Lost in Paris (2 page)

3

As the bus lurched down the streets of Paris, Henri asked me questions about my home and my school. I told him about my best friends, Lily McAllister and Addison Harper. And I asked him questions about France and his job. I thought it was pretty cool that he had a job at age fourteen. It was because friends of his parents owned the hotel.

“I play football,” he said. “You call it soccer.”

“I know it!” I said. “Me too!” I didn't add that I could play
football
football, too, and I knew how to box, wrestle,
and lift kinda heavy weights. He didn't need to know that.

“I scored a winning goal today,” he added.

“That's great! Congratulations.”

“My friends were on the other team, and they are”—he made a growling face—“about me.”

“They're mad?”

“Oui.”

“We call that sore losers,” I said.

He nodded at the new term, but I didn't think it actually made sense to him.

Our chat was cut short because Beef, who was driving, called Henri in her loud, husky voice.

He hesitated to respond, like maybe she would forget.

She bellowed, “Henri!” again.

“Are you afraid of her?” I asked him.

We studied her. She had pulled a paper clip off a stack of stuff set on the armrest. She unfolded it and used an end to pick at her teeth.

“A little,” he said as he reluctantly made his way up the aisle to the driver, where he listened to her.

While he was away, I took my notebook out of my drawstring backpack and crafted a few lyrics:

I met a boy in France.

He told me about a legend.

I planned to make a wish.

And let it sail away on a lantern.

In Étretat, we parked at a dirt field leading to the top of a rocky cliff.

Beef handed everyone in group C a paper lantern, and Henri followed her with candles and a lighter. There were a lot of other people launching lanterns off the edge of the cliff, and many other tour buses parked on the dirt.

I took a candle from Henri and stuck it on a poky thumbtack thingy inside the paper lantern. He lit it with his long lighter, careful not to burn the paper. I walked to the rope line that held people back from the edge of the cliff, and just like Henri had pantomimed, I pushed my lantern out toward the stars, letting it catch in the breeze. I watched it glide into the sky, which was blacker, with brighter stars, than in Pennsylvania. And I made a wish.

All the tourists in group C and hundreds of others threw their lanterns into the sky too. It was cool how the wind got under the lantern's paper edges and lifted it, as if the flame was hanging by a parachute. It looked like a swarm of slow-moving fireflies gliding in the blackness until the twinkle of the lanterns blended into the sparkle of the stars.

Henri stood next to me. “Did you wish?”

“Yup. And I'm very good at keeping secrets,” I said.

“I will tell you mine. I cannot hold a secret.”

I said, “No. Don't. Then it won't come true.”

“It still might,” Henri said. “No one knows.”

“I'm still not telling you mine.”

“D'accord,”
he said. “My wish was—”

I put my hand over his mouth. I don't think I'd ever actually touched a boy's lips, besides JTC's (that's my abbreviation for Josh, Topher, and Charlie). And when I covered their mouths with my hand, they would lick it. So gross. I moved my hand away before Henri could consider doing the same. “Don't tell me,” I said.

He slouched like he'd given up.

I didn't know how long wishes usually took to come true, but these lantern ones seemed to take effect fast, because I was already having an awesome time in France with Henri.

Just then he blurted out, “I wish Les Bleus win the World Cup!” And he ran away.

Leave it to a boy to waste a wish on soccer!

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 team, 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.