Dream Factory

Table of Contents

 

 

 

PUBLISHED BY THE PENGUIN GROUP
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A. | Penguin
Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a
division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) | Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL,
England | Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books
Ltd) | Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) | Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community
Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India | Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive,
Mairangi Bay, Albany, Auckland 1311, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) |
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South
Africa | Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
or events is entirely coincidental. Real places have been used as the background for fictional events.

Copyright © 2007 by Brad Barkley and Heather Hepler

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information
storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the
publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a
review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

 

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility
for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

CIP Data is available.

 

Published in the United States by Dutton Books,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
www.penguin.com/youngreaders

 

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-440-67830-1

 

1

Ella

I wasn’t at all surprised when Cinderella gave me the finger.

They’re supposed to stay behind the iron fencing separating the hotel from the monorail, but today there isn’t any rent-a-cop blocking the way. “Just keep walking.” I hear this murmured all around me, like some sort of mantra designed to carry us into the waiting train car and toward breakfast. “Don’t they ever sleep?” Luke asks, pulling up even with me. “I mean, I saw that guy last night when I was coming back from the Electrical Parade.” He points to a thin man leaning against the lamppost sipping from a Styrofoam cup.

“You mean Robin Hood?” I ask. Luke nods at me as he puts his hand up to block the sliding doors from closing. “He’s
always
here,” I say, stepping past him and onto the car.

“Do you see how he looks at Bryan?” he asks, lowering his voice.

“They all do that,” I push damp hair out of my eyes. I still haven’t acclimated to the heat. “It’s as if each of us got our own worst enemy when we signed up for this.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling back enough to let Jesse walk through. Jesse is big, linebacker big. The perfect Friar Tuck. “But that guy acts like it’s personal, like
total
identity theft.” I sit down on the bench just behind where Luke is standing so that I can watch the crowd through the open door.

We know who they are by the signs they’re carrying. Buzz Lightyear’s simply has the words TO 401K AND BEYOND, which I think lacks creativity. Cinderella is busy talking on her cell phone. Her sign, which she has propped against the fence, reads MICKEY CAN KISS MY GLASS (SLIPPER). Captain Hook’s features the Jolly Roger with a mouse head where the skull is supposed to be. I’m pretty sure he’s the one that actually starts things.

I hear a thud against one of the windows near the back of the train car. One long
Ewww
is followed by another thud, then another. “What . . .” I begin, but I don’t finish my question. Amy comes in with a yellow streak on her face.

“Hurry!” Luke yells at the last few people now running for the tram. There are several more eggy thuds against the windows as Bryan and some guy with blond hair lunge through the door. Luke lets the door slide shut, and we listen to more thuds as we wait for the autopilot to respond to the door sensors. I stare out the window at the crowd slowly turning back toward the parking lot. I imagine that they will have to prepare for the next monorail, which will be by in about fifteen minutes to take people to the main gate staging area. We pull away from our hotel, which has been converted into a dorm for now. They even took away the king-size beds so they could fit a couple of crappy twin beds in each room. They got rid of the phones in our rooms and installed the crappy PA system with wires running everywhere, so they can make announcements and try to keep us in line. Just when I’m thinking about how crammed in we are, someone sits down next to me on the bench. It’s the blond guy who jumped on with Bryan.

“You’re Ella, right?” he asks, pulling at the bottom of his T-shirt. I nod as he makes a pocket with his shirt to catch the mess slowly sliding down his front. “You don’t know what gets out raw eggs, do you?” he says. I shake my head before turning to stare out the window again. “This isn’t quite what I imagined,” he says, and I look over at him again, slowly this time, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Not really the Happiest Place on Earth, is it?” I say, staring back out the window.

“Just not right now,” he says, trying to bundle his shirt with his hand.

“Just wait until breakfast.” I look over at Luke, who’s sitting across the car, willing him to look at me so that I can give him the get-me-out-of-here look, but he’s laughing at something Cassie said. The guy beside me uses his sleeve to wipe at the streaks of yellow slowly making their way down his cheek.

“Breakfast is bad?” the blond guys says.

I shrug. “It’s mostly just posing for pictures. That and answering questions.”

“Like what?”

“Mostly the usual. ‘What time’s the parade?’ ‘Where can we rent strollers?’ That’s the parents. It’s the kids you have to watch out for.”

“Why?”

“They want the
dirt
. Like, ‘Does Captain Hook really have a hook for a hand?’ ‘How can Ariel hold her breath for so long?’ ‘Do you really have a fairy godmother?’”

“Do you?”

“Not that I know of,” I say. “I mean, if I do, she’s keeping a really low profile.” I look past him to where Amy is making bug eyes at me.
“He’s cute,”
she mouths at me. I squint at her, which makes her smile.

“So, Ella,” he says, “I guess we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

“Why’s that?” I ask. I’m trying not to be rude, but I’m really not into the whole Disney Family thing that they keep talking about around here. After only a week I started to question my decision to come here, but going home early is out of the question. All this cheerful friendliness is starting to take its toll on me.

“I thought you knew,” he says. He folds the end of his shirt over onto itself, making a larger pocket. “James pulled his hamstring last night when he ran after you on the stairs.” I raise my eyebrows. I hadn’t seen James after the parade, but I thought maybe he’d just turned in early.

“So, you—”

“I went from ice-cream scooper to prince in one night.”

“That is quite a promotion,” I say. Amy is waggling her eyebrows up and down so fast that I can almost feel the breeze from where I am sitting.

“So, Ella, what do you think?” he asks. I think Amy’s eyes are going to roll out of her head if she doesn’t stop looking at me that way. “You think I have what it takes to be Prince Charming?”

I shrug, realizing that really isn’t the answer that he’s hoping for. Even on my good days I’m not that into the whole flirty thing. And today, with the heat and the smell of rotten eggs and the fact that I am going to have to break in the fourth Prince Charming in a month, I’m definitely not feeling like playful banter with someone. Even if that someone has crinkly brown eyes and curly blond hair. “Sure,” I finally manage. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

 

“You’re telling me you never made the connection?” Luke says to me out of the corner of his mouth. Mr. William “Call me Bill” Tubbs is at the front of the room giving us his daily pep talk. Today it’s peppered with lots of talk about unity and the Disney Family, which rings kind of false considering that any day they could settle the strike and all of us would be sent home with a set of souvenir mouse ears and a free parking coupon. “How is that possible?” Luke asks. He leans back in his chair, propping up his feet on the head of his costume, which rests in front of him.

“Do you even know how much that would freak some little kid out if they could see you now?” I whisper.

“Stop changing the subject,” Luke says. “You never thought—Ella. Cinder . . . ella.”

Mr. Tubbs taps the map that is projected on the back wall, saying something about important visitors from the media.