Lost in Paris (7 page)

16

Brigitte pulled into a lovely cobblestone alley with creeping ivy and flowers. She honked the
Squaaawk!
horn to scoot a few stray cats out of her way. She opened the mobile's back door and carried one cage of four birds through a small door next to a faded sign covered almost entirely by vines. The sign said
BAIN D'OISEAU.

“Bird bath,” Henri translated for me.

“Bath?” “BATH?” “Baaaath?” “BAAAATTH?”

The remaining parrots did not like the idea. Brigitte
came back, and when she heard them yelling, she asked, “You told them?”

“Not exactly. They kind of overheard us talking. You might want to explain to them that eavesdropping is rude,” I said as she carried in the second cage, which contained four nervous birds yelling about a bath.

“They are freaking out,” Henri said, using one of my expressions.

I agreed, “Yes, they are.”

“They're freaking out!” “Freaking!” “OUT!” they said. One shouted, “Baath?” and the remaining three started flipping out about the bath all over again.

Once Brigitte brought the last cage inside, the petmobile was filled with beautiful quiet, and I was able to think about “I leap off.” But the quiet didn't help. I still had no ideas where that might be written.

Brigitte drove to the library via a road that ran parallel to the Seine, the main river flowing through the center of Paris. I watched a tour boat glide down the water.

“I really want to take one of those river tours,” I said.

“Want me to stop at the ticket station?” Brigitte asked.

“No thanks. Winning this contest is more important.”

We arrived at the library. “Wait,” I said when I saw Jean-Luc, Sabine, and Robert parking.

“Do you think they found ‘I leap off'?” Brigitte asked.

“Let's watch them for a second,” I said. “Stay still and they won't even know we're here.”

“I'll just back into this spot behind the bushes,” Brigitte said. She put the petmobile in reverse and
Beep! Beep! Beep!

Jean-Luc, Robert, and Sabine looked over and had a good hearty laugh at the van's new ensemble. They cupped their hands by their noses like beaks and hooted.

“Owls hoot,” Brigitte explained to us. “Not parrots. They are so stupid.”

“Let's just get in there and find the book where ‘I leap off' is written before they do,” I said.

On my way out, my foot stepped on a paper on the petmobile floor. It was the place mat that Brigitte and Henri had played hangman on.

It's a game.

Puzzle.

Misdirection.

“Hang on,” I said. “I don't think ‘I leap off' is written in a book. Well, maybe it is, but that's not the clue.”

Brigitte said, “But it says—”

“We've been thinking about this wrong. Each clue needs to be solved, like a puzzle.” I wrote,
I leap off is written here
on a blank section of the place mat. “Do you know what anagrams are?”

“Letters that are like . . .” Henri pantomimed stirring something in a bowl.

“Mixed up,” I said. “Letters have to be rearranged. Maybe if we rearrange these, they will reveal the real clue.”

I played with the letters:

At top.

Irish.

Brigitte added:

Pet Fifi.

White leaf.

“That's the idea,” I said. “We just have to make them into a location.”

“I can,” Henri said as though it took no effort at all.

“You can.
What?
”

“You cannot see it?” he asked.

I looked at the letters. “No! What is it?”

“I will give you hints and you figure it out,” he said.

Jean-Luc, Sabine, and Robert ran out of the library and to their car.

“No!” I yelled, louder than I meant. “Maybe they've figured it out. We are in a huge hurry! Just tell us what it is.”

He looked disappointed with my anger.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I just really want these tickets.”

“D'accord,”
he said. “It's the Eiffel Tower. You have a few letters left over, but it's pretty close.”

“Very close. Too close to be wrong. Let's go!”

Brigitte skipped the triple mirror check and recheck and pulled out with a lot more power this time. The power of a sloth!

“First place, here we come!” I called.

17

Brigitte passed one side of the Eiffel Tower. We couldn't park on that street, so she made several turns until we came up on the other side. Under one of the iron lattice archways a girl in a royal blue shirt—different from the last one—was waiting, stretching her gum out of her mouth with one hand and scrolling on her phone with the other.

Brigitte couldn't park here either, so Henri and I jumped out and sprinted toward the girl.

When Blue Shirt looked up from her phone, we were in her face.

“Whoa,” she said, startled. “Where did you come from?”

“We ran,” I gasped.

She reached into a box and took out a royal blue gift bag. I peeked into the box. There were nine others.

We were first!

“Where is Murielle duPluie?” This was my chance to redeem myself to the world. After all, I was representing the USA! “Does she want to interview us?”

“Nope. She's chasing another story today.”

“Maybe we could give you a statement or something to send to the TV news,” I suggested. I really wanted public attention for this achievement.

