Thirteen Hours To You

by Annie Emerson

  A plastic surgeon from the fifties by the name of Maxwell Maltz said that it took a minimum of twenty-one days for an old mental image of oneself to dissipate, allowing a new image to take its place, whether it be positive or negative.

  The problem with Maltz’s hypothesis was that people ignored the word minimum and replaced it with definite. A definitive twenty-one days for a habit to be broken, or for an opinion of oneself to change; the breaking of a habit.

  Society treated the observations like a game of Russian roulette mixed with a side of Chinese whispers. They went back and forth between twenty-one and thirty days, dancing between numbers, seeing which one fit the best, ignoring the actual scientific observations. Over time, the societal belief settled. They irrevocably decided that twenty-one days was a hard fact. It wasn't.

  This was where myths were made, like the old adage that if enough people believed and repeated a belief, it must have been the gospel truth. The actual truth? It took two months to break a habit; to change the way you saw yourself. Approximately sixty-six days, dependent on each individual circumstance.

  You couldn’t predict behavior and give it a day where change was absolute. The kids at Adalita High made up their own facts about me. I heard them so often and to such a degree that it disabled my mind, and obscured the way I saw myself. All truth was taken, and their truth became my truth. I was the metaphorical twenty-one days. I believed it, they believed it. Everyone believed it. Fact.

  I had become all of the things that they told me I was. I saw myself in the black and white that they’d painted me with. They took away my colors, and I let them.

  It was Monday, August 6th, 2018. My first day at Everlee Falls High. The first day of sixty-six days, give or take. I would break the habit of letting my mistakes define me. I would introduce color back into my belief system and rebuild it, piece by piece, into the person I should have been before the lies invaded the truth.

  Today, I would step out as an unpainted canvas. All preconceived notions were welcomed, but this time I’d choose which ones to let in or kick the fuck out. I would be choosing me.

  “Radley, come get your pancakes, butterbean. If you’re not down in ten, I’ll take a nude selfie of my undercarriage and put it on blast. I know the lingo, kiddo. I know what putting things on blast means.”

  A loud whistle bounced off the wooden floorboards making me squeeze my eyes shut at the ferocity of its pitch.

  I groaned loud enough that my response could be heard, the injustice of it all communicated back down the stairs, ping-ponging my disagreement off the walls, floorboards, the crystal in the glass cabinets, and off the neighbor’s cow Clarence. I groaned enthusiastically to any surface and any ear that would listen. I should know better.

  “I have the entire senior class’s numbers in my contacts list. If you want these saggy titties to define senior year, feel free to take your time.”

  Gamma’s call was like the call of the wild. Loud. Unrelenting. You either showed up or risked her showing up. You never let Gamma show up. Ever.

  Milly will bury-ya was southern street. Forget Crips and Bloods. Gamma had her own postcode and most likely the codes to the nuclear missiles. If her whistles graduated to clapping, you knew you were at the point that you had to use your well scripted knowledge of all exit points.

  I threw my covers back; extraneous sounds of a non-morning person were followed by grunts and a thump as I got tangled in the sheets and hit the hard floorboards. “Fuck!”

  “Everything okay down there, Boo Bear?” Gamma stood leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, lips rolling into one another as she tried to keep from smiling.

  “Great,” I hissed, kicking the sheets off, freeing my ankles and pushing up on my hands as I forced myself into an upright position. “We need a rug,” I grumbled.

  “You need a coffee and some of Gamma’s buttermilk pancakes. How about you take a hot shower and wash the aggravation out of the way, huh? I’ll put the pancakes in the oven to keep them warm. We’ll start the morning off the right way. A do-over?”

  Leaning to the side, I rubbed my butt. “I don’t know, what if this is an omen?”

  She sighed as she walked into my bedroom, reaching out a hand to pull me up. “My sweet Radley, at some stage you know we have to talk, right?”

  My stomach dropped in dread. I knew it was inevitable, but I just wanted to ignore everything that had happened and move on. Someone always wanted to talk. Daddy, Wyatt, Gamma, Becca.

