“I will not have my grandson destroyed by that evil man.”
“Mr. Lemoncello isn’t evil. He brings joy to children all over the world.”
“Joy? He killed our son, Sophia. Killed our daughter-in-law, too. Mr. Lemoncello made Simon an orphan!”
“No, he didn’t. It was an accident….”
“Which only happened because of Luigi L. Lemoncello!”
They reached the factory and saw a crowd in the parking lot enjoying a jug band performance. At the edge of the mob, Simon’s grandfather could see a man dressed in a security guard uniform.
“The guard might know where Simon is,” he muttered. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Hang on, old-timer,” said the security guard, whose shirt identified him as Buck McClintock. “Mr. Lemoncello has his head stuck in a box. I think he’s talking to the kids inside the building. Something big must be going on….”
“We’re looking for our grandson.” Simon’s grandfather showed Mr. McClintock Simon’s seventh-grade class picture. “His name is Simon Skrindle.”
The security guard peered at him. “So that makes you Sam Skrindle, right? The guy who writes all those loony letters to the editor about Mr. Lemoncello?”
“They are not ‘loony,’ sir. They are true.”
“Not completely, dear,” said Simon’s grandmother.
“Hang on, Pops,” said McClintock. “It looks like Mr. Lemoncello is going to make some kind of announcement….”
“I don’t care about—”
“Shh!”
Mr. Lemoncello stepped up to the microphone on the bandstand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, hamsters and gerbils. I am pleased to report that there are now five sons and daughters of Gameworks employees vying for the first titanium ticket: Carolyn Hudson, Piya Sarkarati, Soraiya Mitchell, Jack McClintock, and Simon Skrindle, the player formerly known as Mario.”
“What?” shouted Mr. McClintock. “What happened to Mario?”
“Surprise!” said Mr. Lemoncello. “He was really Simon all along.”
“That’s cheating! The kid snuck in!”
“No, Mr. McClintock. It is not cheating or even Cheetos. Because earlier today, Simon, previously known as Mario, and his partner, Soraiya, earned a bendable bonus card.”
“Oh, those are good!” shouted a man in the crowd.
“With one of those, you can bend any rule in the book,” added a woman.
“And,” said another factory worker, “they’re made out of high-quality, very durable styrene-butadiene rubber!”
“Indeed they are!” cried Mr. Lemoncello. “So nobody has to sing ‘Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant.’ Soraiya and Simon chose to bend the rule about coaches coming exclusively from Ohio. Since both Simon and Soraiya live right here in Hudson Hills, they will now both be eligible to move on to the Bazillion-Dollar Final Round, should they be the contestants who first solve all the puzzles, fill in all the bubbles, and find the titanium ticket hidden inside the Board Game Hall of Fame.”
“That’s my girl!” shouted Mr. Mitchell, doing a double arm pump.
“That’s my grandson,” seethed Simon’s grandfather.
“Simon Skrindle shouldn’t be in there,” muttered Mr. McClintock.
“Agreed,” said Simon’s grandfather.
“Samuel?” pleaded his grandmother. “Please. Let the boy have his fun. It’s only a game.”
“Life isn’t a game, Sophia.” Simon’s grandfather ignored his wife and gestured at the giant ring of keys clipped to Mr. McClintock’s belt. “Any of those get us into this hall of fame that Lemoncello’s yakking about?”
“All of them,” the security guard replied, hoisting up his pants.
“And I suppose you wouldn’t mind your boy, Jack, having one less competitor in there, eh?”
Mr. McClintock smiled. “You’re a very wise man, Mr. Skrindle. We should probably use a back door.”
“Yes,” said Simon’s grandfather. “The one with the fewest security cameras.”
“Nobody’s watching those security cameras, except me. And, right now, I have a new assignment: escorting you into the building to talk some sense into your grandson. He needs to quit.”
“Trust me,” said Mr. Skrindle. “Once I tell Simon what Mr. Lemoncello did to his father and mother, he will.”
“Samuel?” Simon’s grandmother tried once more. “Don’t do this. Please.”
He ignored her.
“Take me inside, Mr. McClintock. It’s time Simon knew the truth.”
“Um, was anybody here when the clock struck seven?” Simon asked the group in the atrium.
Jack glared at him.
“No,” he sneered. “We were upstairs at the Battleship exhibit, watching you lose your wig and nose, remember?”
“Riiight…”
“Come on, Andrew. I need to clobber you with a water balloon.”
“B-b-but…,” Andrew protested.
“Upstairs,” said Jack. “The lPad says I can play Battleship against anybody, and I sure don’t want to play it against any of these cheaters. They’d probably all bend another rule.”
“Actually,” Andrew tried to explain, “a bendable card can only be used one time per—”
“Shut up, Andy. We need to be upstairs.”
Jack stomped up the staircase. It played a very sour tune. Andrew hurried along after him.
“Come on, Piya,” said Akimi. “Let’s go finish our railroad.”
Piya sighed. “It’s taking so long. Thank goodness it counts as two games and we’ll get extra letters!”
They went over to the elevator bank to ride up to the fourth floor.