“Nah. That's okay.” She went back to her phone. “Good luck,” she added without looking up.

“What is the clue?” Henri asked, but I was still thinking about my missed moment in the spotlight. If Murielle duPluie wasn't going to report on us, then I had to take matters into my own hands.
Isn't that what social media is for?

I logged onto Twister.com and typed in a post:
Hello! Can't tell you where we are or where we're headed, but this team is . . . wait for it . . . in first place!

That was a good start, but I still wanted the shout-out on TV!

“Come here. Hold up the bag—we're gonna do a selfie.” I snapped a pic of me, Henri, and the bag without getting the Eiffel Tower in the background. The longer we could maintain a lead, the better.

Back in the petmobile we opened the bag.

I keep the torch lit for all to see,

The apple of their eye,

Tall and strong for liberty,

I watch the birds and planes fly by.

48-51-0/2-16-47

A surge of excitement flowed through my veins. “OMG! I know this! I know the answer to this clue!”

“So fast?” Henri asked.

“Yes. It's the Statue of Liberty! She has a torch and she's the symbol of liberty. And the part about the apple—that's what we call New York City, the Big Apple, and that's where she is. She stands on an island where she can watch birds and planes fly by.”

“That sounds like the right answer, but we cannot go to New York for the next clue,” Brigitte said.

“True,” I agreed. “Do you have something like a Statue of Liberty here?”

Henri laughed. “Actually, we have three.”

18

“There are
three
Statues of Liberty in Paris?” I asked. Wow, the one in New York Harbor had suddenly become less special. “At least we're in the lead, so we'll have time to go to all of them.”

“We don't have to,” Brigitte said.

“We do!” I agreed. “We have to be first. We're gonna beat Beef.”

“I mean we only have to go to one of the statues,” Brigitte said. “The correct one.”

“How will I know which one is correct?” I asked.

Brigitte pointed to the numbers. “I use these kinds of numbers all the time to find my customers' homes.”

“Like a cell phone number?” I asked.

“No. They are coordinates for a GPS,” she said. “They are the exact location of the next clue.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?
Allons-y!
” I said. “Let's go!”

Brigitte took a gadget out of the glove box and punched in the numbers from the clue. Instantly, a voice told us in French to turn right. Brigitte, hands clenched on the ten o'clock and two o'clock positions on the wheel, did as the voice said.

We were only a few blocks away from our destination when an alarm sounded from Brigitte's watch. She pushed a little button to make it stop. She swung the petmobile into a U-turn.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“It is time to pick up the birds from their baths.”

“But the statue?” I whined.

“Work first,” she sang as if I would totally understand.

Fine, I understood, but there was a lot at stake here besides a few wet birds.

She maneuvered through the steep winding streets of Montmartre, past street-side painters and people sitting outdoors sipping cappuccino.

Each of the three of us grabbed a birdcage from the
bain d'oiseau
and put the flock in the back of the minivan. The birds smelled good, like soap and flowers. “Here we go, guys,” Brigitte called back to them. “To the Île aux Cygnes to get the next clue.”

“Clue!”
“Cygnes.”
“Guys.” “Go!” The gang sounded less energetic than they had on the way to their bath this morning.

“Usually they nap after their—” She whispered “bath” very softly, so they wouldn't hear the word. “If you're quiet, they'll probably fall asleep.”

We were ready to go, but Henri was nowhere to be found. I looked around the busy street until I saw the back of his head. He was at a small table-like wagon on the side of the road, paying a man. I joined him to see the table layered with rows of croissants. Henri held a bag open for me. “Croissant?”

While I was a stranger to the croissant, I had never met a pastry that I didn't like. So I took one and bit into it, and was pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet glob of chocolate hiding inside the flaky, buttery roll.

“It is good,
non
?” Henri asked.

“
Non.
I mean,
oui
. It's very good.”

Back in the petmobile the three of us rode in croissant-­induced silence. Other cars whizzed around us. We passed
the Eiffel Tower and drove onto a bridge that crossed the Seine. Brigitte pointed off the side of the bridge to a small protrusion of land, but I was already looking at it. It was an exact replica of our Statue of Liberty. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was like her twin, her smaller twin.

“Pull over,” I said. “I think we're first!”

“First!” “First!” “First!”

“Shhh,” Brigitte said. “You woke them up. They get cranky if they don't get a nap. And you would not like them when they are grouchy.”

“Sorry. But this is a race! Can you just pull over and let me out?”

“I cannot stop here,” Brigitte said. “I will park ahead. We will have to walk.” She eased into a parking space, painfully slowly.

“Or run,” Henri said. “Race you!” He took off toward the statue.

