فصل ششم

chapter-6

“Dinner was delicious, wouldn’t you agree?” said Mr. Lemoncello, standing at the head of the very long table.

The forty or fifty kids and parents in the dining room applauded. The chefs and serving staff took a bow.

“All right,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Parents and guardians? Our security guards, Clarence and Clement, will escort you next door to the Retro Arcade, where you may play Space Invaders, Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, and all the games of your youth for free in a game center that looks—and, more important, smells—exactly like the mall arcades you grew up in!” “Yee-haw!” hollered Angus Harper’s father as he led the stampede of adults out of the dining room.

After they were gone, Mr. Lemoncello addressed his young trustees.

“I hereby declare this meeting of the Lemoncello Library board of trustees officially open. I also do declare,” he added in a genteel Southern accent, “that I loved that lemon chiffon pie! Now then, as you may have noticed, Julie of the Wolves isn’t here tonight, and neither is Dr. Zinchenko. Julie is on a shelf at the library and Dr. Z is in Domodedovo, Russia, where she is celebrating her mother’s birthday with pickled fish, fried cabbage dumplings, and birthday pie.” Kyle looked around the table. His friends from school—Akimi, Sierra, Miguel, and Andrew—were there, of course. But not all the members of the board of trustees could fly to Ohio for every meeting. It looked like maybe twenty other Library Olympians had made the trip, including Abia Sulayman, a very serious girl wearing a hijab, who never thought Kyle was all that funny. He also saw Diane Capriola from Georgia, Stephanie Youngerman from Idaho, and Pranav Pillai from California.

Kyle looked back to Mr. Lemoncello. He couldn’t wait to hear the big announcement. He hoped it was a new game. Something as exciting as the Olympics or the escape game!

“Marjory Muldauer sends her regrets,” Mr. Lemoncello said, making Kyle wait even longer to hear the big announcement. “Apparently, they needed her help organizing the magazine racks at the Library of Congress. Speaking of tidying things up, I would like to personally commend local board members Miguel Fernandez and Andrew Peckleman, who earlier this week helped us with some archival items in the library’s basement.” More applause.

“What’d you guys organize down there?” Kyle asked Miguel, who was sitting next to him.

“Just some papers and junk from the early days of Mr. Lemoncello’s business career,” said Miguel.

“And now for the first item on my agenda and also in my hands.” Mr. Lemoncello held up what looked like a shiny black shoebox. A cluster of stubby antennas and strobing LEDs were arrayed along the top. Several gyrating satellite dishes the size of quarters rotated on the sides.

“For those of you joining us from out of town who did not witness last week’s stunning demonstration at the library, I wanted to quickly introduce you to our newest funification device: the Nonfictionator! Chet? Tell them how it works!” Mr. Raymo, the newly appointed chief imagineer, stood up.

“The box Mr. Lemoncello is currently holding in his hands is, of course, a portable, less powerful unit than the Nonfictionator at the library, which is supported by a massive network of mainframe computers.” “The box also operates as a universal remote!” said Mr. Lemoncello, tapping a red button on its side. The lights dimmed. He thumbed a scroll wheel. Violin music wafted out of the ceiling speakers. He scrolled again and somewhere a popcorn popper started popping. “It can control every electronic device in the house!” “Simple infrared technology, actually,” said Mr. Raymo modestly.

“And now,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “I will use the device to dial up a holographic, interactive, and very attractive Supreme Court justice—Oliver Wendell Holmes Junior. He will administer our official Lemoncello Vow of Secrecy Oath before revealing something we need to keep secret.” “Holmes was on the court from 1902 to 1932,” whispered Miguel.

“His opinions are still quoted and cited to this day,” added Katherine Kelly from across the table.

“Oyez, oyez, oyez,” said Mr. Lemoncello, bopping a button. “Here comes the judge.” The ghostly image of a very somber-looking man draped in black robes appeared next to Mr. Lemoncello at the head of the table. He sported a bushy walrus mustache and wore a starched shirt with a stiff collar that stood straight up.

“Now, if it please the court,” Mr. Lemoncello said to the hologram, “will you kindly administer our super-duper double-pinky secrecy oath?” Justice Holmes turned to the diners gathered around the table. “Please rise, raise your right hand, and repeat after me.” All the guests stood.

“I, insert your name.”

Everybody said “I” and added their names.

Except Mr. Lemoncello.

He said, “I, insert your name.”

The former Supreme Court justice cleared his throat disapprovingly.

“Oh. Right. I, Luigi Libretto Lemoncello…”

Justice Holmes continued: “Do solemnly swear or affirm that I will never reveal any of the secrets I am privy to as a member of this esteemed board of trustees. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a booger in my eye.” When all the trustees quit giggling, they repeated the oath.

Mr. Lemoncello flicked off the Nonfictionator. Justice Holmes disappeared.

“Since you are all duly and officially sworn to secrecy,” said Mr. Lemoncello, “how’d you like a sneak peek at what I hope will be my game company’s biggest hit this holiday season?” “Woo-hoo!” shouted Kyle.

“We’d love it!” added Angus.

“Very well,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “But remember—it’s a secret. Even Santa doesn’t know about it yet!”