Lost in Paris

by Cindy Callaghan

  I chased him and caught him easily.

  “Mon Dieu, you are very fast for a girl.”

  I smacked him in the arm. He rubbed it. Maybe I’d run a little too fast and smacked him a little too hard. I could hit JTC as hard as I wanted, but I had to be more careful with other boys. “Now they’re going to lose and it’s going to be all your fault.”

  “They cannot lose.” He rubbed his arm. “They are formidable!”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. This only happened when I got an important update in my Twister social media account. I looked at the notice flashing on my screen. It was from Shock Value. It said, Concert: Shock Value has added one additional spot to their tour. PARIS. One night only.

  “Shock Value is coming to Paris!” I practically yelled in Henri’s face.

  My phone vibrated again. Another Twist from Shock Value. It said, Paris concert SOLD OUT.

  “Holy cow! It’s already sold out,” I said.

  “A cow?” Henri asked.

  “Sorry. It’s just an expression in English. Kinda like ‘oh my gosh!’”

  The phone vibrated for a third time. What now? It said, Shock Value ticket contest! Follow the hunt around Paris and win tickets to the special one-night engagement in Paris.

  “Check this out.” I showed Henri.

  “Cow!” he yelled.

  I looked at my watch. We’d only been here for fifteen minutes, but we had to get on this contest, like, double pronto.

  “We’ve got to get Beef to get this train moving.”

  “Train?”

  “Bus. Small van, actually,” I clarified. “We’ve gotta start looking for those tickets!”

  Henri waved me ahead. “Ladies first.”

  Yeah, my wish had already started.

  Beef leaned against the van, going with the paper clip again. “Hi there,” I said. “Bonjour,” I added. “I kinda have to get back to the hotel, like now.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “You see, there’s this band; I really like them. They’re called Shock Value.”

  “Who doesn’t love Shock Value?” she asked. “I love that one they call Clay. Too bad he quit. Anyway, they’re still great.” She looked at her watch. “But we’re on a schedule, and this bus don’t move until it’s time.”

  “Right. I totes agree with you on Clay, and schedules. I love to be on schedule,” I said. “But the band, Shock Value, they’re having this contest for tickets to a one-night concert they just added right here in Paris. And—”

  Beef dropped her paper clip, jumped into the bus, and started honking the horn. She took her phone out and brushed her finger across the screen, scanning pages. She honked again and again. Then she stood on the ground next to the hotel bus with a megaphone. “Let’s go, people! We’re cutting this excursion short because musical history is being made. Shock Value has just announced a new concert and I wanna get tickets. Let’s go.”

  Everyone hustled to the bus as directed. I grabbed Henri’s shirt and tugged him to run faster.

  We sat near Mom and Brigitte and waited for the last few people to get on the bus. “Let’s go, Wheels,” Beef called to a man in a wheelchair, who was taking longer than everyone else. He was hardly secured when she threw the bus into drive and skidded through the gravel parking area.

  Now she wore a headset thing that dangled a microphone in front of her mouth. “For those of you less adept at social media than moi, I’ll fill you in on the four-one-one Twisted from Twister.com.” She aggressively navigated around other cars pulling out of the lot. I had to hold tight to the seat in front of me so that I didn’t fly into the aisle. “Shock Value has announced a one-night concert in Paris and a contest for tickets.”

  “They haven’t been quite the same since Clay Bright left,” Brigitte said.

  “Who’s that?” Mom asked.

  Brigitte explained, “Clay was their guitarist and he wrote their music. One day he quit—”

  I interrupted. “He didn’t just quit. He disappeared. Like, totally off the grid. Even his bandmates, who were also his best friends, claim they’ve never heard from him.”

  Brigitte nodded and continued, “The band didn’t replace him. They’re still the most awesome band around. It’s impossible to get tickets.”

