Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 103918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Gideon sighed again. “I spent the whole summer begging them to take me, but they waited until the day before I went home to tell me that they were going to.”
“So you got to go to the concert?” I asked.
“I went to a concert,” Gideon hedged.
“What does that mean?”
I was sure I heard Gideon grumble something under his breath before he said, “Did I mention my grandparents weren’t exactly connoisseurs of fine music nor did they have the best hearing in the world?”
“I don’t unders—” I began to say but then stopped when I considered his words along with the nickname the woman in the other car had called him.
“Oh my God,” I said.
“Yeah,” Gideon said dryly.
“Oh my God!” I repeated as I began laughing like a loon. “They—they took you to see Mickey Mouse in concert?” I didn’t wait for Gideon to respond because I was laughing too hard. I felt him give me a light shove on my arm, and I tried to squelch my laughter.
“Do you want to hear the rest of this or not?”
“There’s more?” I asked. “I would sell my firstborn child to hear more!"
"Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed when I found out once we were in Tampa exactly why we were there. But my grandparents had scrimped and saved for the trip, so I went. Since I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth, as soon as we got to Disney World, I found myself posing for pictures with a particularly annoying rat in trousers. If that wasn’t bad enough, my grandparents had worked it so I’d get to be a VIM at Mickey’s concert.”
“VIM?”
I could practically feel Gideon’s eyes on me. I could only imagine the dark looks he was sending me. It was all I could do to contain the ridiculous giggles that were buried in my throat.
“Very Important Mousketeer.”
“Oh God,” I barked as I gave up on trying to contain my laughter. Tears began slipping down my face. When my belly began to hurt from laughing so hard, I was forced to try and control myself.
“You finished?” Gideon asked drolly.
“I make no promises,” I admitted. “Does being a VIM come with any perks?”
Gideon didn’t speak right away. When he did, he said, “You ever hear of that saying, if looks could kill?”
“Sorry,” I choked out. But no amount of effort on my part kept me from sputtering and coughing as I tried to not laugh. “So, perks?” I reminded him.
I heard a very put-out sigh from the other side of the cab. “VIMs get to join the Mickster on stage to perform.”
I started laughing all over again. “Oh God, it hurts,” I bellowed as I grabbed my belly. “What—what song did you get to sing?”
When Gideon didn’t answer, I forced myself to go silent, even though I was sure I’d explode from trying to hold my glee in. “Please, Gideon, I’ll behave. What song did you sing?”
A good fifteen seconds passed before Gideon responded. “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.”
I knew the trying-not-to-laugh thing was going to kill me. “That’s really nice,” I managed to get out, though I had to say it fast and without breathing.
There were several long beats of silence in which I was pretty sure Gideon was looking at me, probably testing me to see if I would break. For once, my lack of sight was proving to be useful because I surely would have exploded in laughter if I’d been able to see him.
“Do it, you know you want to,” Gideon said.
“No, no, I’m good,” I said as quickly as I could. Then I had to hold my breath again.
I probably could have made it if Gideon hadn’t chosen that moment to hum the song. When it came time to sing the chorus, he chanted, “Zip-a-Dee-Doo” and I was gone. I laughed so hard, I didn’t even hear the rest of the song. By the time I was done, I could barely breathe, my stomach muscles hurt like the devil, and my eyes felt wrung out.
“You okay there?” Gideon asked. I was relieved to hear the humor in his voice.
I nodded. When I felt mostly normal, I said, “So I still don’t get why people call you Mouse.”
“By the time I came back here to visit my grandparents the following summer, they’d been telling anyone and everyone about the trip and how much I’d loved meeting Mickey. I’m pretty sure they gave everyone I knew pictures of me on stage next to that damn mouse. I have no idea who started the ‘Mouse’ thing but everyone started to call me that and it just stuck. To this day, anyone over the age of sixty-five in this town thinks I still have a thing for Mickey Mouse and they're constantly giving me any kind of souvenirs or knickknacks depicting that stupid fucking mouse.”