Holiday High

Chapter One

I don't know why I have to go to Holiday High. I was perfectly fine attending my own high school. Yes, it was big, but that’s what I loved about it. Being invisible is what I loved.

Three thousand students—my old school had three thousand glorious students for me to hide among. But not now. Now, I have to go to Holiday High, with a student body of, maybe, 20?

Arbor Day is doing just fine. Sure, it’s not the biggest holiday. It’s not Christmas, nor Valentine's Day. It isn’t even April Fool’s Day. But it’s fine. Those who celebrate it are the most loyal and dedicated of any holiday celebrators. There is no hype. No need for pop culture icons. No crazy tree mascot. They actually want to celebrate. They care, and that’s what I care about. I don’t need Holiday High.

But here I stand, a girl who is literally on the steps of the school, trying to will herself to go in. My goodness, I’ve become a cliché—the new girl who is afraid of the first day of school! How pathetic. My parents were so thrilled when the letter came:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Day, Congratulations! Your holiday has been deemed worthy of acceptance in the elite school for holiday preparation, Holiday High. Go Spirit!

Yes.

They are the Fighting Holiday Spirit. How awful. It has been decades since Arbor Day has been recognized as big enough to attend Holiday High. My father never got to go. His father never got to go. You have to go back three generations to find the last time Arbor Day got to attend. How lucky am I?

Thus, I stand in front of this immaculate brick building with the flags of the holidays proudly waving from poles atop the roof. It has nice trees and a nice lawn. This fancy aura makes me want to vomit! Do I really have to live here for eight months? Does no one else see the irony that Flag Day has a flag waving? I see the irony. But then again, I always do. No way am I going to be invisible here.

Just try and make the best of it, Arbor, my dad pleaded with me. It’s what must have been the one-hundredth fight we had on the subject. Still, it was a week out at this point, and I wasn't exactly coming around to the idea. This is a huge honor. Something our family has been trying to attain for the longest time. Dad’s protestations fell on deaf ears. I know it's not what you would have chosen, but try your best.

My dear, it’s important to maintain connections with others, Mother reminded. Make some friends. Talk to people. You can be very charming when you give it an effort. So basically, don’t be me? I mutter. Be happy. Be excited! Be the best Arbor Day I can be!

That sarcasm isn't going to help you at all. Try dialing that down some, Dad added. Make sure people know how smart you are and how thoughtful you are before you resort to sarcasm. The world famous Arbor sarcasm certainly won't help you at the Confirmation.

The Confirmation. How I already dread that word. Seven months away, and I hate it already. The Confirmation is the time each year when the student of each holiday presents to the faculty the importance and plans for their particular holiday. It’s just a formality for The Majors, like Christmas, New Year's Eve, and Halloween. For others, The Minors, it can be a make-or-break time.

If your holiday is losing traction in America, you can be dismissed from Holiday High. For me, this is the most important Confirmation I will have. The outcome will determine whether I will have a second year, and if so, it will supposedly be easier to maintain my Confirmed Status. But I cannot shake the dreaded mindset that I don't want to be here.

I don’t want to be part of this world. I don't want to be confirmed. All I ever wanted to do was what my parents do-- travel the country teaching the importance of Arbor Day. They speak at schools, church groups, and to college students in malls, stores, parks, and basically anywhere else where people will listen. I want to continue my weekend lessons where I teach students the importance of our holiday at the national park near where we live. I don't want the prestige of being a confirmed holiday even if it means that more trees are planted, and more people will recognize and support our holiday. I don't know why I have to go to Holiday High.

Eight steps. Eight steps to the top. Eight steps to the top, to the doors. Eight steps to the top, to the doors, and inside. That’s all it takes to enter a world that I’ve only been told about. To be honest, I never thought I would even have to be in this situation. My legs are cement. There is no way I’m going to make it up these eight steps. I need to find a way to motivate my way to the top, to the doors, and to go inside. I can't help but wonder if this is all pointless.

Just take it one step at a time, I tell myself out loud. With each step, I need to find something positive to get myself moving. I chuckle and realize that self-motivation is going to be a big part of my life now. I groan and realize that it does not seem possible to find anything positive in all of this.

Step one. I miraculously lift my right foot off the ground and up. I imagine this is what an elephant feels like lifting its feet. I plant it on the first step.

This is a good thing. It’s a chance for more people to recognize the greatness of Arbor Day. The left foot follows. Step one done.

Step two. Elephant foot starts up again. More trees will be planted. If that’s the end game to all this; then, it matters. Step two conquered.

Maybe I will find a true friend. My parents are proud of me.

If anything I can sabotage all the other holidays. Steps three, four, and five down. Aren't new experiences supposed to be character building? No boys liked me at City High. Maybe a boy will like me here.

