chapter-26

Marjory Muldauer watched as the triumphant Kyle Keeley and his happy crew of crumbums climbed into their bookmobile.

All four were merrily flapping their arms, giving each other high and low fives.

Marjory still couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed. Kids waving their arms up and down to make fake video creatures fly to a phony volcano?

Shame on you, Mr. Lemoncello, she thought, seething. If I didn’t need a scholarship to even think about attending college, I’d quit these inane games!

Marjory and her teammates climbed into their bookmobile for the ride back to Olympia Village, which, in her opinion, was really just a cheesy, mid-level extended stay motel—the kind of place typically frequented by sketchy traveling salespeople and high school athletics teams. Marjory grabbed a book off a shelf in the back. Bleak House by Charles Dickens. It matched her mood.

“Shake it off, you guys,” coached Margaret Miles, the librarian who was one of the Midwest team’s chaperones. “So what if the Ohio kids won two medals today? There are eight more games left to play. This thing is far from over.” “That Kyle Keeley kid is good,” said Nicole Wisniewski, one of Marjory’s wimpy teammates. “He was smart, the way he recharged his pterodactyl’s battery.” “He’s a gamer,” Marjory snapped at Nicole. “Of course he won the video game. But he doesn’t know diddly about the Dewey decimal system. That’s why I beat him in the book reshelving game.” “Actually,” said Nicole, “we all beat him.”

Marjory blew her teammate a wet raspberry. “Yeah. Right. Like you guys would’ve had a chance without me.” “Marjory?” said Ms. Miles. “Remember, there is no ‘I’ in ‘team.’ ” So? thought Marjory. Because there is definitely an “m” and an “e” for me!

—

To chill out after such a lousy day, Marjory headed into the motel lobby and started reorganizing the rack of tourist brochures.

All the other Library Olympians, including Marjory’s worthless teammates, were at the pizza place next door to the motel, having dinner and probably playing more mind-numbing video games.

Andrew Peckleman, the boy with the Olympic-sized goggle glasses who worked at the motel, came into the lobby when she was about halfway done.

“Are you going with an alphabetical classification system or something a bit more complex?” “I’m categorizing them according to attraction type,” said Marjory. “Outdoor activities, historical sites, shopping opportunities—subcategorized, of course, into fashion, antiques, and souvenirs.” “Of course,” said Andrew.

“And, over here, you’ll find dining options.” Andrew smiled. “Isn’t informational organization awesome?” “Yes,” said Marjory. “It’s certainly more intellectually stimulating than video games.” “Rough day at the Library Olympics?”

“Ha! That Lemoncello Library is as ridiculous and absurd as Mr. Lemoncello himself.” “True,” said Andrew through his nose. “I’m afraid Mr. Lemoncello doesn’t like libraries qua libraries.” Marjory nearly gasped. “You use the word ‘qua’?” “Yes,” said Andrew, finger-sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But only when its usage is appropriate.” A lady wearing a fur-fringed jacket floated into the lobby.

“Hello, Andrew.”

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Chiltington. What’re you doing here?” “I came to see Miss Muldauer.”

“Who are you?” asked Marjory. “And why do you have a dead animal wrapped around your neck?” “There’s a slight nip in the air, dear. Andrew, would you kindly excuse us? I need to talk to Miss Muldauer in private.” “But…”

“Andrew?” his uncle Woody called from outside the front doors. “We need to go grease the baffles on the bird feeders.” “Right now?”

“The sooner, the better. I noticed a squirrel having an upside-down feast on feeder number eight. We need to put an end to that. A slicker surface might do the trick.” “But…”

“Say goodbye to Marjory, Andrew,” suggested Mrs. Chiltington.

“Okay. See you later, Marjory. I have to go to work.” Mrs. Chiltington waited for him and his uncle to walk down the driveway.

Then she pounced.

“Miss Muldauer, may I be frank with you?”

Marjory shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“I came here this evening as a representative of the League of Concerned Library Lovers.” “Who are they?”

“A group of local citizens who love libraries and consider Mr. Luigi L. Lemoncello to be a threat to all that we hold dear.” “The man is a major-league wackaloon,” said Marjory.

“That he is.” Mrs. Chiltington glanced around to make absolutely certain they were alone in the lobby. “I was wondering if you might be able to help Mr. Peckleman and I with a small…project?” “I’m kind of busy trying to win these games.” “This won’t take much of your time. I promise. But if we work together, I feel confident, we will both be quite satisfied with the end result.” “What do you mean?”

“With your assistance, Marjory, I firmly believe we will convince Mr. Lemoncello to abandon his infantile and dangerously contagious ideas about how a library should be run. Certain things don’t belong in our temples of knowledge. Things like flying dinosaur video games.” “So why do you need me?”

“Because the books in the Lemoncello Library are currently off-limits to everyone except you thirty-two Olympians.” “What?” said Marjory, arching an eyebrow. “You want me to check out a book?” “That’s right, Marjory. A book. Just one.”

“We can’t. Not during the games.”

“You strike me as a clever young lady. Surely you can find a way to skirt the rules?” “But what about my scholarship?”

“Do this for me, and you won’t need Mr. Lemoncello’s money. Mr. Peckleman and I will personally guarantee funding for your college education. Call it a ‘Go to College Free’ card. My family is extremely wealthy, Marjory. Has been for centuries.” Interesting. By removing one book from the stacks, Marjory could help these locals put an end to Mr. Lemoncello’s misguided notions about how a library should be run and, at the same time, earn herself a full-ride college scholarship.

“So, what makes this one book so special?”

“It is, as they say, the straw that will break the camel’s back. Once it leaves the Alexandriaville Public Library, we feel quite confident that Mr. Luigi Lemoncello will want to leave, too.”