“Okay,” said Haley, studying Simon’s face. “We can work with it.”
She opened up a large fishing tackle box filled with makeup supplies.
“Brainstorm! I’m going to give you a prosthetic nose made out of latex.”
“Okay,” said Simon. “What do you want me to do with it?”
Haley laughed. “Wear it, silly. Don’t worry. In Hollywood, we’re masters of disguise. I learned how to make noses and chins and fake body parts from the makeup artist who did Zombie Dance Party 3000 for Kidzapalooza. I was one of the zombies. The blond one. We should give you a different chin, too. And a wig. A shaggy mop top. And cooler glasses.”
“How about his costume?” asked Akimi.
“I’m thinking a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket on top of jeans and new kicks!” said Haley. “Total ‘cool dude’ look.”
“I’m, uh, really not all that cool,” mumbled Simon.
“Work with me, Simon!” said Haley. “Sometimes you just have to fake it until you make it!”
“Um, okay.”
Simon tried to remember how Jack acted. Gave himself a little swagger. A little bluster.
“Yeah,” he said in a strong, confident voice. “I can be this guy.”
“Woo-hoo!” said Akimi.
“Take a seat, Simon!” said Haley. “It’s showtime!”
* * *
—
One hour later, Simon didn’t recognize the kid looking back at him from the mirror.
Instead of his fuzzy buzz cut, he had shaggy black hair that fell down to his eyes. He also had a pretty big nose, bushy black eyebrows, a chin with a dimple in the middle, and thick-rimmed glasses.
“Remember,” Haley coached him, “acting is believing. If you believe you are someone different, you will become someone different.”
“Yeah,” said Simon. “Cool.”
“Walk like this,” coached Haley. “Hold your head up. Chest out. Shoulders back. There you go. You’ve got it!”
Andrew Peckleman came into the dressing room. “Who’s this guy?” he whined, shoving his goggle-sized glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. “I thought we decided that kid Simon was going to play with Soraiya.”
“It is Simon,” said Akimi.
“No it’s not,” said Andrew. “Simon has short hair.”
“It’s a wig,” said Akimi. “Good job, Haley.”
“I know,” she said.
“And we can’t call him Simon anymore,” said Akimi. “He’s, uh, Mario!”
“Mario?” said Simon.
“Yep,” said Akimi. “Because you kind of look like that guy from the video game. You know, Super Mario. But without the hat or mustache.”
“Yeah,” said Simon, turning up the confidence. “I shaved this morning.” He tried snapping his fingers and humming a tune a cool dude might hum.
“Awesome!” Kyle Keeley, sounding much better than he had earlier, squeezed into the makeshift dressing room. “You look amazing, Simon. I didn’t even recognize you.”
“Kyle?” said Akimi, arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah?”
“Shouldn’t you be lying down?”
“Huh?”
“You’re sick, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Kyle put his fist over his mouth and looked like he might hurl. “Just wanted to make sure Simon was all set.”
“I am good to go, bro,” said Simon.
“Awesome!” said Haley. “Now, let’s just hope Soraiya Mitchell doesn’t recognize you, either!”
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, squirrels and chipmunks!”
Mr. Lemoncello stood on a raised platform decorated with scalloped yellow bunting that resembled sugar-sprinkled candy lemon slices. He was addressing the crowd that had migrated uphill from the sidewalk board game to gather in front of the new mirrored building. The shimmering silver walls reflected the crimson sky as it made its way toward twilight.
Heavy lemon-yellow drapes covered what appeared to be a sign on the arched, four-story-tall roof over the building’s main entrance. All the security gates and fencing had been removed overnight. The security puppies had found loving forever homes at the picnic’s pet adoption booth. Now there were a pair of sweeping fieldstone paths winding their way through a lush lawn, past topiaries and a koi pond (filled with fish and plastic windup scuba divers), to the towering front doors.
Dr. Zinchenko and Mr. Raymo stood on the small stage with Mr. Lemoncello. Dr. Zinchenko was applying a new coat of bright-red lipstick, using the disco ball building behind her as a gigantic makeup mirror.
