Mr. Lemoncello and the Titanium Ticket: Chapters 21–38

Simon reached into his back pocket and showed her the engraved invitation from Mr. Lemoncello.
“Wow,” said Soraiya. “Excellent calligraphy.”

“Once you have collected six flags of your color, you must race up the middle of Main Street, through a Zoom Zone of rotating windmill blades, a bouncy house, the swinging rubber hammers of doom, and a chocolate volcano, to plant all of your flags in one of the florist foam islands floating in the center of our putrid putting green, which is only green because it is actually a pool of slime.”

“What’s up with the helmets?” Simon asked as he and Soraiya joined the throng making its way from the park to Main Street.

The “RUN” square quickly became claustrophobic as all twelve players crammed into the four-by-four box.

He hadn’t recognized her at first because her formerly white jumpsuit was now basically brown.

“There’s congestion in the Zoom Zone. Three players at a time is the limit.”

Now she was timing her pass under the swinging, double-headed rubber mallet. It was suspended from the apex of a steel triangle.

Soraiya and Carolyn both conquered the mountain, slogged across the green swamp of the putrid putting green, and planted their flags.

Simon took a more nimble, high-stepping approach and made it to the exit ahead of Jack.

He worked his way through the wall of spectators lining Fourth Street and sidled through the mob behind them on the next block of Main Street.

“It’s an autonomous automobile,” she said when she saw the look on Simon’s face. “That means it drives itself.”

The self-driving lemonmobile whisked Simon and Akimi up the steep roads leading to where the Gameworks Factory sat perched on the bluff overlooking the Hudson River.

“Brainstorm! I’m going to give you a prosthetic nose made out of latex.”

Simon tried to remember how Jack acted. Gave himself a little swagger. A little bluster.

Kyle Keeley, sounding much better than he had earlier, squeezed into the makeshift dressing room.

Mr. Lemoncello stood on a raised platform decorated with scalloped yellow bunting that resembled sugar-sprinkled candy lemon slices.

Mr. Lemoncello stood on a raised platform decorated with scalloped yellow bunting that resembled sugar-sprinkled candy lemon slices.

Now there were a pair of sweeping fieldstone paths winding their way through a lush lawn, past topiaries and a koi pond (filled with fish and plastic windup scuba divers), to the towering front doors.

Now there were a pair of sweeping fieldstone paths winding their way through a lush lawn, past topiaries and a koi pond (filled with fish and plastic windup scuba divers), to the towering front doors.

Our inaugural Board Game Hall of Fame game will commence in twenty minutes.

Tonight’s competition will be intense. It might even be unbridled and ferocious, especially if someone brings a horse or a tiger.

The crowd cheered as three of the Ohio gamers bounded onto the stage and waved to their many fans.

“Is he forcing fluids, sucking peppermints, and staying close to a commodious commode?”

At the exhibits, you might engage in a game, parse a puzzle, or resolve a riddle.

“This is more complicated than the recipe for primordial soup as written by the Scoundrels of Skullport!”

“Why is this game so difficult and challenging, you might ask?”
“Dr. Zinchenko?” said Haley, who knew a cue when she heard one. “Why is this game so difficult and challenging?”

There was an impish twinkle in his eye.

Mr. Lemoncello looked offstage.
“Maestro, if you please?”

Suddenly, the sound of sappy violins started to pour out of the outdoor loudspeakers, giving Mr. Lemoncello a very emotional musical track for his coming pronouncement.

Even though you are playing today in an advisory capacity, I am already plotting a similar gaming extravaganza for you and all the other members of the Lemoncello library’s board.

Someone who will solemnly swear that Taco Tuesdays in the company cafeteria shall be observed the way they were meant to be: with extra guacamole!

An ornate grandfather clock, at least fifteen feet tall, stood against one wall, surrounded by framed antique game boards.

All of the miniature characters, with jointed marionette limbs, looked ready to spring into animated action the instant the clock struck its next full hour.

“Welcome to the Board Game Hall of Fame,” said the hologram of a portly man in a purple tailcoat.

It was at least ten feet tall and sculpted to look like a young guy with an awkward smile, a cowlick flip to his waxy black hair, and nubby bumps all over his face.

A panel in the glass ceiling opened and a hydraulic lift slowly lowered a very large egg timer.

His life was very checkered. To find out more, visit Famous Game Makers on the second floor.

Some white spaces had good things like “Bravery,” “Industry,” and “Fame” printed on them. Others had bad things like “Crime,” “Prison,” and “Ruin” stamped on them.

Simon hummed a little ditty to help him think, studied the puzzle, and gave Soraiya the answer.

The teammates took off, leaving Simon and Soraiya to stare at the yellow-and-red configuration of their losing Connect Four game.