  “Who’s talking?” Beef barked. “Listen up, people, or you’ll miss the critical deets. The show sold out in four minutes, a new record. But front-row tickets and backstage passes are being given away to three lucky people who follow a trail of clues that the band has left around Paris. If you haven’t noticed, I know pretty much everything about Paris, so those babies are as good as mine.”

  “Mom, we absolutely have got to get tickets,” I said. “I’m in Paris; they’re in Paris. It’s like it was meant to be.” I didn’t wait for a response.

  “Where’s the first clue?” I called to Beef.

  “Seems like someone wasn’t paying attention to the instructions before we left the hotel,” she snapped. “The world would be total chaos if people just called out anytime they wanted.”

  I raised my hand, but she didn’t call on me.

  “The first clue will be released at nine tomorrow morning. For those of us participating in this treasure hunt, we have to prepare before getting a solid eight hours of shut-eye,” Beef said. “I know you all want to be on my team. But, there are only three tickets, and since we don’t have time for a formal application process, I’ll pick.”

  Beef was scary and mean and picked her teeth with a paper clip, but she was a tour guide. Who would know more about Paris? Please pick me!

  She looked at the man in the wheelchair. “Wheels, there’s something I like about you. You’re with me, but we’re gonna have to add a little horsepower to your motor. I know a guy.”

  The man in the wheelchair didn’t seem to understand any of this. Henri leaned over and whispered in his ear. Wheels clapped when Henri finished; apparently he was a fan. But, really, I was their biggest fan, so I should totally get those tickets.

  The man in the wheelchair pointed to a young lady with a stethoscope dangling around her neck. “Fine,” Beef said. “She can come too.”

  Looked like Gwen Russell wouldn’t be hunting on Team Beef.

  My mom whispered very softly, “I don’t want to get in trouble for talking, but do you think we should try to get tickets?”

  “Really? Are you serious?” Shock Value—Alec, Winston, and Glen—occupied every inch of every wall in my bedroom. I knew every word to every song. “YES! I think we should try to get the tickets!”

  “Let’s do it!” she said. “The boys are leaving at nine o’clock tomorrow morning for lacrosse, so we’re free.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Less than a day in Paris, and I was in the running for tickets for Shock Value—AND I was going to see the city in the coolest way possible!

  And Mom was actually on board with this plan! I didn’t know who had swapped my mom for this totally cool lady, but I was pretty sure it had something to do with a lantern and a certain wish.

  4

  The lacrosse bus was parked in front of the hotel ahead of schedule. The driver put up his hand and stopped JTC from getting on the bus. He came over to talk to my mom. “Bonjour, madame. Je crois qu’il y a un problème.”

  Mom didn’t speak French, but she understood “problem.”

  “Les garçons—et un parent,” the bus driver said, trying to explain.

  Mom held up her palm. She walked away and came back with Brigitte, who’d been waiting in the lobby when we got off the elevator. Brigitte began speaking to the driver in French. Then she said to Mom, “The boys, they need a parent.”

  “Oh. Oh my.”

  Brigitte explained this to the bus driver, who replied something in very fast French.

  Brigitte said, “Yes, they can go with the te
am, but they must have a parent with them.”

  Mom looked at me. “I guess you’ll have to come too. I’m so sorry we can’t do the treasure hunt. Maybe we can still buy regular tickets.”

  “It’s sold out, remember?” I said. “I’m not going to another one of their tournaments. I could do that in Pennsylvania. We’re in Paris!”

  I thought of a few lines of lyrics:

  Wishing on paper lanterns does NOT work.

  Don’t let the French tell you it’s true.

  Because it’s not.

  It’s not.

  Topher called out the bus window, “Yo, Mrs. Russell, you’re holding up the team!”

  She motioned that she needed one minute. As I like to say, her one minute finger.

  While she thought, Charlie yelled out, “Paris is sweet, huh, Gwenny?”

  Right now I hated JTC. They always ruined everything.

  “Well, you can’t just hang out alone at a hotel in a foreign country,” Mom said.

  “I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Brigitte.” I grabbed Brigitte’s hand. She looked at me in surprise.

