Mr. Lemoncello's Library Olympics

  “But that’s what those words you just used mean.”

  “Charles is simply upset,” said Mrs. Chiltington, draping a protective arm around her son. “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.”

  Then she smiled and blinked. Repeatedly.

  Kyle and his teammates shook their heads and continued into the Rotunda Reading Room.

  “Hey, Kyle!”

  It was his brother Mike.

  “Don’t disappoint us!”

  And his other brother, Curtis.

  “Win, baby, win!” screamed Mike, pumping his arm. “Woo-hoo! O-H, I-O! O-H, I-O!”

  They were with Kyle’s mom and dad in the capacity crowd that was bunched behind velvet ropes for the final two events of the duodecimalthon. So was everybody else’s family. And friends. It seemed like the whole town of Alexandriaville had turned out for the big finale.

  “No pressure or anything,” said Akimi.

  “Yo,” said Miguel, pointing up at the Wonder Dome. “Check it out. I bet they did that to cheer up Mr. Lemoncello.”

  “I was hoping there might be balloons,” said Kyle as he admired the ceiling.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Sierra.

  It looked like Dr. Zinchenko had instructed her video artists to run a Balloon Fiesta simulation for the final day of the Library Olympics. The Wonder Dome had been magically transformed into a brilliant blue sky filled with brightly colored hot-air balloons. The video loop made the Rotunda Reading Room feel as if it were a gondola gently swaying beneath a motley-colored airship drifting along on a warm breeze.

  It was awesome.

  “Turn! It! Off!” decreed a voice from the third-floor balcony.

  Kyle looked up. Mr. Lemoncello stood at the railing. He was dressed in a black suit, black shirt, and black tie. He looked like he was on his way to a funeral.

  The Wonder Dome went dark. It was just a curved white ceiling.

  “I was so looking forward to this day,” sighed Mr. Lemoncello from his lofty perch. “Today is the day I thought I would finally discover my true champions.”

  He looked down at the thirty-two Library Olympians.

  Kyle thought he knew why his hero seemed so sad. One, or maybe more, of the thirty-two kids Mr. Lemoncello had entrusted with all the wonders of his library had betrayed him. They had taken away a book they weren’t supposed to even touch.

  “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.”

  Mr. Lemoncello waved a feeble wave and disappeared into his private suite on the third floor.

  Dr. Zinchenko, also dressed in black—a shiny, short leather dress—strode into the Rotunda Reading Room. Even her glasses had black frames instead of their usual red ones.

  “Will the following teams please choose a representative for the eleventh game of our duodecimalthon: the Midwest, the Northeast, the Mid-Atlantic, the Mountain team, the Pacific team, and the local team from Alexandriaville, Ohio.”

  Marjory Muldauer shot her arm into the air.

  “Yes, Miss Muldauer?”

  “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.”

  Sierra turned to her teammates. “Who should play for us?”

  “Either you or Miguel,” said Kyle.

  “Definitely,” agreed Akimi.

  “I vote for Sierra,” said Miguel. “You’ve read more books than the rest of us combined.”

  “Are you guys sure? Because I didn’t do so well in that Battle of the Books game.”

  “And I did terribly in the poolside puzzle fiasco,” said Kyle. “Remember?”

  Sierra smiled. “I may never forget it.”

  “Yeah. Me neither. Come on. You’ll be great. I don’t know anything about band books. Did John Philip Sousa write one?”

  “Banned books,” said Sierra.

  “See? You’re doing better than me already.”

  “Teams?” said Dr. Zinchenko. “Please send your designated player to the circle of desks closest to mine.”

  Sierra looked at her teammates one last time. They were all smiling and nodding. She started walking to the inner ring of reading desks.

  “Go, Sierra!”

  That was her dad. Cheering for her.

  “Good luck, honey!”

  Her mom, too.

  Each of the six remaining teams was assigned its own desk. Sierra sat down at hers. Marjory Muldauer was at the desk to her right. Elliott Schilpp, the nice guy from Maryland who really liked pizza, was on her left.

  Each desk had its own built-in touch-screen computer.

  “This contest will include an immediate elimination factor,” announced Dr. Zinchenko from her swivel stool behind the central librarian’s desk. “If you answer a question incorrectly, you will be asked to leave your desk. Quietly. As those of you playing for the Northeast, the Mid-Atlantic, the Mountain, and the Pacific teams undoubtedly recall, you only have one medal each. If you are eliminated from this game, it will be mathematically impossible for your team to go on and win the duodecimalthon. Therefore, if you lose, your team loses its chance at being crowned champions.”

  The four players nodded. They all understood the very high stakes of this eleventh game.

  “However,” said Dr. Zinchenko, “should you win this game as well as our twelfth game, we will have a three-way tie for first place and enter into a sudden-death overtime situation. That thirteenth game, if necessary, will take place tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry,” sneered Marjory. “We won’t be playing any games tomorrow.”

  “Let us begin,” said Dr. Zinchenko, completely ignoring Marjory Muldauer. “I will read a multiple-choice question. Use the touch-screen computers in your reading desks to select your answer.”

  Sierra took in a deep breath.

