Escape from Mr. Lemoncello's Library: Chapters 1–5

Yes, the thorns hurt, but having crashed through the brambles and trampled a few petunias, he had a five-second jump on his oldest brother, Mike.

He’d go through the front door, tear to the back of the house, bound down the steps, and then run to their dad’s workshop.

He crawled through the narrow opening, dropped to the floor, and scrabbled over to the workbench, where he found the jug, dumped out the coins, and started sifting through the sea of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters.

He crawled through the narrow opening, dropped to the floor, and scrabbled over to the workbench, where he found the jug, dumped out the coins, and started sifting through the sea of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters.

“Well,” said Kyle, standing up and strutting a little, “believe it, brother. Because now you two losers have to put all the junk back.”

Halfway across town, Dr. Yanina Zinchenko, the world-famous librarian, was walking briskly through the cavernous building that was only days away from its gala grand opening.

Halfway across town, Dr. Yanina Zinchenko, the world-famous librarian, was walking briskly through the cavernous building that was only days away from its gala grand opening.

All work had been done with the utmost secrecy under the tightest possible security.

Other crews—carpenters, masons, electricians, and plumbers—worked on the interior.

And when all those crews were finished, several super-secret covert crews (highly paid workers who would deny ever having been near the library, Alexandriaville, or the state of Ohio) stealthily applied the final touches.

And when all those crews were finished, several super-secret covert crews (highly paid workers who would deny ever having been near the library, Alexandriaville, or the state of Ohio) stealthily applied the final touches.

Dr. Zinchenko had supervised the construction project for her employer—a very eccentric (some would say loony) billionaire.

Heels clicking on the marble floor, fingers tapping on the glass of her very advanced tablet computer, Dr. Zinchenko strode past the control center’s red door, under an arch, and into the breathtakingly large circular reading room beneath the library’s three-story-tall rotunda.

With towering Corinthian columns, an arched entry way, lots of fancy trim, and a mammoth shimmering gold dome, the building looked like it belonged next door to the triumphant memorials in Washington, D.C.—not on this small Ohio town’s quaint streets.

The Wonder Dome could become the constellations of the night sky; a flight through the clouds that made viewers below sense that the whole building had somehow lifted off the ground; or, in Dewey decimal mode, ten sections depicting vibrant and constantly changing images associated with each category in the library cataloging system.

“I have the final numbers for the fourth sector of the Wonder Dome in Dewey mode,” Dr. Zinchenko said into her Bluetooth earpiece.

She carefully over-enunciated each word to make certain the video artist knew what specific numbers should occasionally drift across the fourth wedge amid the swirling social-sciences montage featuring a floating judge’s gavel, a tumbling teacher’s apple, and a gentle snowfall of holiday icons.

She carefully over-enunciated each word to make certain the video artist knew what specific numbers should occasionally drift across the fourth wedge amid the swirling social-sciences montage featuring a floating judge’s gavel, a tumbling teacher’s apple, and a gentle snowfall of holiday icons.

Next Dr. Zinchenko studied the holographic statues projected into black crepe-lined recesses cut into the massive stone piers that supported the arched windows from which the Wonder Dome rose.

The rollicking geese stopped singing and swaying.

And like a vanishing mirage, the tiger disappeared.

“Been twelve years since they tore down the old one. Listen to this, boys: Dr. Yanina Zinchenko, the new public library’s head librarian, promises that ‘patrons will be surprised’ by what they find inside.”

Like always, Sierra, who was also a seventh grader, was sitting in the back of the bus, her nose buried in a book—probably one of those about girls who lived in tiny homes on the prairie or something.

“What’re you playing?” Kyle asked, because Akimi was frantically working the controls on her PSP 3000.

“I cleared level six! Finally.”
“Awesome.” Kyle did not mention that he was up to level twenty-seven. Akimi was his best friend. Friends don’t gloat to friends.

And the squirrels? They were nuts. Totally bonkers. With swirly whirlpool eyes. They flew through the air jabbering gibberish.

And the squirrels? They were nuts. Totally bonkers. With swirly whirlpool eyes. They flew through the air jabbering gibberish.

Akimi slugged him in the arm.

“What’s a big word for ‘library’?” Charles asked his tutor. “Teachers love big words.”
"'Book repository.'"

“Knowledge is power,” said Charles. “It’s one of our fundamental family philosophies.”

“The judges will be meeting in the faculty lounge this morning to make the preliminary cut...”

Mrs. Cameron sighed contentedly. “Please give him my regards.”
“Yes, ma’am.”

A tall, gangly man stepped out of the boot car.

Eating lunch in the cafeteria, Kyle stared at his wilted fish sticks, wishing he could pull a magic Take Another Turn card out of thin air.

“Mrs. Yunghans, the librarian, just confirmed that Mr. Lemoncello is the top-secret benefactor who donated all the money to build the new public library. Five hundred million dollars!”

“Mrs. Tobin, the librarian back then, took an interest in little Luigi, even though he was just, you know, a kid like us. She kept the library open late some nights and let him borrow junk from her desk or her purse—thimbles and thumbtacks and glue bottles, even red Barbie doll boots—stuff he used for game pieces so he could map out his first ideas on a library table...."

“We’re pumped about Mr. Lemoncello!” said Miguel.
“And the new library!” said Andrew.
“And,” said Kyle melodramatically, “just seeing you, Haley.”

Haley and her friends flounced away to the “cool kids” table.

“I’m so glad you have lunchroom duty today, Mrs. Cameron,” Kyle heard Chiltington say. “If you don’t mind, I have a few questions about how conventions within genres—such as poetry, drama, or essays—can affect meaning.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cameron. And, may I say, that sweater certainly complements your eye color.”