فصل پانزدهم

chapter-15

Andrew Peckleman was in the motel game room.

“For the last time, the stupid thing is broken,” he told the blond boy from Utah, who was on the Mountain team.

“How can it be broken? The motel manager said all these games are brand-new.” “Well, maybe Mr. Lemoncello made a lemon.” Andrew jiggled the control knobs on the console. He jabbed his thumb at the on/off button. Finally, he gave the pressboard box a swift kick. “See? It doesn’t work. Play something else.” “But I wanted to play Squirrel Squad Six.” “And I wanted to be the first librarian on Mars. Ask me how that’s working out. Now go play something else.” The boy from Utah shuffled off to try Mr. Lemoncello’s Disgracefully Destructive Elephant Stampede. The goal was to mash as much mall merchandise as you could with Melvin, the mischievous mastodon.

“Andrew?” called his uncle from the motel’s front office.

“Yes, sir, Uncle Woody?”

“Come here, please.”

Andrew stepped into the office. His uncle was at the back wall, fiddling with the combination lock on a large steel door.

“I’ll just be a minute.” He slid a rolling wall panel in front of the steel door. When the panel clicked into place, the massive storage locker was completely hidden behind a seamless wall featuring a framed print of two bluebirds.

Andrew’s uncle pointed to a thirty-pound sack of birdseed sitting on the floor.

“I need you to refill feeders six and seven.” “Yes, sir.”

“And check the batteries in the spinners.” “Yes, sir.”

Each of Uncle Woody’s bird feeders had a weight-activated spinner that turned it into a whirling merry-go-round the instant a squirrel set foot on it.

“I need to go chat with a few of our guests.” “About what?” asked Andrew.

“Never you mind. Go take care of the bird feeders.” “Yes, sir.”

Lugging the seed bag over his shoulder, Andrew went out the side door to the swimming pool and patio area.

Since it was only the first day of spring, the pool was still covered with a tarp, but the stainless steel gas grills on the concrete slab surrounding it had been shined and buffed. Cooks from a catering company would use them for the opening ceremonies celebration. Hamburgers, hot dogs, and s’mores were on the menu.

The outdoor fire pit—an elevated ring of rocks surrounded by lawn chairs—was stone cold. It would not be lit at any time during the Library Olympic Games because Mr. Lemoncello hated bonfires. “Throughout history,” he explained in the Library Olympics welcome packet, “too many books have been burned by people who didn’t like what was written inside them.” There would also be no flaming Olympic torch, just a giant, ten-foot-tall flashlight to celebrate the joy of reading under the covers. It was mounted on the back of a flatbed truck and would swing through the sky after Mr. Lemoncello switched it on, just like one of those swiveling spotlights at the grand opening of a used-car dealership.

Andrew unscrewed a cap on bird feeder number six and hoisted the bag of seed.

“Why does this hotel have so many bird feeders?” asked someone behind him.

Andrew whirled around.

It was the tall girl from Michigan. Marjory Muldauer.

Andrew adjusted his glasses. “Excuse me?”

“What’s up with all the bird feeders?”

Andrew shrugged. “Uncle Woody likes birds.” “Probably because he looks like a bird.”

Andrew snorted a laugh. “I know. He does!” “I’m trying to find some coffee,” said Marjory, her hands propped on her hips. Her face was scrunched up like she’d just smelled sour milk. “I need to read two more books tonight.” “Well,” said Andrew, “if you really want some 641.3373, follow me.” Marjory gave him a look. “That’s the Dewey decimal number for coffee.” “Yes. The beverage. Coffee the agricultural product would be 633.73.” “And,” said Marjory, “coffeehouses would be 647.95. Eating and drinking establishments.” “Yep.”

“You know a lot about the Dewey decimal system for a motel employee.” “Oh, this is just a part-time job. My name is Andrew. Andrew Peckleman.” “You were one of the losers, weren’t you? In the escape game.” Andrew hung his head in shame. “Yes. But ask me if I care.” “Okay,” said Marjory. “Do you care?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Well, that monstrosity that Mr. Lemoncello constructed isn’t really a library, Andrew. It’s an indoor amusement park.” “Have you seen it?” Andrew asked.

“Not yet. But I’ve seen pictures. They should close it down and turn it into a Chuck E. Cheese’s—after, of course, I win my college scholarship from loony old Lemoncello.” Andrew smiled.

Because Marjory Muldauer was a kindred spirit.

He dropped the birdseed sack onto the concrete patio.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go grab that cup of 641.3373.” “And maybe,” said Marjory, “we can find a few 641.8653 to go with it.” “Ooh,” said Andrew. “I love doughnuts.”