Mr. Lemoncello's Library Olympics

Marjory snorted. “Too bad she couldn’t come up with the month and day like I did. Then she’d actually have a date!”

  “I suppose you are correct, Miss Muldauer,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Sound the jubilee; the Midwest team wins another medal.”

  “This isn’t fair!” grumbled Miguel.

  “There’s still the twelfth game,” said Kyle. “If we win it, we’ll be all tied up again.”

  “And we can do that sudden-death overtime thing,” said Akimi.

  “Miss Muldauer?” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Please step forward and receive your prize.”

  Marjory strutted to the center of the room.

  “For answering our most important questions most correctly, it is my honor to award you the most important medal of all the very important medals awarded thus far: the Yertle the Turtle.”

  “Huh?” said Marjory. “Why’d you give it a dumb name like that?”

  “Because, Miss Muldauer, Dr. Seuss’s book was considered extremely controversial when it first came out in 1958, for including the word ‘burp.’ ” Mr. Lemoncello belched. “Sorry. Guzzled too much Lemonberry Fizz while I was recharging my batteries. Yertle the Turtle has also been banned because of its political messages.”

  “Whatever,” said Marjory.

  She snatched the medal out of Mr. Lemoncello’s hand, twirled around, and dangled her new prize in front of Team Kyle.

  Kyle tried to ignore her. “What’s the next game?” he asked Mr. Lemoncello.

  Just then, a voice rang out behind Kyle.

  “Stand aside, please. Coming through.”

  It was Clarence, the security guard, wading through the crowd of spectators.

  “Mr. Lemoncello?” he said, waving a stack of papers. “You need to see this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A list of all the titles currently missing from the library shelves. Dr. Zinchenko asked us to put one together after that last Flora and Ulysses book disappeared from the fiction wall.”

  “That looks like a mighty thick stack of paper, Clarence.”

  “Yes, sir. Ten pages.”

  “Any encyclopedias on your list?”

  “Every single ‘S’ volume in the building.”

  Mr. Lemoncello shook his head and drooped in his seat.

  “Enough. I’m done. I can’t fight this fight alone anymore.”

  He slowly rose off his stool and gave his town-crier bell a weak jingle.

  “Hear ye, hear ye. Oyez, oyez. The games of the first Library Olympiad are hereby suspended. If you have trouble understanding the word ‘suspended,’ kindly look it up in a dictionary, but forget checking an encyclopedia, because all the ‘S’ volumes have gone missing.”

  “Does this mean I win?” shouted Marjory.

  “No, Miss Muldauer. It means I am tired of playing games here in Alexandriaville. Nobody wins. Everybody loses.”

  “What about those college scholarships you promised?” said one of the other members of the Midwest team.

  Mr. Lemoncello turned to his head librarian.

  “Dr. Zinchenko? Kindly give a ‘Go to College Free’ card to each and every Library Olympian.”

  She started passing out small orange cards.

  “Tomorrow,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “you shall all receive a full scholarship if you remember to bring that card with you to the closing ceremonies. If you should somehow lose it between now and then, I might pretend I don’t know who you are, what you want, or what it was I promised to give you.”

  Dr. Zinchenko handed Kyle his “Go to College Free” card.

  It was the size of a “Luck” or “Fortune” card from Mr. Lemoncello’s Family Frenzy board game.

  But this rectangle of flat cardboard was worth thousands and thousands of dollars.

  Still, Kyle wished Mr. Lemoncello didn’t look so sad. He wished he had drawn a “Find the Missing Books” card instead. He wished they could all go back to playing games.

  When the thirty-two “Go to College Free” cards were handed out, Mr. Lemoncello narrowed his eyes and peered at the players.

  “Hearty and splendiferous congratulations to you all,” he said without any of his usual zip. “However, I have a sinking feeling that at least one of you doesn’t really need a scholarship from me anymore.”

  Kyle watched the audience shuffle out of the building.

  Most of the Library Olympians were thrilled to hear that they’d be picking up an all-expenses-paid college scholarship even without winning the most medals.

