Lost in Paris by Cindy Callaghan

“ Bonjour , Marlène. Bonjour , Jacqueline. Bonjour , Gary . . .” He greeted each of the birds by name as he let them out of their cage and perched them on top of the cart while they stretched their multicolored wings.
    â€œ Bonjour , Norman.” He gave Norman the tops of some red carnations to eat.
    â€œWill they let him inside?” Brigitte asked Monsieur Cliquot.
    He gave her a small bouquet of yellow roses. “Get your ticket from the first teller. That is Monique. Give her these and she’ll let him in.”
    â€œThank you,” Brigitte said. “I’ll bring the other birds home later.”
    â€œD’accord.” He wished us luck with the rest of the hunt.
    Brigitte gave Monique the flowers as Monsieur Cliquothad advised, and voilà, pigs were welcome to roam the Père-Lachaise grounds.
    With map in hand, we set out for section eighty-three, with Norman leading the way. Someone needed to explain in pig language that we were racing against the clock here. Norman checked out every smell the way you’d expect a dog to, and he nibbled flowers off the grave sites, generating dirty looks. At this rate it was going to take us forever to find section eighty-three. We had major ground to cover!
    This cemetery was bigger, and more beautiful, than any I’d ever seen. I estimated that the walk to section fifty-two was probably a mile. Norman slowed down, and I expected that soon he’d need to rest. I plucked a few dead flowers from a grave and used them to lure Norman along. “Come on, boy. Good pig,” I said, while I was thinking, Just hurry up, you stupid pig!
    â€œMany famous people are buried here,” said Henri.
    â€œLike who?”
    â€œChopin and Molière,” Henri said.
    â€œI know Chopin was a great musician, but I don’t know Molière,” I said.
    â€œThat is because you are not French,” Brigitte said. “Molière was a very famous playwright and actor. You probably know Jim Morrison.”
    â€œI’ve heard of him,” I said.
    â€œHe was an American musician. Very popular,” Brigitte explained. “Ah, section eighty-three,” she announced.
    It was not hard to find the grave we were meant to find because it was surrounded by royal blue shirts. Camera flashes snapped in our faces as we approached.
    We were first! Even with the pig slowing us down, we’d won!
    But then I saw Jean-Luc, Sabine, and Robert talking to Murielle duPluie. They smiled broadly when they saw us.
    Seriously? My heart dropped .
    Now we wouldn’t get the tickets or backstage passes, and I wouldn’t be featured on the French news.
    A girl in blue said, “You are the first team to arrive with a pig.”
    â€œBut the second team to arrive,” I pointed out glumly.
    â€œYes, second. Second is good. Only the first and second get a chance at the box,” she said.
    Wait, what? “The box?” I asked.
    â€œYes. The game isn’t over for you,” she said. “There is one more challenge, and only the first two teams get to try it.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Robert asked. “We were here first!”
    â€œSo you get to try with the box too.” She smiled like this was exciting news, but Jean-Luc, Sabine, and Robertglared at her. Clearly, they hadn’t seen this twist coming.
    Murielle duPluie looked into the camera, shining her white teeth, and said, “It seems this contest is not over, Paris.”
    A microphone appeared in my face. “Hi there,” she said to me. “Murielle duPluie with Music News . What are your names?”
    I stared into the camera. “We are Gwen—from the US—and Henri and Brigitte—”
    Brigitte interrupted me. “From Boutique Brigitte—Pour les Petits Animaux.”
    Murielle ignored her and asked me, “How does it feel?”
    â€œIt’s amazing, like, with a capital A ,” I said. “I am so