فصل سوم

chapter-3

With school out for the winter holidays, Kyle and his friends were spending a lot of time hanging out downtown at the Lemoncello Library, where, because of their celebrity status, every day was a cake day.

Cake days were a Keeley family tradition. Whenever one of them did something spectacular—like his brother Mike winning a football game (again) or his other brother, Curtis, getting straight A’s (again)—Kyle’s mom baked a cake.

Ever since Kyle and his teammates had won the escape game, every day had felt that way. Cakey.

“You’re the dude from the commercial!” at least a dozen kids said to Kyle as he strolled through the Rotunda Reading Room.

He gave them each a jaunty two-finger salute. He’d seen movie stars do the same kind of salute on TV.

“Can I have your autograph?” said a little girl.

“Sure. Here you go.”

Kyle still signed each and every autograph individually.

His best friend, Akimi, on the other hand, passed out preprinted signature cards. “It’s faster that way,” she said.

“Hi, Kyle!” Sierra was curled up in one of the cozy chairs near the three-story-tall wall of fiction. She was reading a book, of course. Her gaze was far-off and dreamy, because when Sierra Russell was into a book, she was totally into it. She practically crawled between the covers to live with the characters.

“Hey,” said Kyle. “What’re you reading?”

“Actually, I’m rereading Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis. It’s my favorite.” “Sweet.”

“Have you ever read it?”

“Not yet. But it’s on my list.”

Sierra laughed. Probably because Kyle Keeley had the longest to-be-read list of any kid in the country.

“There’s another copy on the shelf,” said Sierra.

“That’s okay. I’m meeting Akimi and Miguel upstairs in the Electronic Learning Center. Mr. Lemoncello just installed a new educational video game: Charlemagne’s Chivalry. I think it’s about the Knights of the Round Table.” “Um, Kyle? Charlemagne was the Holy Roman Emperor. King Arthur had the round table—in England.” “See? You can learn something new every day. Catch you later, Sierra. Don’t want to keep Charlemagne or King Arthur waiting.” Kyle bounded up the spiral staircase to the third floor, signing autographs and posing for selfies with fans along the way.

He passed through the two very thick sliding glass doors that stopped the wild sounds of the Electronic Learning Center from leaking out into the rest of the building.

Once he was inside the arcade, Kyle’s ears were bombarded by the blare, buzz, and bells of three dozen educational video games. His nose was blasted, too. A lot of the games in the ELC were equipped with Mr. Lemoncello’s newest sensation, smell-a-vision, including one where you were a royal rat with body-odor issues, swimming through English history via the sewers of London.

“I’m sorry, I can’t sign another autograph or my hand will fall off,” said Haley Daley, who was holding court near the Cleopatra: Queen of the Nile game console.

Kyle didn’t play that one too much, because Haley Daley always outscored him. She knew the trick for summoning crocodiles up from the Nile.

“Kyle?” Haley waved at him. “You got a second?” “I’m supposed to meet—”

“This is super important.”

Kyle made his way to Haley.

“I’m moving!” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Hello? Do you know how many offers I’ve had since I starred in those commercials for Mr. Lemoncello?” “Actually, we all kind of starred in—”

“Hundreds. Maybe thousands. So my whole family’s going to Hollywood. My dad found a new job in L.A. Plus, my agent is already booking guest spots for me on the Disney Channel.” “Awesome,” said Kyle.

Haley Daley and her family had needed the money that came with winning the library escape game more than any other player had. It sounded like Mr. Lemoncello’s generosity had really turned things around for them.

“I just wanted to say goodbye. And thanks, Kyle.” “Hey, it was a team effort. We won it together.” “Whatever. I gotta go. Need to pick out a new pair of sunglasses.” Haley dramatically waved goodbye to Kyle and all her adoring fans as she traipsed out of the Electronic Learning Center. She did that dramatically, too.

“Yo, Kyle? We need a little help over here, bro! Like now.” Miguel and Akimi were on the far side of the Electronic Learning Center playing Charlemagne’s Chivalry. Miguel had the stubby controller rod gripped in front of his chest, wielding it like a lightsaber.

Kyle hustled across the noisy room.

“What’s up?”

“Charlemagne needs a champion,” explained Akimi. “Someone who will defend the weak and defenseless, fight for what’s right, yadda yadda. The game is based on the ancient code of chivalry.” “I’m kind of stuck,” said Miguel, fending off a fiery dragon with his virtual sword swishes.

“And I’m kind of bored,” said Akimi. “See you two later.” Kyle turned to Miguel. “What are your options?” “Slay the dragon or go feed the hungry peasants.” “No contest. Slay the dragon.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely. If you don’t, the dragon will kill the peasants. You slay the dragon, the peasants will rejoice. Peasants always love dragon slayers.” “Okay. If you say so.”

Miguel thrust his imaginary sword forward. His on-screen knight pierced the dragon’s hide with his steel blade.

The animated dragon fizzled out a geyser of gas and shriveled into a heap of crinkled plastic.

“Aw, man. It wasn’t a real dragon. It was a big balloon. Like in the Macy’s parade…” A swarm of peasants armed with pitchforks stormed across the screen. They attacked Miguel’s knight.

“Why didst thou not bringeth us food?” screamed the leader of the peasant army. “Death to the selfish, unchivalrous knave!” Kyle heard the unmistakable BLOOP-BLOOP-BLOOP sound of video-game death. Miguel’s knight took a pitchfork in the butt and wilted into a heap of pixels.

“Okay,” said Kyle. “Now that we know what not to do, we’ll play again and win.” “Why bother? We don’t need Charlemagne to tell us we’re champions. Am I right?” Kyle grinned. “Totally.”

Then the two of them knocked knuckles and chanted the lyrics to their favorite classic-rock tune: “We are the champions, my friend….”