Disney Storybits 97

PLEASE READ THE DESCRIPTION BEFORE READING THIS STORYBIT!


This had been an extremely bad idea from the start and it was going to get so much worse. Mickey kept swallowing and he was sure by the end of the hour he was going to run out of spit. He wished more than anything something would break the silence, aside from Horace turning the pages. He’d even be grateful for an earthquake that would push one of the walls down and splat Mickey like a bug. He deserved it, honestly. Everything up to this point had been his fault, and judging from Horace’s lowered stare of the written word, it was going to get worse. So much worse.


Horace had gotten to the last page, and when he looked up, his face was in disbelief. Mickey quickly tried to speak before he got a chance. “Sure ya don’t wanna read ‘em again?” His hands clutched his knees, as he tried to keep from bouncing off of his bed.


“I’m sure.” Horace flipped through the corners of the pages, back and forth. “… I’ll give ya one thing… ya got a theme runnin’.”


“Ya wanna grab somethin’ to eat?” Mickey uselessly tried to distract him. “I bet the cafeteria’s open. Or we could look for Goofy! He’s always got sandwiches with him, don’t even know where he gets ‘em, but…” Horace didn’t budge, and Mickey noticed a second sound – the ticks of the clock over the door. It was half past noon. Of course the cafeteria would be open. Of course Goofy would be out and about eating. It was a bright, beautiful Saturday and most of the students wouldn’t dream of spending it cooped up in their dorm rooms as Mickey and Horace did. Most students weren’t in as much trouble as Mickey was.


“It can’t be that bad.” Mickey tried again, but he knew it was.


“Ya should just asked ta take the exams again.” Horace stated the obvious. “I bet Daisy would have helped ya study.”


Of course Mickey knew these things, but there were things Horace didn’t know – or perhaps could only guess at  - about the situation. Mickey had studied, he always studied for the exams, he was an excellent academic as well as an excellent actor. He had the knowledge in his head and he could apply it. But on the day of this semester’s exams, the teachers had decided to mix up the classrooms and also provide different tests in order to stop cheaters. Minnie was in his chosen classroom, and with that his concentration was gone. Somehow the paper underneath him forgotten and he watched her fidget in place, chewing on the end of her pencil before her eyes lit up with an answer.


It was absurd now that he could see it from the future. She was a common enough sight in the school – no, more than that, they could be called friends. He shouldn’t have been so mesmerized by her appearance. Yet even this argument fell apart in his own head – this had been the only opportunity to gaze intently upon her and not have anyone notice him. He had to convince everyone he and Daisy were an item, but during that hour that flew by way too fast, he could look at Minnie to his heart’s content. She was so small her feet didn’t entirely touch the floor, only the barest tips of her toes, tucked away in her cherry red high heels.


‘Cute cute cute’ repeated like a whistling train in his head. Cute how she had closed her eyes and pushed her lips during a difficult question. Cute how her eyes darted back and forth on the paper to make sure she was reading it correctly. Cute how she moved the pencil back and forth between her fingers, mouthing to herself – ‘that can’t be right’ – before she started nibbling on it again. Watching her was better than any play. He could do this all day, and could have, had not the school bell rang him back to reality. To his horror, he had only written down his name – and it was just ‘Mick’. The ‘ey’ had turned into looping swirls descending off into the desk.


His greatly confused teacher had offered him two choices – make up the exam or, for extra credit, write a small play. Mickey chose the former, because it seemed like fun, and not too difficult. He’d been in dozens of plans, how hard could writing one be?


“Just tell me which one ya like best.” Mickey replied, crossing his arms as he tried to defy Horace, but his tongue was stuck in his throat. Mickey hadn’t finished any of the plays he started on. Midway he would realize exactly the problem with it, and try to work on a different one. But each play led to the same problem.


“I don’t like any of ‘em.” Horace said honestly, knowing being soft wouldn’t do anyone any favors. “This first one just has Minnie goin’ on about how much she loves ya for thirty pages.”


“It’s not Minnie. It’s the goddess Minerva. And she ain’t talkin’ about me, she’s talkin’ about the prince, Michael.” Even as he was saying it, he knew it was the worst argument in the history of arguments. He glanced to the door to make sure they had locked it – they had.


