, “where do I learn about dinosaurs?”

  “The five hundreds room,” his three teammates said in unison (because they’d all paid attention during those after-school Dewey decimal drills).

  “It’s downstairs,” said Akimi. “Right below us. You can’t miss it. There’s a big Apatosaurus named Brontie inside.”

  With his teammates’ help, Kyle found several books about flying creatures from the prehistoric era.

  Pterodactyls had wings formed by a thin skin and muscle membrane stretching from one of their elongated fingers to their hind limbs. They looked like four-legged, pointy-nosed kites.

  “They ate meat and fish,” said Miguel. “Guess they wouldn’t go for that birdseed Andrew’s always pouring into Mr. Peckleman’s bird feeders back at the motel.”

  “Why does that crazy old guy like birds so much?” said Akimi, flipping through a dinosaur picture book. “There are gobs of white bird poop splatted all over the cars in the motel parking lot.”

  “He’s a birdbrain,” said Miguel. “Get it? Bird-brain?”

  “Yeah,” said Akimi. “I got it.”

  “Have you ever played one of these motion-sensor games?” Sierra asked Kyle.

  “Once. My cousin has a Kinect on his Xbox 360. We played a game where you karate kick and shoot lightning bolts at each other.”

  “Cool,” said Miguel.

  “Totally. But I’m guessing Mr. Lemoncello’s Gesticulatron technology is way more sophisticated.”

  Kyle’s team wasn’t the only group in the 500s room doing dinosaur research. Several other teams had had the same idea. Just about every book about pterosaurs (from the Greek words for “wing” and “lizard”) was flying off the shelves.

  When it was nearly four o’clock, a slender boy in blue jeans from the Southwest team sauntered over to Kyle, Akimi, Sierra, and Miguel, who were slumped in beanbag chairs resembling dinosaur eggs.

  “Excellent display of aviation engineering,” he said. “Your glider design was flawless.”

  “Thanks. I’m Akimi Hughes.” She shot out her hand. “I was chief engineer on the paper airplane project.”

  “I’m Angus Harper. From Texas.”

  “My dad’s an engineer,” said Akimi, sounding sort of self-satisfied. “Guess I’m just hardwired to design stuff.”

  Harper nodded. “My dad’s a test pilot. He’s been givin’ me flyin’ lessons since I was six.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Kyle, closing his dinosaur book.

  “Nope. I’ve already been offered an appointment to the United States Air Force Academy.”

  “Even though you’re still in middle school?” said Sierra.

  “Well, I guess some of us are just ‘har
dwired’ to be flyboys.”

  “So,” said Miguel, clearing his throat, “who’s going to fly the pterodactyl for your team?”

  “I reckon I might give it a whirl. See you folks upstairs.”

  Angus Harper ambled away.

  “So,” Kyle said to Sierra, “tell me about those kids in Maximum Ride. How exactly did they fly?”

  “Genetic mutation,” said Sierra.

  “Oh. Guess we don’t really have time for that….”

  “Don’t worry, bro,” Miguel told Kyle. “If the Texas Tornado takes the next medal, we’ll still be tied for first place.”

  “Yeah,” said Akimi. “With three other teams.”

  —

  At exactly four p.m., Kyle stood on a pair of glowing green footprints in a line with seven other contestants facing the blank video wall.

  Television cameras were set up in the Electronic Learning Center so spectators, in the library and at home, could watch the great flying reptile race. The illuminated floor markers put six feet of space between each player. That way, they’d have plenty of room to flap and flail their arms.

  Angus Harper was on Kyle’s right.

  A girl from the Northeast team, wearing a hijab, was on his left.

  She was staring at Kyle.

  “Um, hi,” he said. “I’m Kyle.”

  “Yes. I am aware of this fact.”

  “So, uh, what’s your name?”

  “Abia Sulayman. And you will soon be eating my exhaust fumes.”

  Kyle nodded. “Good to know.”

  Dr. Zinchenko paced in front of the players, her hands clasped firmly behind her back.

  “The motion sensors in the screen will detect your arm, head, and torso movement,” she explained. “Do not step off your footprint markers at any time during today’s race. If you do, you will lose control of your flying reptile and it will crash. If you wish to go left, lean that way. To go right, lean right. Raise your head to gain elevation; look down at the floor to dive or swoop. When you flap your arms, your pterodactyl will flap its wings. Any questions?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Angus. “How do we gun our bird? I feel the need—the need for speed.”

  “To accelerate, simply flap your arms faster. However, be advised: The faster you fly, the more energy your pterodactyl will consume. Your winged avatar will have a ‘life battery’ icon glowing on its back. If you burn through your fuel, you will also crash. The object of this game is to be the first to safely reach the volcano crater on the island at the far side of the sea.”

  As Dr. Zinchenko spoke, the wall behind her turned into a spectacular prehistoric world. Kyle could see dinosaurs munching on tall tree branches far off in the rain forest. Then a Tyrannosaurus rex roared and stomped through the leafy jungle, causing a leaping herd of Velociraptors to screech and flee. It was like being inside that movie Jurassic Park. All the creatures Kyle had read about and studied in the dinosaur books downstairs were now swarming across the giant video screen in front of him.

  “Give me eight pterodactyls,” Dr. Zinchenko called out. Instantly, eight winged creatures appeared on the screen, one stationed in front of each player.