  The Chiltingtons and their well-dressed friends were overjoyed for other reasons.

  “Marvelous work, Miss Muldauer!” said Mrs. Chiltington when Marjory and her team passed by on their way to the front door. “Simply marvelous! You completely demoralized the man.”

  “Fantastic finish,” added Charles. “Getting Lemoncello to cancel these so-called Olympic Games? Couldn’t have done it in an abler manner myself.”

  “Mr. Lemoncello looked so sad,” giggled Mrs. Chiltington. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he packed up all his toys and went home to New York City!”

  “If he does, it might be for the best,” Marjory told her small cluster of fans. “For far too long, Mr. Lemoncello has pretended to be a library lover when, in truth, this was all a clever publicity stunt so he could sell even more of his preposterous games!”

  The League of Concerned Library Lovers clapped daintily.

  “Maybe now you concerned citizens, those of you who love libraries qua libraries, can run this institution the way we all know it should be run. If you turn this book-filled building into a true temple of learning, people all over Ohio will say, ‘Is that library down in Alexandriaville any good?’ To which you can reply, ‘Hello? It’s not a Lemoncello. It’s a library!’ ”

  Her admirers’ hands pitter-pattered together again.

  Marjory nodded graciously, then headed through the lobby with the rest of her team. Actually, the other kids from the Midwest team weren’t really walking with Marjory, just in the same general direction.

  “Where’d Mr. Lemoncello go?” asked Akimi.

  “I saw him and Clarence head upstairs,” said Sierra. “Probably to console Dr. Zinchenko.”

  “Definitely,” said Miguel. “Librarians always flip out when books and encyclopedias mysteriously disappear off their shelves.”

  Mrs. Yunghans and Mr. Sharp, the hometown team’s two chaperones, came to join the players at the reading desk.

  “You guys ready to bookmobile it back to Olympia Village?” asked Mr. Sharp.

  “Not just yet,” said Kyle. “We want to make sure Mr. Lemoncello is okay.”

  “All right,” said Mr. Sharp. “But it’s barbecue night at the motel.”

  “We’re not really in the mood for barbecue,” said Akimi.

  “They have ice cream, too,” said Mrs. Yunghans.

  Akimi crinkled her nose. “I think I’m suddenly lactose intolerant.”

  “We won’t be long,” said Kyle, tucking his orange scholarship card into his shirt pocket. “Come on, you guys.”

  As his team trooped up the spiral staircase to the second floor, Kyle looked down at the Rotunda Reading Room and realized how hollow the library seemed without anybody in it.

  No one was riding the hover ladders or grabbing a snack in the Book Nook Café or hanging out in the community meeting rooms or rushing upstairs to do research at a collaboration station or heading to the third floor to check out the newest educational video games in the Electronic Learning Center.

  The holographic statue nooks were empty and dark.

  The Wonder Dome was just a blank canvas. A TV set after the power goes out.

  Without people or laughter or learning, the domed building was just a fancy tomb filled with dry and dusty books.

  “Mr. Lemoncello?” Kyle shouted, his voice echoing under the dome. “Dr. Zinchenko?”

  “We are back here,” replied Dr. Zinchenko. “Outside the zero-zero-zero door.”

  Kyl
e and his teammates made their way around the circular balcony.

  Mr. Lemoncello, Dr. Zinchenko, and Clarence were standing in the same spot that had served as the starting line for the Library Cart Relay Race. They flipped through Clarence’s thick stack of papers with serious expressions on their faces.

  “Hey, Mr. Lemoncello,” said Kyle.

  Mr. Lemoncello raised his left hand to silence Kyle and continued frowning at the list of missing books.

  “Are you telling us one individual removed all thirty-six copies of Flora and Ulysses?” asked Dr. Zinchenko.

  “Thirty-five of them,” said Clarence. “Somebody else grabbed the last copy off the fiction wall. But our main suspect checked out multiple copies of other titles, too. Tracking his records, we see he’s been working on his personal book removal project for close to a month.”

  “Are the books overdue?”

