Keeping Holiday (9 page)

Mr. Smith had moved quickly and was already far ahead, near one of the groups loitering on the sidewalk. He seemed to pause near the group; maybe he even spoke to its members. Then he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

The group, comprising half a dozen boys near their own age, watched Dylan and Clare approach. The boys in the group said nothing, only smiled those little smiles that made Clare nervous. They had passed the group and Clare was slowly exhaling a sigh of relief when she heard Dylan cry, “Hey!” Turning to him, she saw that he held his hand to the back of his head, and a small dirt clod, exploded now into fragments, lay at his feet. Clare followed the direction of Dylan’s eyes as he stared back at the group of boys, who laughed quietly together and watched him.

Before she could say anything to stop him, Dylan had called out, “Who threw that?”

One boy slouched forward. “Threw what?” he asked, holding out a dirt clod in one hand. “One of these? Oh. Guess it must have been me.”

“Well, knock it off and leave me alone!” Dylan ordered. He paused, then turned to go on.

“Sure, I’ll let you alone,” the boy replied. “As soon I do this.” Dylan and Clare heard the dirt clod whistle through the air, and Dylan felt as well as heard the thud when it hit his shoulder.

Every thing in Dylan’s mind evaporated except rage. He turned back and charged the boy, grabbing him by the jacket and shoving him to the ground. The boy bounced back to his feet instantly. The other boys closed in around them in a circle, blocking Clare’s vision so she could hardly see Dylan at all. In her anxiety for her cousin, Clare hopped back and forth from one foot to the other without noticing it. She looked up and could have cried for joy when she saw a police car coming around the corner. It pulled up with a squeal next to the boys, and a policeman jumped out, brandishing a stick. “All right, all right, break it up,” he called out in a bored voice, hitting boys with his stick.

The boys scattered, trying to get out of reach of the flailing stick. One blow struck Dylan on the back and he cried out, “Ow,” then said, “But, Officer, it wasn’t my fault. They were throwing things at us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the policeman said, already getting back in his car, “but you stopped to make something of it, right? You should just be glad I came along when I did; those guys would have had you for lunch,” and he closed his car door and drove away.

“Come on, Dylan, hurry,” Clare said, not wanting to be anywhere in sight when the gang of boys reconvened. Dylan saw the wisdom of this and hurried away with her, around the corner where the wide path led. Then Clare squealed with delight and relief. “Look, Dylan,” she cried, “it’s right there! The park the tree told us about!” Just ahead a small grassy park invited them to come in and stroll under its graceful trees and relax on its wrought iron benches. A tall white fence, also of wrought iron, encircled the park. The gate was closed. A banner hung on the fence, with the words, “First-time visitors enter here.” In smaller letters were the words, “Visitor’s pass required.”

Dylan approached the gate, Clare right behind him. On the gate was another small screen, like the one they had encountered at the previous gate. Above this screen, a small sign read, “Absolutely no admittance without visitor’s pass.” On the screen itself, in letters glowing a bright green, Dylan saw the same list that he had in his shirt pocket.

Authorized Personnel will:

look out for the interests of others, not just for their own personal interests;

pay back good for evil;

do, speak, and think only what is kind;

keep tempers, emotions, and mouths under control at all times;

demonstrate forgiveness to the same person up to 490 times;

show all due respect to the Founder of Holiday;

rejoice in the very fullest way possible.

The words under the screen read, “Type in your first and last names.”

Dylan turned back to Clare. Without looking at her, he said, “I don’t think they’ll let me in. I don’t meet those requirements.”

“Well, try it and see,” Clare urged.

Dylan typed in his name. The words on the screen changed to, “Welcome, Dylan. Insert your visitor’s pass.”

Dylan reached for the wallet in his back pocket, where he had placed his visitor’s pass. His wallet was not there. He tried the other pocket. It was empty too. “My wallet’s gone!” he said.

“Did you leave it in the forest?” Clare asked.

Dylan shook his head. “No, we used visitor’s passes at the last gate, remember? I had it then, and I put it back in my pocket.” Suddenly Dylan understood. “Those guys back there, with the dirt clods. They were just trying to distract me so they could get my wallet.”

Clare remembered how the gang of boys had closed in a tight circle around Dylan before the policeman came. “That must be it,” she said. “Did you have much money in there?”

Dylan shook his head. “But what about Holiday? I can’t even get into the park without my visitor’s pass. Look at yours. What does it say on it about what happens if you don’t have one?”

Clare pulled out her visitor’s pass and read, “Failure to present this pass when asked to do so will result in a costly fine, immediate expulsion from Holiday, and the forfeiture of all right to ever return.” Dylan looked at her with a sickly expression. “Look at the screen,” Clare said, pointing at it.

“It’s saying something else.”

Dylan looked and read the words, “If you have no visitor’s pass, press ‘No.’”

Dylan pressed the No button. The screen changed again. Now it said, “Enormous fine due now.” Those words, however, remained on the screen for only a few seconds. Then they gave way to these: “Paid in full. New pass issued.” The machine began to click, and slowly a new pass slid out. Dylan took it and saw that it had his name on it. Although in every other way it was just the same as his old one, where the old one had said, “Visitor’s Pass,” this new one read, “Dylan’s Pass.”

Puzzled but elated, Dylan took the pass and inserted it into the proper slot. Clare began to do the same, but stopped, staring at the pass in her hand. “Dylan, look!” she gasped. Dylan looked at her pass and saw that it had changed. It no longer read “Visitor’s Pass.” Instead, he saw the bold letters of “Clare’s Pass.” Wondering, Clare inserted her pass. The gate swung open and the two entered the park.