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chapter-2

Charles Chiltington sat in his family’s home theater watching his classmate Kyle Keeley rocket across a seventy-inch plasma-screen TV.

It was the worst Christmas vacation of his life.

For over a month, whenever he clicked on the television, Charles was forced to look at the five cheaters who, six months earlier, had robbed him of his rightful prize.

In that night’s Lemoncello commercial, Keeley—the ringleader of the group that had “defeated” Charles in the Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library game—looked ridiculous dressed up in goofy goggles like a flying squirrel. But Keeley was obviously having a grand time starring in the commercial.

A commercial Charles should’ve starred in.

Keeley had needed four teammates to best Charles in the past June’s escape game, which was played inside the silly game maker’s even sillier new library on its opening weekend.

Keeley had also needed Mr. Lemoncello’s help to win.

At the very last second, just as Charles was nearing victory, the batty billionaire disqualified him on a trumped-up technicality. Keeley and his cronies went on to win the game and the grand prize.

Charles, on the other hand, went home to hear what a disappointment he was to his father.

Because Chiltingtons never lose.

Especially not to ordinary nobodies like Kyle Keeley.

For six months, Charles had been plotting his revenge on Keeley and his teammates: smart-aleck Akimi Hughes, library geek Miguel Fernandez, bookworm Sierra Russell, and most especially turncoat traitor Haley Daley, who had been on Charles’s team with Andrew Peckleman until she deserted them to join Team Kyle.

“Mr. Lemoncello robbed me,” Charles muttered miserably. “They should shut down his ludicrous library.” He’d been miserably muttering the same thing ever since the Lemoncello holiday commercials started airing. But for some reason, watching this annoying squirrel commercial made a new thought bubble up inside his brain.

He pushed the pause button on the DVR remote.

They should shut down Mr. Lemoncello.

That was a better idea.

The good citizens of Alexandriaville, Ohio, should not allow the demented Mr. Lemoncello to continue to control what went on inside their new public library.

Yes! His mind started whirring. That was the perfect angle. A public campaign to wrench control of the library away from the dangerous lunatic Luigi Lemoncello.

And Charles knew just who should lead the charge.

His mother.

She had a long history of championing public causes.

When he was in kindergarten, she had led the Anti-Cupcake Crusade, because Charles liked brownies better. When he was in third grade, his mother had made certain that the teacher who dared give Charles a B on his papier-mâché volcano was fired. And in fourth grade, she had yanked him out of Chumley Prep (and cut off their endowment) when the private school had the nerve to hire a history teacher who celebrated International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Plus, Charles’s mother did not particularly care for what Mr. Lemoncello was doing inside his zany library.

“Too much sizzle, not enough steak,” she’d complained to friends in her bridge club. “They also lend out too many of the wrong sort of books.” Wheels were spinning inside Charles’s head as he plotted his next moves.

With just the slightest nudge, taking the “Lemoncello” out of the Lemoncello Library would become his mother’s next great cause. He was certain of it.

“Mummy?” he called out in his best your-little-boy-has-a-boo-boo voice.

When no one answered, he did it again. Louder.

“Mummy! Make it go away! I’m being traumatized! Mummy!” His mother bustled into the TV room. “Charles, darling? What’s the matter?” Charles pointed a trembling finger at the TV screen. “Mr. Lemoncello. Make him go away. His library is a petrifying place full of cheaters!” “I know, dear, but there’s nothing…”

Charles started blubbering. “He cheated me, Mummy. He robbed me!” “Yes, honey…”

It was time to pull out the heavy artillery.

“He lowered my self-esteem! I feel like such a failure!” He sniffled. “Because of Mr. Lemoncello, I may never go to college!” His mother’s face turned ghostly white. Score!

“Hush now. Mummy’s here. Everything will be all right.” She hugged him tightly.

Charles grinned.

Mr. Lemoncello was toast.

Burnt toast with toe-jam jelly on top.