“We were here at seven,” said Carolyn. “It was amazing!” She pointed to the frozen figurines lined up behind the clock’s upper glass door.
“You see those kids? They’re all playing games. They twirl and spin and dance….”
“It was pretty cool,” added Haley. “There’s a little Luigi Lemoncello with a hinged jaw. Every hour, he tosses back his head and laughs because all the other carved characters around him are having so much fun.”
“And when he laughed,” said Carolyn, “the moon phase dial started to glow with an image of the man in the moon. He was laughing, too!”
“I want to be here at eight to see it,” said Simon.
“No problem,” said Soraiya. “But first we need to win the game.”
“That’s not going to happen, young lady,” said a stern voice. A stooped man stepped out of a shadowy hallway and into the atrium. “At least not with Simon.”
“Grandpa?” said Simon.
“We need to talk,” he said. “In private.”
“Simon?” said Soraiya, as the grandfather clock chimed its four-note melody. “We’re running out of time. It’s seven-fifteen! We only have until eight. That’s the deadline. There’s a chance nobody will win the titanium ticket.”
“This will only take a minute,” said Simon’s grandfather. “There’s a room over here, Simon. It’s empty.”
“Soooo, Carolyn,” said Haley, “how about we go to the snack bar and eat another one of those lemon-cream-filled chocolate cellos we found earlier?”
“Good idea.”
Carolyn and Haley scurried out of the atrium and headed for the snack bar.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” said Simon, “but if you’re going to yell at me for going to the company picnic and playing games and having fun—”
“I’m not gonna yell at you, Simon. I’m simply going to tell you something I should’ve told you years ago.”
Simon’s grandfather turned around and strode through a door to enter a gloomy side room. Most of the Board Game Hall of Fame was lit up like a video arcade or amusement park. It figured that Simo
n’s grim grandfather would pick the dreariest room in the building for their chat.
“I’ll be back,” Simon said to Soraiya.
She nodded.
And Simon followed his grandfather into the darkened chamber.
It was a stark room with a high ceiling—maybe twenty feet tall.
There was a wide, museum-style stone bench in the center of the space, illuminated by one dim light overhead.
“Simon, I’ll be brief,” said his grandfather, his voice ringing off the walls, which might’ve been made of marble (Simon couldn’t see them). “We never told you much when you asked what happened to your father and mother.”
“I know it was a ‘tragic accident in Asia.’ ”
Simon’s grandfather nodded. “Your father and mother both worked for Mr. Lemoncello. They were his top employees. He sent them off to China, together. Said he needed the two of them to scout out a new location for his Gameworks Factory. Their flight home went down over the Pacific. Your mother and father both died. Long story short: Mr. Lemoncello killed them. So, Simon, you think long and hard about what you’re doing here. But if I were you, I sure wouldn’t want anything to do with the man who murdered my parents and made me an orphan.”
With that, Simon’s grandfather turned and walked away.
Simon sat down on the stone bench and heard someone heave a heavy sigh.
“Well, I guess that’s one way to tell the story,” said a soft voice that seemed to be coming from the ceiling.
It was Mr. Lemoncello, but not like Simon had ever heard him before. He sounded sad.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, Simon, but, well, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on your conversation with your grandfather. What he told you isn’t completely true. I loved your father and mother. Why, if it weren’t for them, this factory would have remained but a twinkle in my eye. They took my wacky ideas and turned them into something real. Your father was my head engineer. Your mother was in charge of quality control.”
Soft lights started to slowly brighten the darkened room.
“Your parents met right here at the factory. I was the best man at their wedding. Not that I’m bragging…”
As the lights came up, Simon realized that the room’s twenty-foot-tall walls were marble, just like he thought they might be. It felt like he was visiting the Lincoln Memorial or some other landmark down in Washington, D.C.
“I suppose I should have insisted that they fly on different planes whenever they traveled for business. Especially after you came along. But those two lovebirds were inseparable.”
Now the lights in the room fell on a sleek marble wall with words chiseled into the stone:
THE FUTURE BELONGS TO THE PUZZLE SOLVERS.
THIS BUILDING IS DEDICATED TO ALL THE CLEVER ENGINEERS WHO HAVE MADE SO MANY WILD AND FANTASTICAL IDEAS LEAP TO LIFE.
MOST ESPECIALLY SALLY AND STEPHEN SKRINDLE.
Simon studied the words. He read them, over and over.
Mr. Lemoncello remained silent until, finally, he spoke.
“This entire Board Game Hall of Fame was built as a tribute to your parents, Simon.”
“Is this why you wanted me to be one of the first to see everything inside here?” Simon asked. “To see this?”
“Yes, Simon.”
“Thank you, sir.”
It felt odd, talking to the vast emptiness of the marble room, having a conversation with someone who wasn’t actually there. Odd and strangely soothing.
“How did my parents die?” Simon asked, his voice breaking.
“In a plane crash. Just like your grandfather said. They had indeed flown to China, looking for a new location for my Gameworks Factory. Somewhere with cheaper labor costs. But your parents convinced me that cheaper doesn’t always mean better. That was our last phone call. And, Simon?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Because of your father and mother and their final request, I will never ever even think about moving my factory out of Hudson Hills.”
