Free Going Vintage by Lindsey Leavitt Page A

instead.”
“No!” I try to shut my door, but Mom’s already wedged in her foot. There’s no escaping her when she gets an agenda. I put my hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’ll get my Mickey Mouse ears.”

Chapter 7
The Bradshaw family’s favorite Disneyland attractions:
1. Space Mountain: BEST RIDE IN THE PARK, especially at Halloween, when they haunt that beast .
2. Splash Mountain: except when Mom doesn’t plan ahead and wears a white T-shirt. She gets soaked, guys ogle her chest, and she ends up buying a new T-shirt that she passes down to Ginnie or me even though:
a. gift-shop shirts are expensive .
b. the shirt is always stretched out .
3. The Tiki Juice Bar: Dole Whip sorbet treat. Healthy enough to justify because of the pineapple, delicious enough because of whatever makes it “whip.”
4. The teacups: you don’t have a soul if you hate the teacups .
5. It’s a Small World: but only in the summer. It’s the most air-conditioned ride in the park. Dad brings those little orange earplugs and we get a nice, cool fifteen-minute nap .
Another great thing about having a rich uncle Rodney who has lots of money but little time for family is that he gives us the same Christmas present every year: season passes to Disneyland. When we lived in Reno, our family made a yearly pilgrimage to my mother’s mecca. Now that we’re next door, we’re here at least once a month. And yes, we all wear Disney shirts and pins and fanny packs and the whole bit. You can’t have much style pride when it comes to The Mouse.
I wait until Ginnie and I are on the Jungle Cruise, rows away from my parents , before giving her a stern talking-to. “I can’t believe you told Mom about Jeremy.”
“It’s been five days.”
“We only broke up yesterday!”
“Officially. You should be thanking me for blocking her on Friendspace. She doesn’t need to see how unfriendly a space it can be.”
“Is it bad?”
“Posts on your page have trickled down, but you two are still big news.” Ginnie chews on an organic granola bar. Her fanny pack is stuffed with healthy snacks. “There’s probably a Save Jeremy fan page by now.”
“Save him from what?”
“The evils of the world. Or you. Same same. Crocodile.” She juts her chin in the direction of the menacing, robotic crocodile. We have a song listing all the animals we see, in order, on the Jungle Cruise.
“Bengal tiger,” I add.
“Dancing cobra!” Ginnie sticks her hand out of the boat, gesturing excitedly. Two tourists in front of us snap a picture of the snake. Extra points when we prompt a photo moment.
I hate to say it, but Mom is right. You can’t stay mad in Disneyland.
Ginnie sits back in her seat. “I can delete your site if you want.”
That makes the most sense. Wipe the whole slate clean, like what I’d just done on my iPod. Except … except, I have over six hundred friends on there, and some of them—like Reno friends—I only ever really communicate with on Friendspace. And all those pictures—I don’t think I’ve saved them anywhere else. And Ginnie and I have an ongoing Scrabble game through the site, and I can’t just let her win after two months. Then we’d have to play in person, and I don’t even know where Mom stores the board games.
Which I guess was the point of my social experiment, butwhat if … the end of the world happened, and the only way to access information on how to avoid the end of the world was posted on Friendspace. Surely then, then I would make an exception. Best to have the site there, just in case, so I don’t have to use precious end-of-the-world minutes creating a new account.
I still have to think practically .
“I’ll do it later,” I say vaguely. “But can you, like, do some damage control first?”
“Now wait a second—” Ginnie starts.
“Elephants!” I clap my hands together. A baby elephant squirts water into the air. Another elephant, Bertha, splashes in a waterfall alone.
“Insert cheesy joke,” Ginnie