Free Disney at Dawn by Ridley Pearson Page A

remember?”
    Finn nodded and flipped through the pages. The diary was filled with writing, drawings, sketches. Clippings and photographs had been pasted, paper-clipped, and stapled to the pages. Fortunes from fortune cookies. Ticket stubs.
    In the upper-right-hand corner of a page crowded with sketches was a drawing of a castle being struck by lightning. Finn pointed to it. “Okay,” he said. “Now I believe.”

13
    F INN CLIMBED BACK UP the fire rope to his bedroom window, while below him, barely seen, Amanda waited for him, straddling his mother’s mountain bike, which he’d loaned her.
    His mission was to get hold of his father’s BlackBerry; to make sure his parents didn’t worry about him or question where he’d gone; and to borrow his little sister’s DS for Amanda, who didn’t own one.
    He reached his parents’ bedroom on tiptoe and quietly opened the door. His mother was snoring; his father lay on his side facing the window. The clock on his mother’s end table read 4:08 AM.
    He found his father’s dresser in the dark and patted around, searching for his BlackBerry. On Saturdays, his father only took his phone if he went on an extended errand. Finn could only hope that his father had no such errands planned. If he did, and he looked for his phone, he wasn’t going to find it.
    He returned to his mother’s side of the bed and quietly turned the clock so that it faced away from the bed, where it couldn’t be read by his mother. Then he gently shook her awake. She was a heavy sleeper, and he was counting on her not coming fully awake.
    “Mom…”
    Her eyes squinted open, saw him, and then shut again.
    “Finn,” she complained.
    “It’s just after six,” he lied, wishing he didn’t have to. “I’m going on my bike over to the skate park. Might go to Blizzard Beach later. I’ll call.”
    “Don’t forget sunscreen.” She opened her eyes a little more and looked for the clock, but she made no effort to turn it around. This he’d been counting on.
    “I’ll call,” he repeated.
    There was precedent here: early Saturday morning rides at the skate park were part of his routine. Bikes weren’t allowed in the half pipe after 9 AM on weekends. He often got up early and returned for a late breakfast. By adding the bit about Blizzard Beach—a favorite among his friends—he’d bought himself the rest of the day.
    “Take your father’s phone,” she said, rolling over.
    “Ah…okay,” he said, his hand tapping his pocket.
    He put away the fire-escape rope and left the house by the back door, joining Amanda and climbing onto his bike.
    “How’d it go?” she asked.
    “Worked out great. I’m good to go for the rest of the day.”
    “Your parents let you leave the house at four in the morning?”
    “Not exactly. But we’re cool.”
    Had he looked overhead he might have felt otherwise: hanging upside down from the gutter of his house, the large bat with the blue tint on its wings dropped free and flew away. Flapping frantically, it circled just above the two bikes as they sped off down the empty street, red safety lights flashing in the dark.

14
    T HE FOOD-SERVICE STEP VAN had double tires in the back and mud flaps that carried silhouettes of silver mouse ears on their black rubber.
    The man behind the wheel had florid cheeks, blue eyes, and bushy eyebrows. He spoke in a deep voice to Finn, who pulled the passenger door open.
    “Everyone in back. Find places to hide in case they check back there.” He popped open his door. “It’ll be pitch black in there once I pull that door down, so hurry!”
    Finn rushed the others into the back. They climbed up into a refrigerated area of cardboard boxes filled with fresh fruits and vegetables stacked onto wooden pallets and strapped to the walls. Each stack offered a place to hide behind. The kids doubled up. Charlene and Willa hid behind a tower of raspberry and strawberry flats. Maybeck and Philby ducked behind the lettuce, leaving Finn and