“First of all,” said Mr. Lemoncello, addressing the crowd, “I would like to personally congratulate the four winners of the sidewalk board game. Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations, congratulations. Now then, winners, as you’ve heard, you will be playing another awesometastic game—starting in about thirty minutes. Your chance to win a titanium ticket! Actually, to call it a game is a little misleading. It’s the first of a series of games—to be played here and elsewhere. A March Madness tournament leading to the biggest, most stupendous prize I have ever given away. One worth millions and billions and bazillions of dollars!”
The crowd oohed, aahed, and whistled.
“Today, I am pleased as punch—the fruity stuff with ginger ale and sherbet, not the ones to the nose or belly—to announce the true purpose of this new building. My dear friends, in appreciation for all that you do here at Lemoncello Gameworks, henceforth, fence forth, and forever more, Hudson Hills, New York, won’t just be the home to the factory that produces my marvelously wonderful games. It will also be the home of my masterpiece, one of the new wonders of the modern world, and I’m not talking about a loaf of bread. Oh no. This is the brand-new, spectacularrific, highly interactive, soon-to-be-world-famous Board Game Hall of Fame!”
Mr. Lemoncello slapped a big green button.
Rippled fabric wafted away from the top of the main entrance to reveal a spectacular sign etched into the glistening glass.
WELCOME TO THE BOARD GAME HALL OF FAME
A thousand biodegradable balloons stuffed with birdseed were set free. T-shirt cannons pummeled the crowd with the hall of fame’s first souvenirs. Fireworks sizzled and spewed from mortars hidden on the building’s roof.
“The Board Game Hall of Fame is basically an indoor amusement park with some of the most amazing exhibits ever created by the wizards on my imagineering team!”
“Why, thank you, sir,” said Mr. Raymo, blushing.
“Inside these glass walls,” Mr. Lemoncello continued, “all your favorite board games will come to bigger-than-life life. Why, there’s a Rubik’s Cube the size of a small house. You can zoom around a room on flying dragons that just escaped from a dungeon. You can even play Rush Hour in an indoor parking lot where you’ll drive battery-powered cars, semitrailers, and a boxy ice cream truck!”
The audience applauded.
“We won’t be showing you folks out here what the kids will encounter inside the museum tonight. Because we don’t want to ruin any of the surprises when it’s your turn to explore the Board Game Hall of Fame. However, a local jug band will be dropping by to entertain us for the next two hours. I, myself, will juggle. Dr. Zinchenko brought her kazoo, and everything in the snack tents is, of course, free!”
“T-minus twenty minutes and counting, sir,” Mr. Raymo whispered to Mr. Lemoncello.
“Oh, boy!” Mr. Lemoncello flapped his hands together, giddy-seal-style. “Our inaugural Board Game Hall of Fame game will commence in twenty minutes. Tonight’s competition will be intense. It might even be unbridled and ferocious, especially if someone brings a horse or a tiger. As you’ve heard, to help our four local winners navigate the ins and outs of the multilayered game play, we’ve flown in four of
the greatest gamers in all the land.”
The high school marching band did a drumroll. Searchlights swung across the stage. A hush fell over the crowd.
“From Alexandriaville, Ohio,” boomed Mr. Lemoncello, “please welcome Andrew Peckleman! Akimi Hughes! Haley Daley! And Kyle Keeley!”
The crowd cheered as three of the Ohio gamers bounded onto the stage and waved to their many fans.
“Oh, dear,” said Mr. Lemoncello, doing a double take. “Where’s Kyle?”
Dr. Zinchenko whispered in his ear.
“Is that so?” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Is he forcing fluids, sucking peppermints, and staying close to a commodious commode?”
Dr. Zinchenko nodded.
“Good!” said Mr. Lemoncello. He turned back to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, turtles and doves. I regret to inform you that this afternoon, while watching the sidewalk board game, Kyle Keeley grew violently ill. Therefore, he will not be able to participate in this evening’s activities. However, we are very fortunate that, at the very last minute, we were able to locate one of the greatest gamers I have ever met to take his place. A true genius if ever I saw one. The kids from Ohio call him Mario, so you can, too! Please, put your hands together for the one, the only Mario!”
