Mr. Lemoncello's Library Olympics: Chapters 19–24

During the lunch break, the Pacific team kids did interviews with NPR, PBS, and the Book Network.
“That used to be us,” groused Akimi.
“Come on,” said Kyle. “You didn’t think we’d win every single game, did you?”

The eight teams clustered around their carts to size up their thirty-six titles.

Charles knew what “abomination” meant (anything greatly disliked). He used big words whenever possible. It impressed teachers, especially when you used words they didn’t understand. Charles kept a list: “panacea,” “panoply,” “pedantic.” And those were just the ones that started with “p.” He was very sesquipedalian (given to the use of long words) where others were perspicuous (clear in expression and easily understood).

Charles knew what “abomination” meant (anything greatly disliked). He used big words whenever possible. It impressed teachers, especially when you used words they didn’t understand. Charles kept a list: “panacea,” “panoply,” “pedantic.” And those were just the ones that started with “p.” He was very sesquipedalian (given to the use of long words) where others were perspicuous (clear in expression and easily understood).

Charles knew what “abomination” meant (anything greatly disliked). He used big words whenever possible. It impressed teachers, especially when you used words they didn’t understand. Charles kept a list: “panacea,” “panoply,” “pedantic.” And those were just the ones that started with “p.” He was very sesquipedalian (given to the use of long words) where others were perspicuous (clear in expression and easily understood).

Charles knew what “abomination” meant (anything greatly disliked). He used big words whenever possible. It impressed teachers, especially when you used words they didn’t understand. Charles kept a list: “panacea,” “panoply,” “pedantic.” And those were just the ones that started with “p.” He was very sesquipedalian (given to the use of long words) where others were perspicuous (clear in expression and easily understood).

Charles knew what “abomination” meant (anything greatly disliked). He used big words whenever possible. It impressed teachers, especially when you used words they didn’t understand. Charles kept a list: “panacea,” “panoply,” “pedantic.” And those were just the ones that started with “p.” He was very sesquipedalian (given to the use of long words) where others were perspicuous (clear in expression and easily understood).

He was also elated (very happy, jubilant, in high spirits) to hear all the adults complaining about Mr. Lemoncello and his egregious (shockingly bad) library.

He was also elated (very happy, jubilant, in high spirits) to hear all the adults complaining about Mr. Lemoncello and his egregious (shockingly bad) library.

He was also elated (very happy, jubilant, in high spirits) to hear all the adults complaining about Mr. Lemoncello and his egregious (shockingly bad) library.

“It’s preposterous,” said the gentleman in the bow tie. “Racing around in circles with library carts? Restocking shelves? Are these children applying for part-time jobs? Because they’re all far too young to be legally employed.”

“Ugh,” said Mrs. Tinker. “That Mr. Lemoncello fellow is so incredibly irksome. So is that Russian gal, Dr. Zinfadelski.”

“And may I,” said Charles, “as a youth of Alexandriaville, quickly elucidate how fortunate I feel to have you wise and sagacious elders looking out for my best interests as well as the interests of all the young children yet to come?”

“And may I,” said Charles, “as a youth of Alexandriaville, quickly elucidate how fortunate I feel to have you wise and sagacious elders looking out for my best interests as well as the interests of all the young children yet to come?”

Charles knew being smarmy was the best way to get adults to do exactly what you wanted them to do.

“Thank you, Charles,” said his mother. “Rose, please make a note in the official meeting minutes. Resolved: We, the League of Concerned Library Lovers, must, by any means necessary, seize control of Alexandriaville’s new public library and wrest it away from that borderline lunatic Luigi Lemoncello.”

“Are you folks the Concerned Library Lovers?” asked a scrawny old man with a pointy beak who stood timidly in the doorway beside the butler.

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Peckleman, but...”
“You people want him out of that library, am I right?”
Charles’s mom coyly twiddled her fingertips against her cheek. “Perhaps.”
“Well, I know how to do it.”

“To win today’s first competition, you must design the paper airplane that stays aloft the longest. In the case of a tie, our esteemed panel of judges will also award points for style and what aviators call derring-do.”

“What does building a paper airplane have to do with the study of library science?”
“Simple,” said Dr. Zinchenko. “The flight test will take place in three hours, at precisely one o’clock. You may use the intervening time and the library’s vast resources to do research before building your planes. Or not. The choice, as always, is yours.”

The four teammates sauntered out of the 700s room. Miguel whistled casually. Sierra hummed along. The other teams were too busy debating the design of their paper airplanes to pay them much attention.

Since the 600s were all about technology and applied sciences, the team passed several animated exhibits and dioramas depicting inventions and one about industrial gases, which used Mr. Lemoncello’s patented smell-a-vision technology and reeked of rotten eggs.

Since the 600s were all about technology and applied sciences, the team passed several animated exhibits and dioramas depicting inventions and one about industrial gases, which used Mr. Lemoncello’s patented smell-a-vision technology and reeked of rotten eggs.

“That looks like Robert Goddard,” said Akimi. “My dad told me about him. Goddard invented the first liquid-fueled rocket.”
“He’s also on an old airmail stamp,” said Miguel.
The others gave him quizzical looks.
“Stamp collecting is a very interesting hobby.”

“Excellent. Use a soft or medium throw by gripping the underside of the nose. This aircraft flies best when launched level or at a slight up angle from a high place. A detailed schematic with complete instructions is available in the top drawer of my desk. Good luck. And happy paper-folding!”

Leonardo, decked out in his flowing robes and floppy Renaissance cap, gave the prelaunch countdown: “Cinque, quattro, tre, due, uno—blast off!”

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.

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.

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.

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.

“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....”

“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....”

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.

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.”

“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.