  I sucked in my bottom lip, rolling it back and forth as I thought. “I know we do. Just give me a little time, okay? Today’s a big day, and I have enough to think about. I have no idea how this is gonna go, Gamma. It’s like I said to Dad, what if I was the problem? If it was, then I’m no better off here. I wouldn’t know what to do, Gams.”

  She rested her warm hand on my shoulder, a gentle smile of understanding reflected on her face. “Your fears are valid, Sugarnuts. You’ve known nothing else and have few positive experiences to draw from. But one thing I know is, you weren’t the problem. You were a target and there’s a difference. I don’t know why, Radley, and it sets my heart on fire with rage knowing what you went through. Everlee Falls is gonna be your do-over, baby girl. I have a feeling your life will change in ways you never saw comin’.”

  I slid my hand over hers and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I hope you’re right. I don’t need more of the same. I couldn’t do it.”

  “No, honey bee, I know the people of this town and what’s more, I know you. Quite frankly, I can’t wait to see you get the good you deserve. Just try not to self-sabotage, my pickle whip. I know you were never given a chance and self-preservation is a natural instinct. I know bitin’ back is what you know, but please give your peers a chance, okay?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and exhaled on a sigh. “I’ll try.”

  She raised her hand and gently cupped my cheek. “I know you will, sweetheart. Now go shower. I’ll fry up some bacon and see you in fifteen. You need to leave in forty-five minutes.”

  More groaning. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be down soon.”

  She turned and headed down the stairs as I swung around to my dresser, pulling out fresh underwear and some ripped jean shorts. I fingered through my famous slogan tees, trying to choose something fitting for today’s mood.

  Smiling to myself as I touched the familiar black fabric, I pulled it out, lying it beside the rest of my outfit before I headed for the shower. Nerves rattled in my belly, the unknown circling around me like a thick black cloud.

  As I padded into the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror. “Today is day one of sixty-six, Radley. You have sixty-six days to form a better opinion of yourself. To break the habit. Two months to see yourself the way you should’ve seen yourself this whole time.”

  Running my hands down my face, I peeked at myself through my fingers. Just hang in and hang on, Mama’s voice ran through my mind. “I’m trying, Mama.”

  Forty minutes later, I was showered, dressed, fed, and twisting my hair up into a messy bun as I opened the door and threw myself into Betty. I brought the classic 67’ gas guzzler to life, her V8 engine purring beneath me. What was once Mama’s was now mine. Now I got to take care of her, and I always would.

  As I drove through the familiar streets of Everlee Falls, I watched the local bakery set up their outside chairs and tables. I eyed a rambunctious kid dragging their Mama down the sidewalk, trying to convince her to walk through the doors of Flannigan’s Toy Emporium and not through the doors of the school the next street down.

  I laughed to myself, a memory resurfacing to the forefront of my mind. It was of a five-year-old Radley who swore to Mama and Daddy that she “despetlee” needed the four-foot doll house that took pride of place in the stores front window.

  I never got the dollhouse. Instead, I’d convinced them I needed a “goldfoosh” from Riley’s Pet Supplies. The goldfish was cheaper, but Gamma’s cat, Milo, had gone fishing
, the evidence on the back porch as the heartless feline pawed at him, taunting him as his lifeless body lay victim, a chunk missing.

  I’d cried for all of ten minutes while Gamma rocked me on the front porch swing after dragging me away. She’d explained heaven and the rainbow bridge that God led all the animals down, even goldfoosh. She’d said they could eat whatever they wanted and play and play until they could play no more. I was happy with that, and drew rainbows for the rest of the day.

  Soon enough, I was turning into the school gates of Everlee Falls High, jolted out of my memories and into reality. Letting out a nervous breath, I found a parking space, turned off the engine and sat. I closed my eyes, hands gripped tight to the leather steering wheel as I concentrated on my breathing. After a good minute, I reopened them and looked into the rearview mirror.

  “I can do this, Betty. If not, I’ll see you in twenty.” I grabbed my backpack off the passenger seat and cracked the door open. Betty groaned; her hinges as stiff as I felt.

  I stepped out into the parking lot and looked toward the front steps of my new school. Kids stood around chatting, catching up, no doubt on everything they’d missed over the summer. I closed the door and took a step, readjusting my backpack on my shoulders.