Head up, shaggy black wig bobbing, Simon and his big fake nose strode onstage. He raised up both arms like he’d seen a boxer do once on TV.
“Marr-ee-oh!” the crowd chanted. “Marr-ee-oh!”
Simon smiled.
So far, pretending to be someone he wasn’t was totally awesome.
Simon, disguised as supergamer Mario, followed the Ohio kids as they walked along the line of Hudson Hills winners and, like sports teams do at the end of a game, shook everybody’s hand.
“Congratulations,” he said to Carolyn Hudson (they had math together).
“Thank you, Mario!” she gushed. “I think you’re even cuter than Kyle Keeley.”
Simon did what he figured a cool dude would do. He winked at her. “Thanks.”
He shook hands with Piya Sarkarati (she lived right across the street from his grandparents!). Piya didn’t recognize him. For once, being a practically invisible kid at middle school was really paying off.
“Hey, Mario,” said Jack McClintock, grabbing Simon’s hand with both of his and pumping his arm. “Good to have you in the game, dude. Although, to be honest, I was really looking forward to going one-on-one against the legendary Kyle Keeley. I was going to own him, big-time.”
“Aha,” was all Simon could manage in reply.
Finally, he shook hands with his partner, Soraiya.
“This is so cool!” she said. “Mr. Lemoncello says you’re one of the best gamers he’s ever met! We are so going to win this thing!”
“Booyah!” said Simon, because he’d heard some guys at school say it when they were pumped.
“All right, everybody,” said Dr. Zinchenko. “If you haven’t done so already, please find your partner.”
“You’re with me,” Andrew Peckleman said to Jack McClintock.
“Who are you again?” said Jack.
“Andrew Peckleman. Kicked out of the Escape game, redeemed in the Library Olympics, made a minor splash in Mr. Lemoncello’s All-Star Breakout Game?”
“Oh, right. You’re the guy Charles Chiltington pushed around.”
“Ancient history!” said Andrew, his face turning pink. “Ancient history!”
“Don’t worry,” said Jack with a sinister grin. “You’re my perfect partner.”
To their right, Carolyn Hudson was jumping up and down, saying, “Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh. You’re you! I can’t believe it. You’re really Haley Daley. You smell like chocolate chip cookie dough!”
Haley fluffed out her golden hair. “You like the cookie dough scent? It’s the newest in my line of Haley Daley Daily Shampoos. Also available in kiwi-lime and strawberry Twizzler.”
Akimi Hughes was giving Piya Sarkarati a heads-up about what to expect inside the Board Game Hall of Fame.
“Toughest. Game. Ever,” she told her.
Dr. Zinchenko strode up to the microphone. “Very well. The meet and greet is officially over. It is time, once again, to pass out the lPads. Each of our four teams will visit eight exhibits, although no two teams will be on the same track through the museum. At the exhibits, you might engage in a game, parse a puzzle, or resolve a riddle.”
“Oooh,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Lovely and luminous alliteration, Yanina.”
“Thank you, sir.” She turned back to the contestants. “You will need to find eight answers—each one a specific number of letters long. You will type those answers into your lPad. The letters to your answers will fill in the circular bubbles on your virtual answer sheet.”
“Circular are the best kind of bubbles,” said Mr. Lemoncello. “Personally, I can’t stand a square bubble. Too edgy.”
“Under some of the bubbles, you will see numbers. The letters inside those numbered bubbles will make up words in a seventy-six-letter phrase.”
“Is it the same one Kyle and I had?” asked Akimi.
Dr. Zinchenko shook her head. “No.”
“Darn.”
“But wait,” said Mr. Raymo, “there’s more.”
Mr. Lemoncello sighed. “There usually is.”
“That seventy-six-letter phrase,” Dr. Zinchenko continued, “will lead you to the ultimate and final answer.”
“Whew,” said Mr. Lemoncello, taking off his top hat and dabbing his brow. “This is more complicated than the recipe for primordial soup as written by the Scoundrels of Skullport!”
