The Explorers’ Gate Read Free

shiny it looked like he had just had it buffed.
    If the judge had arrived, that meant the contest was about to begin. I needed to sign in. Now!
    I hustled around to the registration line. My heart was racing.
    â€œNext.”
    I smiled when I realized that the lady handing out contestant numbers was Mrs. Grimaldi, the tour guide I helped out sometimes.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Grimaldi!” I said. “Remember me?”
    She made a face like I do when I sniff a carton of Chinese takeout food my dad has left in the fridge way too long.
    â€œGood morning, Miss Van Wyck. Do you wish to compete in today’s trivia contest?”
    I was so excited I think my cheeks were glowing. “Yep, I sure do!”
    Mrs. Grimaldi slowly fingered the pile of official number cards stacked in front of her. Once you were registered, you were supposed to pin your number to the front of your shirt like you would if you were running around Central Park in one of the races sponsored by the New York Road Runners club.
    I held out my hand.
    Mrs. Grimaldi did not give me a number.
    â€œDid you know that Jonas Blauvelt will be competing today?” she asked, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes.
    â€œReally? The Jonas Blauvelt? The man who wrote The Definitive & Exhaustive Ultimate Guidebook to Central Park ?”
    â€œYes. That one.”
    â€œBut,” I said with a smile, “I thought this contest was for kids.”
    â€œThat’s right. Eight to eighteen.”
    â€œSo how come Mr. Blauvelt is competing?”
    â€œHe’s sixteen.”
    My jaw flew open so wide Mrs. Grimaldi could’ve given me a dental exam.
    â€œWow,” I mumbled. Then I gulped. “Sixteen?”
    Now Mrs. Grimaldi was the one beaming. “Yes. The young man is a genius. A true savant! His guidebook is the definitive source for all the information we use in our tours.”
    I just nodded.
    â€œSo, Miss Van Wyck: Would you still like to register for the competition? Or, perhaps, you’d be happier in the audience.”
    I hesitated.
    But only for a second.
    â€œNo. I’d still like a number. I mean, if it’s okay and all. If I’m not too late.”
    â€œFine,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk. “Good luck.”
    I took my number and pinned it to my shirt, careful not to cover up the Imagine graphic. As I turned away from the registration table, I grinned—just a little.
    Hey, if Mrs. Grimaldi based her tours exclusively on information she found in Blauvelt’s book, I figured Blauvelt might get some stuff wrong, too!

Chapter 4
    Have you ever really, really wanted to do something—maybe sing, or dance, or tell jokes—and then seen somebody do it way better than you ever possibly could?
    Welcome to my world.
    I was waiting in the wings, at the back of the Bandshell, watching Jonas Blauvelt, the sixteen-year-old Central Park Whiz Kid, answer each and every question in mind-boggling detail.
    Blauvelt had curly brown hair that completely covered his ears and the sidepieces of his glasses. He was sort of pudgy with chubby cheeks that might’ve looked cute if he wasn’t frowning all the time. His soft skin was paler than a raw mushroom, probably from staying indoors all day working on his computer so he could become smarter than me.
    â€œWhen was the Central Park Carousel first put into operation?” asked the quizmaster behind her podium.
    â€œ1871,” said Blauvelt, just like I would have. “It was originally powered by a blind mule …”
    I knew that.
    â€œâ€¦ working underneath the floor of the ride.”
    Knew that, too.
    â€œThe current Carousel, which, by the way, is the fourth, has only been in place since the fall of 1950, when it was moved from Coney Island to Central Park after a fire destroyed the previous carousel.”
    Everybody probably knew that.
    â€œThank you, Jonas,” said the quizmaster.
    â€œI’m not finished,”