Now Mr. Lemoncello sounded like he might be choking up.
“I wish I had known them as well as you did, sir.”
“Me too, Simon. Me too. By the way—I’ve noted how clever and resourceful you are. It’s another reason you were meant to be here this evening. When I watch you, I am reminded of them.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now then, I will completely understand if you no longer wish to participate in this evening’s quest. In life, as in board games, we are all responsible for the path we decide to follow.” Mr. Lemoncello was starting to sound like his old self. “The choice is yours. This voice is mine. Toodle-oo, Simon. I’m glad we could have this man-to-man, ceiling-to-bench talk!”
“Me too.”
Simon sat quietly for a moment, staring at the memorial wall.
“You okay?”
Soraiya stepped into the room. She looked at the impressive marble wall.
“Wow. Stephen and Sally Skrindle. They’re your parents, right?”
Simon nodded. “Mr. Lemoncello dedicated this whole place to my father and mother.”
“So what do you want to do now, Simon?” asked Soraiya. “Pass or play?”
Simon thought about that. He could just go home and spend the rest of the night sulking up in the attic.
But is that what his mom and dad would’ve done?
He smiled. He was all done with holding himself back and getting in his own way.
“Well, Soraiya, like the wall says, ‘The future belongs to the puzzle solvers.’ Let’s go solve some more puzzles, fast. We need to win this thing!”
“We have four more exhibits to go,” said Soraiya as they jogged back into the atrium. “But we only have forty minutes to finish. We can budget ten minutes per exhibit….”
“Where to next?”
“The third floor. We should take this ladder.”
“Why not the elevator?”
“Because this ladder wasn’t here earlier. It’s a new piece for the game.”
Simon studied the ladder. It extended down into a trapdoor. Looking up, he saw that it angled into a glass wall on the third floor.
“The lPad wants us to play Chutes and Ladders next,” said Soraiya. “In the game, chutes are bad. They make you drop back several spaces. Ladders, on the other hand, are good. They help you skip spaces. And right now”—she nodded toward the ticking grandfather clock—“we need to skip as many spaces as we can!”
She stepped onto the ladder. When both her feet were steady, metal safety clamps popped up to lock her shoes in place.
“Safety first,” she said with a laugh. “It’s the plant manager’s motto!”
Suddenly, the ladder’s rungs started moving. The tread Soraiya was standing on hauled her skyward. The ladder had turned into an escalator.
“Jump on!” she shouted to Simon.
“What? Are you nuts?”
“The safety clamps will stop you from falling off. Hurry!”
Simon thought about what happened the last time he tried to scale something. He had ended up on his butt in the burbling crater of a chocolate volcano.
“It’s fun, Simon!” cried Soraiya as she glided upward. “Just climb aboard. It’s what Mario would do.”
“I am Mario!” hollered Simon as he leapt onto the moving ladder. Safety clamps grabbed his sneakers and held them tight.
The escalator ladder carried Soraiya and Simon higher and higher on a slight slant. Simon dared a look over his shoulder as he passed the grandfather clock.
“So cool!”
He had an excellent view of the figurines ready to spring into action behind the clock’s glass door.
Soon they were twenty feet off the floor.
Then thirty.
Then forty.
Then Simon closed his eyes and refused to look down.
When he passed through the wall on the third floor and the clamps securing his feet sprang free, Simon hopped off the ladder and hurried over to where Soraiya was already studying a 3-D rebus puzzle projected in front of the blank black wall.
“Okay,” she said, “suncakes plus moose salad equals indigestion?”
“Actually, you’re supposed to take the ‘U’ out of ‘sun,’ leaving ‘S-N,’ then you—”
“Simon?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re kind of in a hurry, remember? Just solve it.”
“Okay. ‘Snakes and Ladders.’ ”
“Of course,” said Soraiya. “That was the original name for the game we now call Chutes and Ladders. My dad taught me that.”
The lPad made a sparkly GLING sound.
“Whoa,” said Soraiya. “It’s also the answer to our fifth word puzzle. Six letters, three letters, seven letters. Snakes and Ladders!”
She quickly tapped in the string of three words.
The screen dissolved and the numbered letters took their places in the seventy-six-letter phrase.
“This is starting to make sense!” Soraiya remarked when she read the revised screen:
Simon peered over her shoulder and tried deciphering the phrase: “Great success comes from dedication, doing your best, and, of course, uh, having…something…”
“An oboe?” said Soraiya.
“No. It’s blank, ‘O-B,’ blank…”
Suddenly, the lPad screen changed from the phrase to a spinner with a red arrow and a circle cut into six colored slices, each one with a number.
“Huh,” said Soraiya. “That’s different.”
“Flick it,” suggested Simon.
Soraiya tapped the image of the pointer. It twirled and spun and landed on the blue five.
Five illuminated four-by-four-foot squares appeared on the floor. Blue, white, blue, white, blue.
“I think we’re supposed to advance to the fifth space, the blue one,” said Soraiya. “Like in a board game.”
Mr. Lemoncello and the Titanium Ticket Page 14