Dr. Zinchenko nodded. “Why is this game so difficult and challenging, you might ask?”
“Dr. Zinchenko?” said Haley, who knew a cue when she heard one. “Why is this game so difficult and challenging?”
“Because, as you will soon learn, the prize for winning is equally magnificent and marvelous.”
“Mr. Lemoncello?” said Mr. Raymo, suddenly acting like a TV game show host. “Tell them what it is!”
Mr. Lemoncello smiled and held up both his arms spread wide.
There was an impish twinkle in his eye.
Finally, when the crowd was breathless with anticipation, he told them what the prize would be:
“Everything! Abso-tootly-lutely EVERYTHING!”
Mr. Lemoncello looked offstage.
“Maestro, if you please?”
Suddenly, the sound of sappy violins started to pour out of the outdoor loudspeakers, giving Mr. Lemoncello a very emotional musical track for his coming pronouncement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, buoys and gulls, as we celebrate our glorious past with this brand-new Board Game Hall of Fame, it’s also time to think of the Future. As you may have noticed, every year, on my birthday, I grow older. And as I count those candles upon my cake, I ponder deep thoughts such as ‘I hope I don’t set off the smoke detector’ and ‘Can I lick the frosting off the candles now?’ I also say to myself, ‘Luigi, you are not going to be here forever. You only rented Chuck E. Cheese for two hours. And one day, sad to say, you won’t be here at all. When you are gone, who will take over the Imagination Factory and the Gameworks Factory? Who will inherit your game-making empire and your bulging bazillion-dollar bank account? Who will fill your squeaking banana shoes?’ ”
The crowd gasped. So did most of the contestants lined up behind Mr. Lemoncello on the stage. They had never stopped to consider a world without Luigi L. Lemoncello in it.
Jack McClintock and his father, on the other hand, had. They talked all the time about what they would change at the factory if it were theirs. That’s why they were both smirking, just a little.
“I have no children,” Mr. Lemoncello continued, “except, of course, the millions of children all over the
globe whom I have entertained with games, quick costume changes, and Lemonberry Fizz. I have no heir apparent, and soon I may go bald and have no hair apparent, either. No, my good friends. I just love making games and having fun. And so, it occurs to me that a younger version of me, someone who shares my love for puzzles and games and general silliness, could, one day—not too soon, hopefully—be the perfectly prepared person to take over all things Lemoncello.
“So, I have decided to host a series of games. A tournament of champions! The winner, or winners, of these contests will be awarded a titanium ticket that will grant them access to the ultimate, final, not to mention concluding round—the one game that will decide, once and for all, who, in the, as I said, very distant future, will take over my gaming empire and become richer than the King of Tokyo, King Oil, and the Merchant of Venus combined!”
Akimi’s partner, Piya, gave her a confused look. “Huh?”
“They’re games,” Akimi whispered. “Mr. Lemoncello is all about the games.”
“Oh…”
Mr. Lemoncello spun around to face the eight contestants. The weepy music was replaced by a snazzy game show theme.
“The first of the titanium tickets will be awarded right here tonight to someone from Hudson Hills. To my friends from Ohio, and, of course, Mario: Not to worry. You four will also have a chance to win the grand prize. Even though you are playing today in an advisory capacity, I am already plotting a similar gaming extravaganza for you and all the other members of the Lemoncello library’s board. That will be your time to shine, exclamation point!”
“Cool,” said Akimi. “I’ve always wanted to own a multinational game company.”
“Me too,” said Andrew.
“Me three,” added Simon.
He’d love taking over Mr. Lemoncello’s empire so he could create incredible new games like the ones he invented up in his attic.
Mr. Lemoncello turned back to the crowd.
“Good friends of Hudson Hills: Rest assured that whomsoever I choose to carry my name forward into the future will be someone fantabulous and awesometastic. Someone who will run things the way I would run them. Someone who will insure that your payday envelope always includes a candy bar of the same name. Someone who will solemnly swear that Taco Tuesdays in the company cafeteria shall be observed the way they were meant to be: with extra guacamole!”
Mr. Lemoncello and the Titanium Ticket Page 10
