by Mike Thayer
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Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
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To my wife, Jill.
Oh, that I had a double day to fix the times I got it wrong and to relive the times I got it right.
INTRODUCTION
My name is Danny Day. I’ve ditched school 346 times, and I still have perfect attendance. I broke my leg last week, but I don’t have a cast. I never study for a test or quiz until I’ve seen what’s on it. I’ve played more than four thousand hours of video games in the past three years, and yet my parents have hardly seen me play. How is this all possible, you ask? Well, the answer is pretty simple: I live every day twice.
Yeah, that’s right. Since my birth, some eleven and a half years ago, I’ve been living every day twice. Well … eleven and a half calendar years, that is. To me it’s been twice that long, so, I guess, in a way I’m actually twenty-three. That’s also probably the only way in which I’m twenty-three, though. Going through elementary school twice doesn’t exactly make you an adult.
The first time I go through a day, it’s a “discard day.” It’s kind of like a practice run. Nothing I say or do ever sticks. At the end of the day, I go to bed, wake up, and—poof—everything gets reset, everything except my memory, that is. Most of the time that’s a pretty cool thing. I get to do all sorts of stuff without any lasting consequences. My standard is just faking sick and playing video games all day, but I do enjoy my fair share of pranks and stunts. Just last week I broke my record for most candy bars eaten in a day (seventeen, thank you very much), I “borrowed” my parents’ car for an evening and did doughnuts in the church parking lot, and I jumped off the garage roof to test my bedsheet parachute (did I mention I recently broke my leg?).
The second time I go through a day is the “sticky day.” That’s when everything is normal, just like it is for everyone else in the world. That’s when I play for keeps, and my actions and their consequences stick. As you could probably guess, “Sticky Day” Danny is very different from “Discard Day” Danny. Sticky Danny is on time to school, does his chores, doesn’t draw attention, eats a fraction of the junk food, and doesn’t jump off garages.
It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, though. Take today and tomorrow, for example. Instead of spending two days driving behind a moving truck from Houston to Idaho, I get to spend four days driving behind a moving truck from Houston to Idaho. That’s when the double day becomes a curse: when I’m caught in an unpleasant situation and I can’t figure a way to weasel out of it. You ever had the stomach flu, where you’re either sitting on or kneeling next to the toilet? Well, I have. Nothing quite like getting another crack at one of those days. Not to mention that when I was little, my parents thought I was insane. Heck, I thought I was insane, always bringing up conversations and events that no one seemed to remember. It took a pretty unconventional therapist in the end to help me work through it all and convince my parents I wasn’t nuts. They still don’t know exactly what’s going on, and ever since I learned to play things cool on my sticky days, they seem happy not knowing. Dr. Donaldson was a good dude, and leaving him behind in Texas was no small sacrifice.
Now, if you’re wondering why all of this happens, then that makes two of us. I’ve been reading a lot of comics lately to see how superheroes get their powers, and I’ve ruled out more than 150 different ways. As far as I can tell, I’m not the product of some scientific experiment gone wrong, I was never caught in a radioactive laboratory explosion, and I have never been exposed to an alien life-form. The only thing I can point to is my birthday: February 22 at 2:22 a.m. In case you were wondering that’s 2/22 at 2:22 a.m. I’m not positive, but I’d be willing to bet it was also on the twenty-two-second mark. Anyway, no matter how it happens, or why it happens, just trust me. It happens.
I’m Danny Day, and I live every day twice.
CHAPTER 1
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
(Discard Monday—Sept. 6th)
“Snake River Middle School.” I read the brown-and-white marquee as we drove up to my new school. “Home of the Spuds.”
“This is gonna be great,” my dad said, grabbing me by the shoulders to give me a little fatherly shake of encouragement. He had a habit of hamming it up like this whenever things got difficult. “Your first day as a Spud.”
“I can now die a happy man,” I muttered, watching as row after row of kids filed out of three black-and-yellow buses and funneled toward the school entrance. The school year had started a couple of weeks ago, so not only would I not know anyone, but I was going to have to play catch-up. Not that I couldn’t do that superhumanly fast, it just meant I was probably going to have to spend more discard days at school for the next little while instead of staying home and playing video games. Never a good prospect.
My dad scrunched his face. “That’s not like you, son. This is sixth grade. You’re in middle school now. Finally moving up to the big leagues, am I right? I thought you were excited for school.”
“Kinda depends on the day, Dad,” I said.
