فصل ششم

chapter-6

Working on his library essay like he’d never worked on any essay in his whole essay-writing life, Kyle crafted a killer thesis sentence that compared libraries to his favorite games.

“Using a library can make learning about anything (and everything) fun,” he wrote. “When you’re in a library, researching a topic, you’re on a scavenger hunt, looking for clues and prizes in books instead of your attic or backyard.” He put in points and sub-points.

He wrapped everything up with a tidy conclusion.

He even checked his spelling (twice).

But Akimi had been right.

“I’m sorry, Kyle,” Mrs. Cameron said when he handed her his new paper at the end of the day. “This is very good and I am impressed by your extra effort. However, the deadline was this morning. Rules are rules. The same as they are in all the board games you mentioned in your essay.” She’d basically handed Kyle a Go Back Five Hundred Spaces card.

But Kyle refused to give up.

He remembered how his mother had written to Mr. Lemoncello’s Imagination Factory when he and his brothers needed a fresh set of clue cards for the Indoor-Outdoor Scavenger Hunt.

Maybe he could send his essay directly to Mr. Lemoncello via email.

Maybe, if the game maker wasn’t judging the essays until later that night, Kyle still had a shot. A long shot, but, hey, sometimes the long ones were the only shots you got.

The second he hit home he sat down at his mother’s kitchen computer. He attached his essay file to a “high priority” email addressed to Mr. Lemoncello at the Imagination Factory.

“What are you doing, Kyle?” his mom asked when she came into the room and found him typing on her computer.

“Some extra-credit homework.”

“Extra credit? School’s out at the end of the week.” “So?”

“You’re not playing my Diner Dash game, are you?” “No, Mom. It’s an essay. About Mr. Lemoncello’s amazing new library downtown.” “Oh. Sounds interesting. I heard on the radio that there’s going to be a gala grand opening reception this Friday night at the Parker House Hotel, right across the street from the old bank building. I mean, the new library.” Kyle typed in a P.S. to his email: “I hope at the party on Friday you have balloons.” He hit send.

“Who did you send your essay to?” his mother asked. “Your teacher?” “No. Mr. Lemoncello himself. It took some digging, but I found his email address on his game company’s website.” “Really? I’m impressed.” His mom rubbed his hair. “You know, this morning, I said to your dad: ‘Kyle can be just as smart as Curtis and just as focused as Mike—when he puts his mind to it.’ ” Kyle smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

But his smile quickly disappeared when a BONG! alerted him to an incoming email.

From Mr. Lemoncello.

It was an auto-response form letter.

Dear Lemoncello Game Lover:

This is a no-reply mailbox. Your message did not go through. Do not try to resend it or you’ll just hear another BONG! But thank you for playing our games.