  Mom studied the two of us.

  “It is a good idea,” Brigitte said. “I will take care of her like she was my very own sister. You go to the game. It is fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom asked her. “Don’t you have to work?”

  “No problem.” She smiled. “She can go with me to care for the pets.”

  “What pets?” Mom asked.

  “My job—a business, actually. I care for people’s pets while they are out of town. It is called ‘Boutique Brigitte—Pour les Petits Animaux.’”

  “You do? I love pets,” I said.

  “Oui. I have a minivan and everything!” Brigitte explained. “And we can look for the clues. But work comes first.” She shooed Mom away. “Go. Allez!” Brigitte had just climbed, like, four notches on the cool scale.

  “Okay,” Mom said. “But, Gwen, seriously, Brigitte’s job is her priority.”

  “I get it,” I said. “We can do both.” Brigitte had lived in Paris her whole life, except for the two years in Pennsylvania, and she had a minivan. I still had a shot at those tickets.

  Mom took out her wallet and gave me money.

  Josh called out, “What’s that for? I want money!”

  Charlie added, “What’s she doing that she needs cash?”

  I said, “I’m getting front-row seats to Shock Value.”

  “Yeah, right,” Topher said. “That’ll happen right after Charlie can make a shot from outside the box.”

  Charlie punched Topher, and a wrestling match ensued.

  “I have to go,” Mom said. “Behave. Brigitte has a job to do, and that comes before the Shock Value tickets, understand? Please try to be low maintenance.”

  “I can totally do low maintenance,” I said.

  Mom got on the bus.

  Charlie called out the window to Brigitte, “It’s okay if you lose her.”

  I stuck out my tongue.

  The bus pulled away, and Brigitte said to me, “I won’t lose you. Just stay close. Be like my . . . how do you say? . . . shadow.”

  “Got it.”

  Henri pushed an empty luggage cart to the curb. “Is everything bien?”

  I thought about telling him that the whole wishing-on-a-lantern thing was a charade, but when he flashed me this super-cute smile, I forgot what I was going to say. “What are you up to?” I asked.

  “Up?” He looked at the sky.

  “I meant, what are you doing?”

  “I have to shave the courtyard.”

  “What?”

  “You know”—he made a scissoring motion with his fingers—“give the plants a haircut.”

  “Oh. Trim the hedges.”

  “Right.” He smiled. “Are you looking for the tickets?”

  “Yeah. With Brigitte,” I said. “Will I see you tonight?”

  “If I am still shaving . . . er . . . trimming, maybe we can get le gâteau.”

  I knew le gâteau was cake. “Deal!”

  Cake with a cute French soccer player? Potential front-row tickets to Shock Value? Maybe those French legends really were true.

  5

  At exactly nine a.m. the lacrosse bus full of boys and parents pulled out. Brigitte and I leaned over my smartphone and looked at the Shock Value site on Twister.com, and . . . wait for it . . . there it was:

  You cannot make me laugh nor cry. If you touch me, you will find that I’m cold. I cannot embrace anyone to get warm. People travel far and wide to see me, and despite my flaws, they’re awed by my beauty.

  “What do you think it is?” I asked Brigitte.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “You’re from Paris. How can you not know?”

  “I do not do the tourist things. I run a pet-sitting business.” She glanced at her watch. “In fact, we need to get to little Fifi before she leaves a little pee-pee on her apartment floor.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. I have a schedule,” she said. “I will go to get the petmobile. That lacrosse bus took my usual spot. The petmobile gets priority parking at most hotels and apartments,” Brigitte said. “You stay right here and try to figure out that clue!”

  “Okay.” Petmobile? I went back inside to a rack of booklets and brochures and grabbed everything I could. Maybe there was something in here that would help. A white paper was taped to Beef’s podium; it said, All tours will be led by Étienne. Seemed she was serious about this contest.

  Then I typed a search into my phone using the words of the clue. I tried different combinations, but just got junk.

