Thirteen

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Thirteen

The next day Dastan and I sit on my bed eating a bowl of popcorn watching Fantasia. We make no mention of yesterday besides the fact that I have to play Mickey Mouse at the parks in only two weeks. No mention of the kiss. No answer to my questions.

The day's pretty much a waste.

On Monday morning we arrive bright and early for my first training session. To say the least it is very interesting.

First, I am put into a room full of about twenty other people within about a five years or so of my age. Dastan told me on the way here that he really wasn't joking when he said that I should feel privledged about getting to play Mickey. Evidently they do the whole "You must work your way up the ladder" deal, and many start playing characters like, say, Pinocchio (another character of which I do not care for), and work they're way up to "beloved" chararacters such as Mickey Mouse, and the "face characters" (people like the Princesses and Peter Pan, for example).

Dastan also told me that the maximum height for people playing Mickey is 5'2. I told him he was crazy and that it must be a mistake, because I'm 5'4 and there's no possible way that I'd be able get past these Disney freaks' crazy eyes without them noticing.

When I arrive, I am told to stand up straight for measurements. Crazy enough I'm measuered exactly across the line- five feet, two inches.

I grind my teeth.

The Fairy.

After twenty minutes or so, a man comes into the room and introduces himself as Matt. I see Rick and he waves excitedly. I wave awkwardly back.

For what seems like an eternity we practice charades. You know, movements that are likey to happen while meeting park guests, like acting out excitement or embarrasment. It's almost kind of fun. You know, if it weren't for playing Mickey and everything.

After a while we are assigned to four groups of five. Our group practices writing Mickey Mouse in that special way he does for autographs while I assume others practice their own character names. The group beside me is playing Minnie Mouse. I am disturbed to find a short young man standing there along with four girls.

I always said Disney was a messed up place.

At lunch we are allowed an hour to eat before we should report back to casting. Dastan had told me this morning that he wouldn't be here until after the day was over (maybe he's afraid that if I get away from here once I'll never come back) so we picked up a snack from one of the quick service resraunts in Animal Kingdom on the way out for me to eat.

I take out my lunch and sit on the floor eating quietly in a corner where no Disney freak would likely be; yet like always, I am wrong. Just as I'm about to bite into my chicken sandwich I hear an excited squeal from beside me. It resembles what Pip from Enchanted sounds like in the real world.

"That's from the Rainforest Cafe isn't it?" She says.

"Yeah," I say, not bothering to look up to her and trying my utmost to remain silent.

"How'd you get there so early?" She asks curiously.

"Special treatment,"

"Did you know that The Rainforest Cafe was awarded the Best Family Friendly restraunt in 2006?" She says as if I'm listening.

"I did actually," I say.

For a moment I think she might leave me alone, but I think too soon.

She's relentless. "My family and I used to go there a lot," She sighs.

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