Now, step seven is a reach. Not many boys have proven to handle my obvious, snarky, unique brand of communication. It’s pretty common that when I think I’m hilarious others think I'm just weird. I handle this by just not talking to boys. It has proven to be a very effective way to not get hurt or to get wrapped up in the frivolous drama that comes with giving the opposite sex an inch into your world.

So, step eight is here. It’s not too late to back out. Descending down the steps will go faster than moving up them. It would be easy to come up with eight reasons to leave. But is there really a good enough reason that will give me the strength to make this last big step?

I hate this establishment. I hate what it stands for. I hate how it makes the decision on who is ‘deemed worthy.’ I’m going to go in there and show them that all holidays are worthy. All holidays are not here to simply let them control us into being what they want us to be. I’m Arbor Day. I deem myself worthy. I really need a nap. With that, I feel my feet practically move themselves up the last hurdle. Step eight down. In your face, Holiday High!

Now at the top, I paused to ponder the victory that’s making it to the top. I imagine my parents being so happy--cheering me on. It’s a far cry from the last conversation we had at the airport. I don't want to hear this again, Dad said. I’m just done arguing with you. I’m drained. You are an amazing young lady, and Holiday High is lucky to have you. You can take our holiday and make it the best it has ever been if you would simply stop fighting. The Holiday Council will not control your life. Only you control you. Trust me, I know.

What your father is trying to say, Arbor, is just be careful, Mom offers, shooting my father a stern look. You are my girl, Arbor.

Mom, please don't cry. Crying may just make me run. You do know that running through an airport like a madwoman is frowned upon, right?

I'm not going to cry, dear. Just please stop with the bitterness. While you’re at it, you can let the anger go too. Use it. Use it to show them what the Days are all about. Show them the importance of our holiday. Let ‘em have it.

Mushy stuff? My Dad says, waiting for our version of I love you. I never like the words. It’s so overused. So I simply say mushy stuff when I can't decide how to express my love for someone.

Always mushy stuff to you both, I say gently, letting them hug me. Only because I know hugs make them happy. Staring at these gigantic glass doors with the HH logo etched in each pane. Their words are running through my mind like an old record on skip. Use it. Use it. Use it. Can I really do this? Open the doors and enter into this world? Use it, I say to myself. I reached for the doors and opened them.

Chapter Two

Well, I will say this about Holiday High: it smells really good. It’s like they took all the smells of all the holidays and mixed them into one scent. Imagine peppermint, fireworks, pumpkin, and pine all mixed together; you would think it would be totally disgusting, but here, it works. As much as I hate to admit it, but the first thing I think is, This smells very nice. But I need to stop it. That’s how they get you. They make it feel like home, and then, they sneak in and get you. No way! Good smell or not, I won't let them suck me in.

I take in my surroundings. I’m in some sort of foyer. A giant throw rug is spread across the floor. Again, the HH logo is prominently featured in the center, this time in the school colors of red, green, and white. It sits in the middle, surrounded by chairs and couches that just call me for a nap. There is the biggest brick fireplace that you can imagine. Despite my not wanting to be here, I can't help but long for a winter day to sit near a fire burning.

Stop liking this place! I chastise myself. Looking down one way, I see a wooden hall, and down the other it’s the same. Before you hit the hallways, there are big staircases leading up to the second and third floors.

My timing seems to be perfect as the bell rings as soon as I stop looking around. I only have my backpack with me, as all my other stuff was shipped a week ago, and it’s supposed to be waiting for me in my room. Right now, I just feel like a lost girl looking up in the sky for her balloon that has floated away. I wish I could float away. But superpowers aren't real. But that would be cool, though. A private school for teens with superpowers, now, that would be something.

I really should have come a day earlier so I could have at least known where to go. But in my stubbornness, I wanted to stay in my normal life as long as I could. As I’m looking around admiring the tall windows (man, they really, really like this HH logo), I hear shoes clacking toward me and look to see who is headed my way. Coming towards me from one of the hallways is a tall slender man. He is dressed in a dark blue suit, with a dark blue tie, and a dark blue shirt. When he glides up to me, I notice he has pale white skin and the whitest hair I’ve ever seen, which is slicked back over the crown of his head. Also, he has a really pointy nose. Like a woodpecker, I think. I have to stifle a laugh.

This winsome figure makes his way closer to me. As he approaches, I start to feel a cold chill in the air. Not just any chill, it’s like your bones hurt, and your lower back is killing you kind of chill. He stops just short of knocking into me. That’s when I first notice his eyes—ice cold blue. Glacier blue. Being this close, the chill is unbearable. Who is this guy?

Hmmmmm, he says, looking me up and down with his frostbite eyes. Long brown hair, tall and slender. You have long arms, long legs, and those green eyes. You must be Arbor Day. He says this while calmly walking around me in a slowly calculated circle. The combination of the chill and his eyes is enough to make me forget all about any homey smells.