I chased him. This time I ran as fast as I could, but I couldn't catch up. I wasn't trying to be girly; I seriously couldn't keep up. Was I getting slower? It was one thing to pretend to be slow; it was another to actually become slow.

Henri stopped at the Shock Value rep. It was the same girl from the Louvre.

“Bonjour,”
Henri said.

“Hi,” I gasped. “Are we first?”

“Yes, you are. You really are a comeback story,” she said.

“Where is Murielle duPluie?”

“On another story,” she said. “Here is the last clue. Don't get too comfy with first place; this one is really hard.”

“Jeez, can't Murielle duPluie send someone else?” I groaned. “This is major music news.”

Brigitte caught up with us. Totally out of breath, she asked, “What does the clue say?”

I read:

“XX marks the spot. Number eighty-three is the place. In the Garden of Names.”

I looked at them. “Do you guys have any ideas?”

They both shook their heads.

I looked off in the distance. I could see the Eiffel Tower, and dark clouds starting to roll in. They looked nasty.

Brigitte saw them too. “Let's get the birds home,” she said.

We hustled to the petmobile, where our feathered friends were still snoozing. We closed the doors as quietly as we could.

I read the clue out loud again. “‘
XX
marks the spot.
Number eighty-three is the place. In the Garden of Names.'” Still no one had any ideas.

One of the birds said, “Eighty-three! In the garden!” in its sleep.

Another answered, “Okay, Sammy,” in its sleep. “Deliver the flowers.”

“They talk in their sleep?”

“Yeah. They say some funny things sometimes. Stuff they've overheard. Their owner is a florist. So they say stuff they hear from the store or the cart.”

“What cart?”

“The owner has a flower cart. The birds who are well behaved get to hang out on it on nice days. They love it,” she said.

The rest of the afternoon we spent my lunch money on crepes smothered in Nutella and took the birds around the city. As the afternoon turned into evening, we planned to take the tired flock home.

Brigitte drove at her usual glacial speed that I was starting to get used to when rain started hitting the windshield hard.

“Oh no,” said Brigitte.

“What is the matter?” Henri asked.

“I do not like driving in the rain.” Brigitte's hands trembled on the wheel.

Henri said, “It is okay. Take your time. We can stop at the hotel if you turn up there.”

Just then a car flew past us and splashed water onto the windshield. Little tears formed in the corners of Brigitte's eyes.

“Almost there,” I said to reassure her. I could see the hotel up ahead.

She coasted into her preferred parking space and turned off the ignition. “I cannot drive anymore in this weather. I will have to call the Cliquots to come and pick up the birds and they will probably fire me.”

“You can bring the birds inside and wait for the rain to let up,” I said.

“I do not think birds are allowed in the hotel,” Henri said.

“What if no one knows they are there?” I asked.

“I have heard them. They are very . . .” Henri made a beak with his hand and mimicked the birds. “Go! Guys! Clue!” Just as he started yelling “Baaa—” I put my hand over his beak.

“But there is a room where they can stay,” I suggested. “A very quiet room where no guests will see them. Can't we go there?”

“We will have to”—he tucked his head into his neck and made a swaying motion from side to side, then hid
his face behind his hands—“around so that no one will see the birds in the lobby.”

“Like, sneak?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Piece of cake,” I said.

“
Le gâteau?
Where? Where is the cake?”

“I meant it will be easy to sneak them in.”

“Really?” Brigitte asked. “There are twelve of them.”

“But there are thirty lacrosse players coming in soon. They are waaay louder than some birds. Trust me,” I said. “Call the Cliquots and tell them you don't want to drive the birds in the rain and you will keep them for the night and bring them home safe and sound in the morning. They won't fire you. They'll probably be glad that you are so safety conscious.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

I looked at my watch. We had about a half hour until the boys would be back. “Henri, I think the lobby could use some vacuuming. Let's go do that.”

“Vacuuming?”

I made a motion like I was vacuuming, but maybe it looked more like I was mowing the lawn, because he didn't understand. I said, “Vrooooom,” as though I was sucking up dirt. He looked like he still didn't understand.
“You know when the floor is dirty and you use a machine to suck up the dust?”

“What does the machine sound like?” he asked.

I said, “Vroooooomm.” And I made a face like sucking up dirt.

He smiled. “Vroom. I like that. I never saw someone act like a vacuum before.”

“You know the word ‘vacuum'? Why didn't you say so?”

“Because it was more fun to watch you vrooom.” He mimicked my face.

I punched him.

Darn.

Too hard again.

I really had to work on that.

“Sorry,” I said when he rubbed his arm.

“Pas de problème,”
he said. No problem.