Horace rolled his eyes, and flipped through the pages. “Each of these plays has got yerself and Minnie in there. Shoot, ya keep describing yerselves the same way. Ya even accidentally wrote yer names in there sometimes.”


Mickey was on the defensive again. “The second one is excitin’, ain’t it? I know I put fightin’ scenes in there!”


“A-huh. Savin’ Lady M from this fella who is one hundred percent definitely not Mortimer.” This one had even come with an ‘illustration’, as Horace held up the pencil drawing of buck toothed rat laying at Mickey’s feet, while the overly detailed Minnie, surrounded by little hearts, swooned nearby. “I think the scariest thing about this is that yer actually tryin’.”


Mickey refused to look him anymore, his legs shifting around. “W-writin’s real hard, y’know!”


Horace put the pages aside, and leaned over. “Mickey… yer one of my best friends in the whole school.” Which meant that he was one of the few people that knew the secret – that Mickey and Daisy weren’t actually dating. It was only a cover to prevent people from ‘distracting them’ from becoming better actors, as Daisy had put it. It had been her idea, which didn’t surprise Horace in the least. “So I worry about ya. And, well, I think maybe it’s time ya stopped this whole charade. It’s drivin’ ya crazy!”


“I ain’t crazy.” Mickey huffed.


Horace didn’t enjoy shoving proof into Mickey’s face, but he still pulled out the page that was simply Minnie’s name repeated as much as the page would allow. Mickey huffed again. “I was practicin’ my penmanship.” He then shook his head, trying to clear it. “Besides,  I made a promise ta Daisy, and I never go back on my word. We gotta keep this up until we graduate.”


“If ya keep failin’ exams like this, ya ain’t gunna graduate!”


“If I don’t keep it up, Daisy’ll kill me!”


For once, Mickey had won.  Horace grimaced – no, Daisy wouldn’t actually kill him, but she wouldn’t go down easy.  The hors tried to think of a combative argument, but all he could see was Daisy chasing Mickey down a hallway, threatening to chop off his tail and use it as a shoelace. Horace sighed, and then ruffled through the papers, trying to find a certain section. “… Maybe we can do somethin’ with the last one.”


Mickey glanced back – seriously? There was something to be salvaged from Mickey’s fantasies? “Uh… which one was that?”


“The one where the princess is gettin’ ready for her weddin’, but tells her butler she can’t do it ‘cause she likes him.” Horace patted the script, letting it rest on his leg. “It’s a good idea for a one act play, just the one scene. Might not be an A, but I bet the teacher will letcha pass.”


“That’s the best one!” Mickey jumped up, landing on the floor in fevered excitement. “Maybe the teacher will like it so much, he’ll want us ta practice it! I bet the costume gals can make Minnie a real pretty weddin’ dress! And it ends with one big kiss, and we can practice that one lots and lots until we get it right, and-”


Horace thwacked Mickey on the nose with the rolled up script, much like one would do to get their dog to stop yapping. “Minnie ain’t ever gunna see it. And if ya wanna keep yer tail attached, Daisy won’t either.”


Mickey cleared his throat. “Right. Just show it to teach, and that’s it… Thanks, Horace.”


“Take it easy, Mickey.” Horace handed the scripts over, and then stood up, stretching. “I think I’m gunna grab myself some lunch. Readin’ all six scripts gave me a huge appetite.”


Mickey paused as Horace headed for the door. He thought he had only given Horace five scripts. There was a sixth one (written fourth, technically) but Mickey had been so utterly embarrassed by his own depravity that he had placed it aside – and mixed it in with the others. OH NO –


“I wouldn’t actually kidnap her!” Mickey suddenly yelled, as Horace ever so quickly slammed the door behind him. “That one was j-just a joke! Just f-foolin’!” Horace was running but Mickey still pleaded in defense of his lost innocence. “YA KNOW I WOULDN’T REALLY MAKE HER DANCE FOR ME! COME OOOON!”


Horace spent the rest of the day trying to find a way to wash his eyes.