  Beef whizzed out of the hotel, standing on the back of the wheelchair like she was on a carnival ride. She zipped along the sidewalk to the Hôtel de Paris bus, whose ramp was already lowered. The wheelchair flew into the bus like a race car. Apparently, her guy had come through with the horsepower. A third person, the young woman who still had a stethoscope, followed them, much more slowly since she was weighed down with a gigantic hiking backpack. There were three sleeping bags affixed above and below the main pack. Pots and pans hung on the bottom and jingled as she waddled toward the bus. She also had a big duffel bag in each hand.

  Wow, Beef was prepared with a capital P. How were we going to compete with her? She was focused only on the hunt, while we had to run a pet business at the same time.

  “Wait, Professor Camponi,” the woman called. “It’s time for your medicine.”

  “Get in!” Beef called to her, already pulling away. The woman had to jog and jump into the moving bus.

  Through the windows I saw the woman hand Professor Camponi—which was a much better name than Wheels—a bottle of water and a pill. Then the bus peeled out with a screech and she fell into a seat.

  Where was Brigitte? If we hurried, we might be able to follow them. I looked down the boulevard to the right and left, but didn’t see Brigitte, and now I’d also lost sight of Beef. Following was no longer a possibility.

  I mumbled the words of the clue. Then from behind me I heard someone singing the same lines, as though they were lyrics. I recognized the voice. It was the guitar player with the beard, knit cap, and sunglasses.

  He stopped singing. “Good stuff,” he said.

  “How do you know those words?”

  “I have Twister.com too.” He patted the front pocket of his worn jeans, indicating that even a sidewalk guitarist had a smartphone.

  “Do you know what it means?”

  “Of course,” he said. “It’s one of my favorite things to see in Paris. I may be American, but I’ve been all around this city. I’ll help you out.”

  6

  I waited for Brigitte on the sidewalk. Suddenly I heard a really loud rumble. The contraption that drove up the boulevard t
o pick me up was an unbelievable sight. I blinked, but it was still there.

  It was a white minivan covered with black paw prints, like a gang of cats and dogs had stepped in black paint and run all over it. Stuck to the front was a basket­ball, colored to look like a pink cat nose with wire whiskers sticking out the sides, and on the roof were two pointy ears. The van stopped in front of the hotel and it actually barked! Yes, barked.

  I had a whole new appreciation for my mom’s old minivan.

  I hustled into the passenger seat and buried my head in my hands. “To the Louvre,” I said.

  “You figured it out?” Brigitte asked. She checked her seat belt and adjusted her rearview mirror, then her side mirror.

  “Yes. Come on. We’ve gotta go. Beef left in a hurry.”

  “Beef?” Brigitte asked.

  “Sorry. I meant Madame LeBoeuf.”

  “Ha! Non, I like Beef better,” Brigitte said. “Okay. Here we go.” She adjusted the side mirror again, put on her directional blinker, and rolled down her window to point to the road she was easing out onto.

  I looked at the cars around us. “You look all clear,” I said as a hint to speed up.

  “To the Louvre,” she said, but she didn’t drive any faster.

  Did she not realize what was at stake?

  She continued at the pace of a turtle with three broken legs all the way to a parking spot near the Louvre. We dashed out. Brigitte managed to run faster than she drove. Through three giant arches I caught my first glimpse of the great glass pyramid of . . . wait for it . . . the Louvre! Even though I was in a hurry, I had to stop for just a second in the huge courtyard to marvel at where I was standing. The pyramid was framed on three sides by a breathtaking building.

  “It’s like a palace,” I said to Brigitte.

  “It actually was a palace for hundreds of years until Louis the Fourteenth moved the king’s home to Versailles. Then it became the place to keep the royal art collections. As kings grew the art collection, the building’s size grew too,” Brigitte said.

  I looked at her with surprise at this little history lesson, because she’d seemed to know nothing when she’d looked at the first clue. “What?” she said. “I am French. Of course I know about the Louvre.”