  “Not yet, Dr. Z,” said Clarence. “He auto-renewed them all online. We can’t be certain, but we think he’s also the one who removed all those ‘S’ encyclopedias.”

  “This is actually old news,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “You see, Clarence, Dr. Zinchenko—I’ve known all along who was behind this nonsense. And why. Stopping him and bringing back all the missing books was to be our final challenge in the Library Olympics. I’ve already been handing out clues left and right. But I don’t think I can continue with that plan. If he and his associates can recruit a child—a Library Olympian, no less—or a group of children for their cause, what hope is there?”

  “We’ll help you, sir,” said Kyle.

  “Will you, Mr. Keeley? I’ve already given away the grand prize. Thirty-two of them, in fact. I can’t give your team a grander prize or even a grand piano.”

  “That’s okay. We just want to keep playing and prove we’re really champions. Besides, I thought finding the missing books was supposed to be the twelfth game.”

  “It was. Another treasure hunt of sorts.”

  “So if we find the books, we’d win the twelfth medal.”

  “And then we could do a sudden-death overtime against Marjory Muldauer,” added Akimi.

  Mr. Lemoncello shook his head. “What if I told you that you might need Miss Muldauer to safely retrieve all the books?”

  Akimi made her famous “gag me now” gesture.

  “I know, I know,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “It’s impossible. Asking you and the other Library Olympians to work together for a higher, common purpose? Forget I even mentioned it. Dr. Zinchenko?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve made up my mind even though I have not yet made up my bed. I, Luigi Libretto Lemoncello, hereby officially declare the games of this first Library Olympiad to be over. Done. Kaput. There will be no winners. This library has failed to find its true champions. Tomorrow night, at the closing ceremonies, kindly hand out one college scholarship to each and every player who presents you with an orange card. I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend the festivities. I’ll be out of town. Either on a bridge to Terabithia or flying home to New York City. In fact, I may never return to Alexandriaville or Ohio again.”

  This was just about the worst news Kyle had ever heard.

  “Mr. Lemoncello?” he said. “If you know who checked out all the books, why don’t you tell the police and have the guy arrested?”

  “The books are not yet overdue,” said Dr. Zinchenko. “And, if I might cite the American Library Association’s code of ethics…”

  “Please, Dr. Z, cite away,” said Mr. Lemoncello.

  “Here at the Lemoncello Library, we protect each library user’s right to privacy and confidentiality with respect to information sought or received and resources consulted, borrowed, acquired, or transmitted.”

  “Seriously?” said Akimi.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Miguel. “It’s the library law.”

  Kyle tried one more time. “But, Mr. Lemoncello…”

  His hero raised that hand again.

  “It was fun, Mr. Keeley, but now we’re done. Dr. Zinchenko? Monday morning, kindly instruct my lawyers to draw up the necessary papers appointing Mrs. Chiltington and her League of Concerned Library Lovers as the Alexandriaville Public Library’s first board of trustees. Then take down my statue and pack up anything with my name on it, including my last case of Mr. Lemoncello’s Lemonberry Fizz.”

  “But what if we find the missing books?” Kyle pleaded.

  “I told you—I’m through handing out medals. There are no more prizes, Kyle. No more ice cream, cake, or balloons.”

  “I don’t care.” Kyle turned to his teammates. “How about you guys?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Nope,” said Miguel.

  “The medals clash with my earrings,” added Akimi.

  “Fine,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Suit yourself. Play my final game, find the missing books before tomorrow’s closing ceremonies, and I might—I repeat, might—reconsider turning my library over to Mrs. Chiltington. I might also consider staying in Ohio on a permanent basis.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Kyle. “Because we don’t really need to win any more medals or scholarships. But we definitely need you. And our library.”

  Around midnight, after celebrating the defeat of Mr. Lemoncello with Charles and Marjory over a few bottles of root beer, Andrew Peckleman still needed to sweep up around the motel.

  Even though it was very late, he heard voices coming from his uncle’s office, so he worked his broom and dustpan closer to the door.

  He heard his uncle Woody, Marjory Muldauer…

  …and Mrs. Chiltington?

