Free Keeping Holiday by Starr Meade Page A

rich?” Dylan asked.
    “Oh my, yes, you have no idea,” Missy said.
    “How much did he have to pay?” Dylan wanted to know.
    “It cost him everything he had,” Missy replied. “The Founder gave up everything to pay that debt. He became poorer than anyone else has ever been.”
    Baffled by such generosity, Dylan asked, “Why would he do that?”
    “That’s just how the Founder is,” Missy said. “Why would he pay your fine?” Dylan had no answer for that, so Missy continued. “Long ago, in ancient times, when nations or towns who had been at war with each other patched up their quarrels and made peace, they often held the ceremony under a hanging piece of mistletoe. It was actually called the Plant of Peace. So people hang it everywhere in Holiday—downtown, in the Visitor’s Center, in their homes. It reminds them that the citizens of the town have been reconciled to their Emperor. It’s a tribute to the King who paid their debt and worked out the peace treaty.” Then she added, “Of course, now everyone wants to kiss under the mistletoe.”
    Dylan agreed. “It actually gets a little sickening,” he said.
    Missy only laughed her little laugh again. Then she asked, “Are you hungry?” Dylan and Clare both suddenly realized that they were. “If you’ll go to the back corner of the park, you’ll find a box that has assorted cans and boxes of things that don’t need to be cooked. Nothing fancy, but good healthy things that will keep you going. The Founder puts them there for people like you are who are passing through. You can save the food you brought in case you need it later. When you’re finished eating, you’ll find a stack of clean blankets in the same corner. The ground is soft here and the night is warm. A blanket under you and one on top and I think you’ll be quite comfortable for the night.”
    Gratefully, Dylan and Clare made a simple but satisfying supper. They spread out the blankets and slipped off to sleep before they had even finished saying their goodnights to each other.

    In the night, Dylan had a dream. He was looking down from somewhere up high. Below him were the streets of his own neighborhood. People crowded the streets, some wandering slowly, others clipping along at almost a run. Dylan recognized everyone he saw. His teacher was there, his classmates, aunts, uncles, cousins, his doctor, his dentist, people from stores where his family shopped—all people Dylan knew. He could see both of his parents as well. Dylan thought it curious that, even with so many people on the street and all of them known to each
other, no one walked with anyone else. Each person walked alone. As he watched, Dylan noticed another strange fact. In spite of the ceaseless activity, no one ever actually got anywhere. People would walk in one direction for a while, then, either turning sharply on their heel or moving around in a great arc, they all ended up going back the way they had come. Later, they would turn again and go the other way once more.
    A voice interrupted Dylan’s observations, a voice Dylan had come to thoroughly dislike. It belonged to Mr. Smith, the man who kept trying to discourage him and Clare from looking for a real Holiday. “So tell me, Dylan, why do you hate your parents?” the voice asked.
    “That’s crazy! I don’t hate my parents!” Dylan protested.
    “Oh, you don’t,” the voice answered (but Dylan could not see the speaker anywhere). “But you certainly don’t think much about what they want, do you? You have this obsession with finding a real Holiday and getting authorized so you can stay there—what does that say to them about how much you appreciate all they’ve done for you? Their house where they live isn’t good enough for you. You don’t appreciate that they’ve taken you on vacations to Holiday every year; oh, no, you want to find the real Holiday, and then you want to stay there forever, even though you know your father needs to stay where he is