  “It’s now or never,” I whispered.

  “Wait. What? Your name is honestly Boo?”

  This was where most conversations began for me. I had been standing at the front desk in the main office for five minutes, waiting on the office lady to print a sheet of my classes, timetable, and classroom numbers.

  Today wasn't any different. In fact, today was pretty unoriginal as days go. I was generally approached with a mixture of non-belief, twenty-one questions, head tilts or outright denials. People wanted my name not to be Boo even more than I did.

  This time it was the office administration lady, Mrs. Dyke. Like she should be questioning my name. What kind of fuckery was this? A Boo and a Dyke? You couldn’t write this stuff.

  Yet here she was, looking at me like there had to be a typo in the documents handed over from my previous school. I stood defiant, literally watching her sift through the folder of transcripts with a look of confusion set across her pursed lips, as I impatiently waited for her to come to the conclusion that I wasn’t lying. My arms were crossed, eyes narrowed, glaring in annoyance, my stare conveying the message that a Dyke shouldn’t be judging a Boo.

  “I’m sorry, dear. It’s just we had an incident last year involving a Richard Head, a new student transfer. You can imagine how that went,” she told me as she kept shuffling through my paperwork from Adalita. She continued on, “Yes, unsavory young man, thought forged paperwork planted at the front of his actual records would be funny.”

  She looked up at me through arched brows and a messy bun, strands of mousy blonde hair framing her face. She wore a tweed skirt and a cream blouse that had become untucked and as disheveled as her hair. It was only seven-thirty a.m. God knew how she looked by the end of the day.

  “I’m sure,” I sympathized. “Boys have a tendency to latch onto immaturity for as long as possible. I’m sure Mr. Dick Head was no different.”

  I couldn’t help it; she opened the door, and I walked right through it. I said I’d try, but sarcasm was my go-to, and it was going to take a minute to learn to rein it in.

  “I understand I walked right into that one, Miss Cooper, but let's try and control ourselves by keeping phallic shaped anatomy out of all future conversations,” she said with pinched brows.

  If I wasn't mistaken, Mrs. Dyke was a little unruly. Her lips twitched and her shoulders jumped with a hiccup of a chuckle. I was betting she’d been a handful of trouble back in the day.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Dyke. It’s like a reflex action. I’ll try to keep dicks out of all future conversations.”

  This time a little snort escaped from the back of her throat, but she kept her eyes on the paperwork, lips twitching. Just as I thought, unruly troublemaker.

  “Oh, here it is!” she declared to anyone within a ten-mile radius. Louder for people in the back, Mrs. Dyke. “You are indeed a Boo. Miss Boo Radley Cooper, Adalita High, Pennsylvania, age seventeen.” She looked up at me to clarify. “Is that what you’d like to be listed as on your class documents and such?”

  “No!” I practically yelled in panicked reply. “I’m sorry. I really don’t want that name to be on the teacher's class roll. The last thing I want is to be called Boo by my teachers. In public. I don’t need that,” I stammered. “I prefer to be listed as Radley.”

  I looked at her with pleading eyes. I felt desperate. I just wanted to have as normal a senior year as I could. I just want to be normal.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath as I tried to wrangle my emotions and control my anxiety. I put one pleading hand on the file as I met Mrs. Dykes concerned gaze. “I go by Radley. Just Radley.”

  Mrs. Dyke's attention moved behind me, a smile of recognition feathered over her flustered face as a male voice spoke, “Well, if I ever happen to come across you again, if there’s ever a need to address you, which I’m sure there will be, I’ll call you Boo. I’m sure your mother didn’t give you that name just so others could half-ass it by calling you Radley.”

  My shoulders stiffened. My head cocked to the side. A deep breath hitched and awoke every nerve within my body. No way, no fucking way. Adjusting my backpack for the umpteenth time, I rolled my shoulders and stood to my full confidant height. All five-foot-four inches of me.