  “Flap your arms,” instructed Dr. Zinchenko.

  The eight players did. The flying reptiles beat their wings up and down in sync with their human counterparts.

  Suddenly, a massive image of Mr. Lemoncello’s face appeared on the video wall.

  “Release the kraken!” he cried.

  And the pterodactyl race was on.

  Kyle flapped his arms and raised his chin.

  His flying reptile soared toward the sky.

  The game was responding like his cousin’s Xbox, only Mr. Lemoncello’s body-motion sensors were, as Kyle had suspected they might be, much more sophisticated and sensitive.

  He tilted his body sideways and his dino-bird sliced through the narrow opening in a vine-tangled clump of prehistoric trees.

  After clearing that obstacle, Kyle quickly ducked left to escape the gaping jaws of a lunging Tyrannosaurus rex. Eight of those screeching, short-armed monsters had appeared to snap at the eight flying pterodactyls.

  Three of Kyle’s competitors went down, including the kid from Marjory Muldauer’s team.

  Angus Harper and Abia Sulayman were just off Kyle’s wings. He cleared the T. rex trap and reached a sandy beach where some smaller dinosaurs were building nests. Kyle waved his arms and soared across the choppy sea.

  On the distant horizon, Kyle could see a volcano spewing molten lava. The finish line.

  He flapped his arms faster.

  When he did, the battery icon on the back of his pterodactyl dipped down to three-quarters. Dr. Zinchenko had been right. Flying fast drained your dino-bird’s life force even faster.

  Suddenly, another “flying reptile” from the dinosaur books appeared in the sky: a giant Pteranodon with a thirty-foot wingspan. It was four times as wide as the other fliers and shrieked at the runts in the pterodactyl pack.

  Kyle kept his cool and aimed his reptile into what he hoped would be the Pteranodon’s blind spot. The bigger beast gobbled down one flier, which freaked out Stephanie Youngerman from the Mountain team. She shrieked, jumped off her floor mark, and crashed into the ocean.

  Only Kyle, Angus, and Abia were left in the race.

  “If I was flying any faster,” Angus shouted, “I’d catch up with tomorrow!”

  “Where you would meet me!” cried the girl.

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

  Kyle could see Abia tuck in her arms and shoulders, making her profile sleekly aerodynamic. She inched ahead of Angus.

  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 whooshed forward faster but his battery icon dipped down to one-quarter. Its green light was on its way to red.

  And the volcanic island was still miles away.

  No way would Kyle make it without running out of juice.

  He pulled back on his speed, wishing this flying pterodactyl game came with power pellets of some kind. In most video games, there was some way to restore life force after you’d been weakened, and play on. But in this game, there was nothing except the two other pterodactyls, the ocean, and the distant volcano.

  Then Kyle remembered something from his library research.

  The pterodactyl was a carnivore.

  It ate meat and fish.

  Maybe there were some virtual fish in the virtual ocean below.

  It was worth a shot.

  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.

  The water was swarming with fish.

  Kyle opened his mouth.

  The pterodactyl opened its long spiky jaws.

  Kyle did a goosenecked head bob.

  The pterodactyl bobbed and scooped up a mouthful of fish.

  Kyle heard a WHIRR-DING! sound effect as his red battery icon glowed green and grew from nearly empty to completely full. Raising his head, Kyle gained altitude and zipped across the sky.

  He leveled off and aimed for the volcano. Abia Sulayman, who was maybe three hundred feet ahead of him, stalled in midair. Her battery icon was solid red. Kyle shot past her. She dropped like a chunk of fossilized dinosaur bone.

  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.

  “Nope!” shouted Kyle, executing a pretty nifty barrel roll by swiveling his hips. “I just did my homework!”

  When Kyle’s pterodactyl reached the volcano, a
hot-air balloon rose from the smoldering basin. In the balloon’s wicker gondola was a video-game image of Mr. Lemoncello dressed like the Wizard of Oz.

  “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. Tonight, at Olympia Village, in honor of your cleverosity, you and your teammates shall feast upon fish sticks and Filet-O-Fish sandwiches.”

  Kyle hoped there might be some kind of cake for dinner, too, because he and his teammates definitely had something to celebrate.

  All of a sudden, they were in the lead!

  Marjory Muldauer watched as the triumphant Kyle Keeley and his happy crew of crumbums climbed into their bookmobile.

  All four were merrily flapping their arms, giving each other high and low fives.

  Marjory still couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed. Kids waving their arms up and down to make fake video creatures fly to a phony volcano?

  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 and her teammates climbed into their bookmobile for the ride back to Olympia Village, which, in her opinion, was really just a cheesy, mid-level extended stay motel—the kind of place typically frequented by sketchy traveling salespeople and high school athletics teams. Marjory grabbed a book off a shelf in the back. Bleak House by Charles Dickens. It matched her mood.

  “Shake it off, you guys,” coached Margaret Miles, the librarian who was one of the Midwest team’s chaperones. “So what if the Ohio kids won two medals today? There are eight more games left to play. This thing is far from over.”

  “That Kyle Keeley kid is good,” said Nicole Wisniewski, one of Marjory’s wimpy teammates. “He was smart, the way he recharged his pterodactyl’s battery.”

  “He’s a gamer,” Marjory snapped at Nicole. “Of course he won the video game. But he doesn’t know diddly about the Dewey decimal system. That’s why I beat him in the book reshelving game.”