  “Question number one: In 1985, Shel Silverstein’s A Light in the Attic was banned from a school in Wisconsin because:

  a) the attic was cluttered and dangerous.

  b) the children in the book were filthy and never combed their hair.

  c) the book encouraged children to break dishes so they wouldn’t have to dry them.

  d) the book used foul language.

  Please enter your answer now.”

  Sierra had read about this book-banning incident. She tapped “C.” Her computer screen glowed green. She was correct.

  The Northeast and Mountain teams, however, chose the wrong answer. The screens on their computers turned bright red.

  “Thank you for playing,” said Dr. Zinchenko. “Kindly rejoin your teammates. And thank you for participating in the first-ever Library Olympiad. You and your teammates will receive lovely parting gifts.”

  “Whoop-de-doo,” said Marjory. “Next question, please.”

  “Of course. Question number two: Why was Dr. Seuss’s book The Lorax banned?

  a) There is no such creature as a Lorax.

  b) The drawings were too frightening for young readers.

  c) The rhymes and silly names were too weird.

  d) It offended forestry workers.

  Choose your answer now. You have thirty seconds.”

  Sierra wasn’t certain about this one. The first three answers could be reasons to ban any Dr. Seuss b
ook. But The Lorax was all about “Truffula” trees and saving the environment. Forestry workers might not like that.

  She went with “D.”

  Her touch screen glowed green.

  So did Marjory Muldauer’s.

  The Pacific team answered incorrectly.

  “Sorry,” Sierra said to Pranav Pillai as he left his table.

  “Thanks. Good luck!”

  “Three players remain,” said Dr. Zinchenko. “Here is your third question: Why was Junie B. Jones, a series of children’s books by Barbara Park, banned from libraries? Was it because:

  a) Junie B. Jones is a mouthy brat?

  b) characters use words such as ‘stupid’ and ‘dumb’?

  c) the author takes liberties with traditional spelling?

  d) the main character makes bad choices?

  e) all of the above?”

  Since Sierra had loved the Junie B. books when she was younger, she knew the correct answer was “E) all of the above.”

  So did Marjory Muldauer.

  Elliott Schilpp, however, did not. His red screen meant the Mid-Atlantic team was out of the competition.

  It also meant the whole Library Olympics came down to the Hometown Heroes versus the Midwest.

  Sierra Russell versus Marjory Muldauer.

  “And then there were two!” shouted Mr. Lemoncello from his third-floor balcony. “This finale is far too exciting to miss!”

  “Are you feeling better, sir?” asked Dr. Zinchenko.

  “Much!” He looked down at Sierra and Marjory. “I’ve been watching you two on TV! There’s nothing like a pair of brilliant young minds set free in a library to perk me up! Plus, I’ve decided to hire detective Sammy Keyes, who found the hotel thief, to help me find the book thief, which, of course, is now available on DVD in our movie department on the first floor.”

  He scampered down the spiral staircases.

  Kyle heard a funny burp-squeak-burp sound and smiled. Mr. Lemoncello was still dressed all in black, but he’d put on his banana shoes.

  As he made his way around and around and down the two flights of curling, corkscrewing steps, his shoes were honking out a song: “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round.”

  Good, thought Kyle. His hero was back!

  Mr. Lemoncello sprinted to the center of the Rotunda Reading Room, leapt up, and somersaulted over the librarian’s desk. When he landed on the other side, his banana shoes let out a gassy PPPFFFFFIIP.

  The audience laughed, applauded, and cheered.

  Well, everybody except Mrs. Chiltington and her friends. Kyle could see them shaking their heads disgustedly.

  “I’ll take over from here, Dr. Zinchenko!” said Mr. Lemoncello.

  “Very well, sir.” She handed him her stack of question cards.

  “Hello, Sierra.”

  “Hello, sir.”

  “Marjory.”

  She waggled her fingers at him like she was bored.

  “Okeydokey, pokey,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “You two look lonely. Teammates? Come on down.”

  Kyle, Akimi, and Miguel dashed down the aisle between desks to join Sierra.

  “I’m good,” said Marjory, stopping her teammates in their tracks. “I don’t need any help.”

  “Very well,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Let me recap.”

  He reached under the librarian’s desk and pulled out a purple flower-petal swim cap, which he tugged down snugly over his curly white hair.

  “Your two teams are currently tied, with three medals each. We have two games remaining: this one and then the one that comes after it, which would be the next one. This is extremely exciting, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Kyle and his teammates.

  Marjory Muldauer shrugged. “Can we move on to the next question?”

  “Moving on,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “This next question is not—I repeat, not—a multiple guess. You must tap in your answer using the keypad on your tabletop’s tablet computer. We’re still in the category of banned books, only this time they’re more than banned, because these poor books were burned. Here is your question: On what date did the Dominican priest Savonarola collect and publicly burn thousands of lewd books in Florence, Italy?”

  Kyle looked at Sierra.

  She nodded.

  “Go for it,” said Kyle.

  Sierra typed in her answer: SHROVE TUESDAY, 1497.

  Kyle could hear the computer’s click-clack sound effects accompanying Marjory’s glass-tapping as she entered her answer, too.

