Free The Lady and the Locksmith by Cody Young Page B

to be so mad!”
    “I’m doing my best, Mrs. B.” I try to sound cheerful and upbeat, but it’s late and I’m tired too. The crowd has thinned out a little, and we start walking towards the door that leads to passport control. I see something pale on the floor up ahead of me – a scrap of paper, discarded like an old candy wrapper. People are walking right over it, treading it into the carpet, but I am drawn to it like a magnet. I feel certain that I know what it is and I want to go see if I’m right. I watch people passing by and dread that one of them will notice it first and take it before I can get there – but of course, they don’t. To them it’s just a piece of litter.
    I veer away from Mrs. Bertorelli and I go and check it out. Staring down, I see that the paper is thick and yellowed with age. It’s folded and crumpled and it’s been trodden on, but I’m guessing there’s writing inside. I bend down and pick it up.
    “Maddie!”
    “Shoelace,” I insist, stuffing the ball of paper into my pocket. I make a pantomime of adjusting my shoe. Then I hurry after her and we make our way out towards the long queue for the checkpoint.
     
    Outside, in the parking lot, I can see the bus waiting for us, with everyone else on board. The driver is standing outside the bus, pacing up and down. He looks as if he’s been cursing me and Mrs. Bertorelli for a good thirty minutes or more. He helps me stow my trusty tartan friend in the luggage hold and slams down the metal hatch. I climb up into the bus and a big cheer goes up. About ten different people want to know what took me so long. Further back on the bus, my best friend Lydia leaps up out of her seat and starts waving at me. “Here, Maddie! I saved you a place!”
    “Hey, Madison. Did they strip search you?” The question comes from Brody, who sits with me in compulsory English. He has gum in his mouth and his cap is on back to front. As usual, there is far too much interest in his round blue eyes.
    His sidekick, Tanner, answers for me. “Like she’d tell YOU, even if they did!” Then he laughs like a hyena, and sticks his foot out to try and trip me up.
    I roll my eyes and try to step over his leg. “No, they did not mistake me for a terrorist,” I hiss, “but I’ll let them know you’re carrying explosives on the way back if you like.”
    Mrs. Bertorelli turns and yells in a voice that would halt a herd of buffalo. “Enough interrogation, Tanner Doyle! For your information, nobody got strip searched. I did offer, but they just said welcome to the United Kingdom and have a pleasant stay.”
    Everyone on the bus erupts in laughter, but she has their attention.
    “So will you all sit down and shut up, so we can get this show on the road!”
    The bus driver turns and glances warily at Mrs. B over his shoulder. I guess he hasn’t met anyone quite like her before.
    I head for where my friend is sitting, about two thirds of the way down, on the right hand side of the bus.
    Lydia’s great but she’s always been the odd one out. She’s a platinum blonde with braces on her teeth. Her style owes more than a little to Madonna’s early look. Miniskirts and military boots, that kind of thing. She gets up and moves into the aisle and lets me take the window seat. She’s generous like that, and she knows how much this trip to London means to me. I slump down and the bus starts to move.
    Lydia gets out her (pink) cell phone and flips it open. “You’re dad’s been messaging me.”
    I shoot her an agonized look. “You’re kidding.”
    “Nope. He’s worried. Apparently you promised to call when you arrived.”
    “But I haven’t arrived,” I say, consternation brewing. “I’m barely out of the airport.”
    Dad is unbelievable sometimes. I reach inside my pocket for my phone, which I had obediently switched off when we got on the plane. Instead I encounter the crumbling edges of that piece of paper I picked up off the floor at the airport. Just the