  Andrew pressed his back against the wall and listened.

  His uncle was chuckling. “Luigi is really leaving town?”

  “So it would seem,” said Mrs. Chiltington. “I just received a call from that Russian woman, Dr. Zinfluenzo. She suggested that I come by the library first thing Monday morning. Apparently, Mr. Lemoncello’s lawyers are drawing up papers to transfer the stewardship of ‘his’ library to its new board of trustees.”

  “That’s you and your friends, right?” said Marjory.

  “Yes. The League of Concerned Library Lovers will make certain that the new Alexandriaville Public Library undertakes a major course correction and no longer subjects children to corrupting influences and mindless frivolity.”

  “And to think,” said his uncle, “Luigi’s unraveling really started with one book. The one you plucked off the shelf for me, Marjory. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  “How did you know losing Flora and Ulysses would have that effect on him, Mr. Peckleman?” asked Marjory.

  The old man cackled. “Because Luigi’s smart. He figured out that one of you library-loving kids was helping me hoard every single copy of that terrible book. It broke his heart. Crushed his spirit.”

  “Well…”

  Andrew could hear a slight quaver in Marjory’s voice. She took a deep breath.

  “I’m very glad I could help you two save a library from turning into a cheap, Floo-powdered World of Wizardry tourist trap,” she continued, her voice shaky. “However, now that Mr. Lemoncello is relinquishing control, we should take back that book I borrowed. Maybe I can drop it off in the sidewalk book-return slot when no one is watching.”

  “No need for us to do that, dear,” said Andrew’s uncle.

  “I disagree,” said Marjory. “I can’t just walk back into the library with the book.”

  “Of course not. What I meant to say is there is absolutely no need for us to ever take back a single copy of that particular book. The library has plenty of other books. No one will miss one more.”

  “It’s true,” said Mrs. Chiltington. “There are so many wonderful children’s books. I have suggestions for others we should stock, as well.”

  “But Flora and Ulysses won the Newbery Medal,” said Marjory. “There should always be at least one copy on the shelves in any library.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mrs. Chiltington. ??
?Perhaps not. It seems rather childish to me.”

  “It’s a children’s book. It’s meant to be childish.”

  “Miss Muldauer,” said Mrs. Chiltington, “I’m sure our new librarians will give your concerns about this Flora and Ulysses the attention they deserve. However, since you live in Michigan and not here in Ohio, you may not be fully aware of our local tastes and opinions about which books do and do not belong on our library shelves.”

  “Besides,” said Andrew’s uncle, “I don’t like that book. It’s one of the worst of its kind.”

  “There are other books that I don’t like,” added Mrs. Chiltington. “For instance, that Yertle the Turtle. It is rather subversive. Not at all what our children need to be reading if we expect them to grow up properly. There are also some local history books that are quite biased in their interpretation of the past. One entitled Ohio River Pirates and Scallywags, for instance, is full of lies, innuendo, and misinformation. It should, once again, be pulled from the shelves.”

  “B-b-but…,” stammered Marjory.

  “Thank you, Miss Muldauer, for all your help. Thanks to you, our lovely new library shall soon become a true library. With none of Mr. Lemoncello’s lunacy.”

  Andrew quickly swept away from the door.

  He couldn’t believe his ears.

  His great-uncle-twice-removed and Mrs. Chiltington were trying to ban certain books from the Alexandriaville Public Library.

  Books they didn’t like.

  The two of them were nearly as bad as all those book burners and banners Andrew used to hate back when he loved libraries.

  Which, actually, he still kind of did.

  First thing in the morning, the bookmobile dropped off Kyle and his teammates in front of the library.

  “I’ll wait here,” said the driver.

  “Thanks,” said Kyle.

  He and his teammates bustled up the front steps and entered the library.

  The statue of Mr. Lemoncello was gone.

  Someone had slathered wet cement over the “Knowledge Not Shared Remains Unknown” motto chiseled into the fountain’s base.

  “Mr. Lemoncello has left the building,” said Clarence, coming out of the control room off the lobby.