فصل نهم

chapter-9

Dr. Zinchenko went to work with her book- and game-loving librarian colleagues in all fifty states.

The country was divided up into seven regions: Midwest, Northeast, Mid-Atlantic, Southeast, Southwest, Mountain, and Pacific. Since the Library Olympics would be held to see if any team could dethrone the stars of Mr. Lemoncello’s holiday commercials, only children in middle school, like the four members of Team Kyle, were allowed to participate.

Throughout January and February, thousands of eager contestants flocked to their local libraries to play the same kind of Dewey decimal scavenger-hunt game that had been at the heart of the Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library game.

In Decatur, Georgia, a girl named Diane Capriola advanced to the Southeast semifinals when she worked her way out of an Atlanta–Fulton County public library before anybody else by solving a riddle: “What occurs once in every minute, twice in every moment, yet never in a thousand years?” “The answer, of course, is the letter ‘M,’ ” Diane told local TV reporters. “So, I went to the reference section, opened up the ‘M’ encyclopedia, and—ta-da—there was a key to the back door tucked inside! When I stepped out to the sidewalk, the librarians were waiting with balloons and cake. It was easy-peasy.” In California, a boy named Pranav Pillai became a finalist for the Pacific team after he correctly deciphered that 683.3, the Dewey decimal code for Louie the Locksmith’s Big Book of Padlocks, Dead Bolts, and Tumblers, was also the combination for the lock securing the exit of the Los Altos Public Library: 6-R, 8-L, 3-R, 3-L.

But the player librarians all over the country were raving about most was Marjory Muldauer from Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. A gangly seventh grader, a foot taller than any of her competitors, Marjory Muldauer had memorized the ten categories of the Dewey decimal system before she entered preschool.

The books in her bedroom were all organized by numbered codes. So were the spices in her mother’s kitchen cabinets. And the baby food jars filled with nuts and bolts in her father’s garage.

Marjory liked organizing things.

She knew her way around a library better than the robotic carts in Mr. Lemoncello’s library. She read six books a day and could do two crossword puzzles at once—with a ballpoint pen.

“I’m glad that Mr. Lemoncello read my several letters and launched these Library Olympics,” Marjory told a reporter from her hometown newspaper. “I could really use that college scholarship he’s giving away. I’m also glad that the libraries where I’ve competed thus far have based their scavenger hunts on good old-fashioned research techniques. It’s too bad that so many of the kids who signed up for the competition see these games as some kind of party.” “What do you mean?” asked the reporter.

“Mr. Lemoncello insists that everybody be given balloons and cake. Cake has no place in a library. Frosting is sticky. Sticky fingers damage books.” “But Mr. Lemoncello is also a great lover of libraries.”

“Is he?” said Marjory skeptically. “I don’t think Mr. Lemoncello loves libraries qua libraries.” “Huh?” said the reporter. “What does ‘qua’ mean?”

“ ’As.’ It’s Latin. Mr. Lemoncello does not love libraries as libraries. He thinks they need to be tricked out with gadgets and gizmos and holographic displays. That library in Ohio reminds me of Disneyland with a few books. I think Mr. Lemoncello is seriously immature. He probably still believes in three-nine-eight-point-two.” “Huh?” The reporter was confused again.

“Three-nine-eight-point-two!” said Marjory. “It’s the Dewey decimal number for fairy tales.” The reporter just nodded and closed her notepad.

Marjory Muldauer had that effect on people.

“Wait,” Marjory told the reporter. “I’m not finished. Be sure you write this down: Kyle Keeley? You don’t stand a chance in France!”