  Mrs. Dyke covered my hand and winked. “I understand. Just give me five minutes, and Miss Stella will fix your name on all class documents.” She removed her hand from mine and straightened up, adjusting her messy bangs as she let out a sigh of relief. “Miss Stella will reprint this for you, and you’ll be good to go.”

  I nodded to Mrs. Dyke and slowly turned to face the voice I never thought I’d hear again. There he was. Six foot three inches of arrogance. Meekai.

  If his smugness could light up the sky, the whole world would be on fire. The jerk threw my words back at me. The funny thing was it was word for word. He remembered and it made me smile. What’s worse, my heart faltered, dropping its steady beat. It tripped, stuttered and screamed at me. Breath in, breath out, Radley.

  “Radley. She has a name.” He stood there, dark raven hair, chocolate molten eyes, blue worn jeans and combat boots. A chain attached to his belt that led to his pocket, I wondered if it attached itself to a key or a wallet. I wondered what the tattoo that peeked out the top of his black Henley said, and what did the sparrow on his right hand mean?

  Back in Adalita, he wasn’t so . . . intimidating. He was lit by the light of a full moon then. Now he was lit by the fluorescent lights of the school office, and the morning sun that blistered, blinding me as its sharp rays shone through the large arched windows. Now I had the full picture. The unedited version.

  “Radley?” another voice questioned. I moved my eyes to see a guy standing next to Meekai, perfectly mussed dirty-blond hair and just as dangerously intimidating.

  Before any more questions could be asked, Mrs. Dyke broke the stare down. “Oh, good, all done.” She clicked her tongue and shuffled over to Miss Stella who waved the reprinted document above her head. “Here you go, Miss Cooper. You’re all se–” She stopped mid speech.

  “Ahh, Mr. Beckett and Mr. Lannister. I was positive I only asked for one student to come and show Miss Cooper around the school and to her morning classes.”

  Smirk. If I could explain Meekai in one word. Smirk. It dripped down his face and left a trail of I always get my way.

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Dyke, I just happened to be walking by with Lincoln and thought maybe he could use a hand. I mean the halls of this school can be a veritable maze. I don’t want anyone getting lost on their first day. Plus, I could use a refresher myself. It’s been a year since I’ve walked these halls. I don’t want to end up in the girl’s locker room on my way to English.”

  He looked me up and down, a sm
ile that no doubt could manipulate its way out of almost anything lingered on his lips. I flicked my attention away from both boys and turned back to Mrs. Dyke.

  “I’m sure I’ll work it out, Mrs. Dyke.”

  I felt a warm body pull up alongside me as I argued my point, a big hand reaching out for my class list and paperwork. I tried to snatch it away but instead fell into the baby blues of the other boy.

  “Hey,” he greeted with a warm smile. “My name’s Linc. I’m sure you’ll do just fine working out where you need to be, but I was asked by Mrs. Dyke to show you around.” He lifted his chin towards the door and waved the papers around. “It won’t take ten minutes, and if you don’t need me, I’ll leave you to navigate yourself around. We can drop this loser, too,” he laughed, hooking his thumb toward Meekai whose smile was gone, a death glare aimed at Mr. baby blues.

  I’d never been in this position before. I had three sets of eyes on me, each with a different agenda. Mrs. Dykes’ agenda was pure. Baby blues, he seemed sweet, but Meekai? He sent a whole world of confusion running through my body.

  The only place I knew to go was defense mode. Everyone was the enemy. No one was this nice unless there was something in it for them, something that historically never worked in my favor. But I’d said I would try. Trust someone until you can’t.

  “Sure,” I smiled. “I’d love for you to show me around. That would be awesome, actually.”

  See? I could do this. I could use positive adjectives and even throw in a smile here and there. Maybe one day, I’d even show teeth.

  “Cool,” he replied as he removed my backpack from my aching shoulder.

  “You don't have to do that,” I told him. “I’m capable of carrying my backpack.” I reached out to him but he shrugged me away. There was no argument. He was carrying it.

  “Linc.” Meekai’s voice trailed behind us as we set off down the hallway. “Radley, is an independent woman. Trust me, she doesn’t need help. Not even a little bit.”

  Blue-eyed boy laughed. “Is there something I’m missing here? Do you two know each other?”