Yes, I say tentatively. Is that really my voice right now? Like a weak orphan asking for more. I’m Arbor… um…Arbor Day. I’m supposed to be going to school here now. Chill Man stops right in front of me. The cold seems to grow greater as he starts at the top of my head, slowly looking me down to my feet and back up again a second time.

You will come with me right now. He speaks in a calm, cold way. He turns and starts toward the stairway on the left side. I stay frozen. I’m too cold to actually calculate what I’m supposed to be doing. As he gets to the first step, he doesn't even turn towards me. You will follow me right now, he repeats. Something stirs in me and my feet start to unfreeze, and I move forward.

Chill Man slowly starts up the stairs, and I follow. I half expect the stairs to be covered in ice where his footfalls have landed on the carpet and for me to fall to my death after slipping on one of the deadly impressions. Actually, that may be for the best. I’m following an odd stranger upstairs to who knows where. When exactly did I outgrow stranger danger? I find my voice and speak up.

Um, who are you? I stammer as we make it to the top of the staircase. I’m expecting to stop, but we keep going.

I’m Jack Frost, Vice Principal of Holiday High, he says in that cold, slow way. A way that I imagine molasses would speak if it were alive. You will not ask any more questions until we arrive.

Arrive where? I blurt out.

YOU will not ask any more questions, he snaps, turning sharply around and staring me right in the eyes. The cold chill rises through me like a flash freeze, and I feel like I’m ice. You will learn right now that I’m one who you will respect here. You will learn to answer me and do what I say without question. You will learn that not everyone is excited about you being here.

The words prick at me like millions of pieces of small hail. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body. I oddly start to worry that I might catch a cold even though it’s still early September and seasonably warm outside.

Do you understand me now, Day? The way he says my last name sparks anger inside me. I feel some warmth coming back through the chill. I don’t like being talked down to. People thinking they are better than me without even knowing me is something I do not tolerate.

I understand, Frost, I say through cold, angry teeth.

Standing up straight, Frost breathes an exasperated sigh. You will continue to follow me now in silence. He turns back around, and we commence up the stairs. Thankful for the movement, I start to feel my arms and legs thaw out. We keep rising until we reach the top of the third set of stairs. There, we take a left, and he leads me down yet another hallway. Wooden walls and floors are broken up by doors on either side. Each door has a golden nameplate emblazoned with the name of a holiday—Valentine's Day, April Fool's’ Day, Memorial Day, and the list goes on. I start to gather we must be in the female wing of the dormitories.

You will reside here in this room, Frost says, stopping. I look to the right and left of me. I’m sandwiched between two other rooms. Groundhog’s Day, reads one, and Columbus Day, says the other. I find it interesting that I’m going to be stuck between a person who wants to see their shadow and another who supposedly discovered America.

You will go inside. You will find your uniform and put it on. You will wait until you hear the next bell ring dismissing the other students from the morning assembly. You will then make your way back downstairs, where you will be met by me, and I will take you to meet the Principal. You will not ask me any questions now. And with that, Frost turned and slowly made his way back down the hall. I’m so thankful that the cold went with him.

I stand there for a second, letting myself thaw out, and I admire the gold plate on my door.

Arbor Day is engraved in a fancy script. The marker is about a foot long and a foot wide, and it looks to be pure gold. In each corner, there is the HH logo is carved into to it. It’s then that it truly hits me; I live here. My true home may have been left behind yesterday as I flew here, but this, at least for eight long months, is going to be my home.

I reached for the handle and stepped inside. I’m instantly mad. Of course, it would be wonderful. In one corner, there is a large wooden wardrobe of beautiful wood. A desk sits next to it. On the desk is a set of red pens and green pens. There are four different notebooks, all of the different shades of red and green. Designed on the front of each one is one word: English, Math, Science, and History.

The far wall holds a dresser and a full-length mirror. Small chandeliers run along the ceiling, not giving off much light as individuals, but together they join to form a light that isn’t too bright but not too soft, like sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. Sitting between the bed and the wardrobe is an oversized chair that sits underneath the only window in the room. Then, I really notice the bed. Even from the doorway, I can tell it’s beyond comfortable. It has four posts, each carved into the design of a tree. The bed sits up so high that I’m given two small steps on which to climb up into it. Sitting beside the steps is my trunk. I eagerly head to it, desperate to open it up and get something from home. I’m about to bend down to open it when I notice something lying on the bed—my uniform.

Of course it looks great, I sigh to myself. The uniform consists of a nice pair of dark red slacks that feel like heaven, a starched white, long-sleeved shirt, a red and green sweater vest, dark green socks, and black shoes. I’m also given a green and red hair ribbon, which I assume is for accessorizing my hair. I get a sick feeling again as I realize that this is exactly the type of uniform that I would have selected.