  “Is that your final answer, Sierra?” asked Mr. Lemoncello.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Miss Muldauer?”

  “Well, duh. I typed it in, didn’t I?”

  “Indeed you did. Dr. Zinchenko?”

  “The answer we were looking for is Shrove Tuesday, 1497!”

  “Woo-hoo!” shouted Kyle.

  “That’s the answer Sierra Russell gave me,” said Mr. Lemoncello, checking his own computer screen. “Miss Muldauer, I’m afraid your answer is incorrect.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Muldauer,” said Dr. Zinchenko. “You did not type in ‘Shrove Tuesday, 1497.’ ”

  “I know. Because that answer isn’t specific enough.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Mr. Lemoncello, taking off his bathing cap. “My ears were covered by rubberized flower petals. Are you saying my head librarian, Dr. Yanina Zinchenko, has incorrectly identified the answer as ‘Shrove Tuesday, 1497?’ ”

  “It’s an okay answer,” said Marjory. “If you’re lazy. My answer, however, is more correct. February 7, 1497. Yes, it was also Shrove Tuesday, now commonly referred to as Mardi Gras, but your question specifically asked for a date, not a day.”

  The whole crowd gasped.

  Kyle could feel his heart racing in his chest.

  Was Sierra’s answer technically incorrect?

  If so, did that mean his team lost another medal?

  “This is quite the quizzical, perplexable, and curious conundrum,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Fortunately, we are in a library, where librarians may not know everything but they certainly know how to find it. Dr. Zinchenko?”

  “I will go upstairs to the triple zero room, locate the appropriate encyclopedia volume, and check both ‘Savonarola’ and ‘Shrove Tuesday.’ ”

  “Aha. Might I suggest you start with the ‘S’ volume?”

  “Such was my plan, sir.”

  “Excellent pre-research planning, Dr. Zinchenko. We wait with bated breath, so kindly hurry before things get too fishy down here.”

  Heels clicking on the marble floor, Dr. Zinchenko made her way to the nearest spiral staircase, then clanked up the steps to the second floor.

  Mr. Lemoncello turned to the closest television camera. “Don’t go away. We’ll be right back with the correct answer to our last question right after this word from our sponsors.”

  “This is public TV,” whispered the camera operator. “We don’t do commercials.”

  “Oh. Well, can’t you do a pledge drive or something? Or should I just make funny faces?”

  “Funny faces would be fine, sir.”

  While Mr. Lemoncello mugged for the camera, Miguel turned to his teammates. “Dr. Z is headed upstairs for the zero-three-zeros. That’s the Dewey decimal classification for encyclopedias and books of facts.”

  “Actually,” said Marjory, leaning back smugly, “she will be looking for zero-three-two, encyclopedias in American English. You people need to start being much more specific; otherwise—”

  Suddenly, there was a shriek from the second floor.

  Dr. Zinchenko raced to the balcony railing. “They’re gone!”

  “What?” cried Mr. Lemoncello.

  “All the ‘S’ encyclopedias, sir. They’re missing. Every single one!”

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, sir. We never check out encyclopedias. Somebody must have stolen them!” r />
  Kyle was sort of relieved.

  If the encyclopedias Dr. Zinchenko needed were missing, maybe they’d just move on to another question. Hopefully, another one Sierra knew the answer to.

  “Guess we need to move on to the next question card,” Kyle said to Mr. Lemoncello.

  “Not so fast, Keeley,” said Marjory. “Since Mr. Lemoncello was so sweet to give us smartphones when we played that Battle of the Books game, I used mine to Google ‘Bonfire of the Vanities, 1497,” because that’s what the Italians used to call the burning of objects they considered immoral. If I may quote: ‘The most infamous bonfire took place on February seventh, 1497, when the Dominican priest Savonarola collected and publicly burned thousands of objects like art and books in Florence, Italy, on the day of the Mardi Gras festival.’ It doesn’t even mention Shrove Tuesday. It does, however, confirm that my answer, February seventh, 1497, is correct.”

  Perched on a stool behind the librarian’s desk, Mr. Lemoncello looked completely dumbfounded.

  Miguel pointed at Marjory. “You used your phone to find the answer! You cheated.”

  “No, I did not. I only used it to confirm my answer.”

  “I am so sorry, sir,” said Dr. Zinchenko, still bracing herself against the banister on the second-floor balcony.

  “As am I,” said Mr. Lemoncello, his shoulders sagging. “As am I.”

  “You should be more than sorry!” shouted Mrs. Chiltington from the gallery. “You should be ashamed, Mr. Lemoncello. This is no way to run a library! Missing children’s books and encyclopedias?”

  “This is egregious!” shouted Charles.

  “The people of Alexandriaville deserve better!” added his mother.

  “This is also heinous!” said Charles. “And atrocious, too.”

  Mr. Lemoncello held up a shiny green medal. “I suppose I could cut this thing in two and award one half to each of you. But I might need a laser beam or a hacksaw….”

  “Why would you give Sierra anything?” demanded Marjory. “You asked for a date; I gave you a date. She gave you nothing except the name of a holiday.”

  “And a year,” said Akimi. “Sierra got the year right, too.”