“I get it,” my dad said, patting me on the knee. “Change is hard. It’s a new school with new kids and teachers, but just think of it as an adventure. Put on a brave face, kiddo. You never get a second chance to make a first impression.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’d be surprised.”
My dad glanced down at his smartwatch, and his eyes went wide. “Speaking of which, I don’t want to be late myself. I gotta jet. Remember, you’re taking the bus home.”
I nodded, grabbed my backpack, and exited the car. I was almost to the front door of the school when I heard my dad’s voice again.
“Love you, buddy!”
A few girls in front of me snickered as I turned around and waved at my dad. I pulled out a pocket-sized notebook with the words Discard Day Do-Overs written across the front in black marker and made a quick note for the sticky day.
Embarrassment: Prevent Dad from shouting “Love you, buddy” in front of the whole school
If I had a dollar for every time I had to undo an embarrassing comment from my dad, I could buy my own private island and a helicopter to take me there. That said, it was impossible to prevent them all, even with a discard day to prepare. My dad’s ability to generate cringe-worthy moments in public was a force of nature. You couldn’t stop it; you just prepped all you could, laid low, and hoped for the best.
I pinballed my way through the press of students, running into no fewer than five bulging backpacks on my way to the front desk. I wasn’t sure what these kids were toting around, but half of them looked about ready to climb Mt. Everest. The admin looked my name up on the computer and gave me a map of the school, circling my locker and classroom locations with a yellow highlighter. I studied the map before rejoining the crowd, eventually catching the right stream of students to whisk me away in the direction of my first-period class. Breaking free of the swift current of kids to visit my locker was a lost cause and would probably have to wait unti
l lunch.
Classroom 013 came into view, and I made my exit, slipping between two towering boys, one with dark whiskers speckling his jawline. I definitely wasn’t in elementary school anymore. I walked in and stood at the front of the classroom, observing the typical pre-class chaos. Kids talked, laughed, showed each other their phones, and imitated dance emotes I recognized from the video game Warcraft of Empires. To be honest, it wasn’t really all that different from my Texas school: columns of desks in the middle of the room, floor-to-ceiling wooden cabinets at the back, a bank of windows to the right looking out over nearby farmland, and pictures of world-famous landmarks and historical events covering any remaining wall space. I turned to see a poster on the door of a cartoon horse holding hands with a smiling potato above the words Be a stud, befriend a spud. So I guess that was different.
I pulled out my notebook and surveyed the class. I’d never be this obvious about it on a sticky day, but I needed to start mapping out potential friends and spotting bullies. When you went to school for twice as long as anyone else in my grade (with the exception of maybe Bruiser Bigelow, who’d been held back like three times), you had a better feel than most kids for how school worked. First order of business would be to bucket them into stereotypes: jock, nerd, VSCO girl, and so on. These were the faces they showed the world, but I’d spent enough discard days spying on and teasing reactions out of people to know that everyone had a second face. Everyone. Today wasn’t for second faces, however. It was the initial assessment. Plenty of discard days ahead to see who these people really were. I studied the students and started jotting down a few notes.
Follow-up: Middle of classroom. Boy with long brown hair wearing a Mario Bros. shirt and a Zelda symbol wristband. Playing portable game on handheld console, NOT phone. Video game purist. Gamer and proud of it. Definite potential friend.
Follow-up: Tall kid in front. Sitting on top of desk. Black hair. Expensive haircut. Dressed like an adult (no graphics or characters on shirt), brand-new shoes, laughing at own jokes while others force their laughs around him. Appears athletic. Name most likely has an “x” in it even if it doesn’t need it (e.g., Knox, Maddox, Paxton) or has a quarterbacky sound like Peyton, Carson, or Colt. In position of social power. Cool kid. Jock. Potential alpha bully.
Follow-up: Pale girl with dark hair in back corner of room. Has hood on with panda ears. She has a sketch notebook open and is staring longingly out the window. 95% chance she is drawing manga characters. Will most likely keep to herself. Anime geek. Nonthreatening.
Follow-up: Pretty girl toward the back left. Styled blond hair. Sporting Kardashian-level makeup. Currently taking selfies with one hand and has Starbucks cup in the other. Looks disinterested in those around her. Could be top of the social ladder.
Follow-up: Tan boy near the back with parted and slicked hair. Work boots, jeans, pearl-snap shirt. Quiet, but has easygoing smile. One of the only kids not looking at a phone. Farmer of some type. Will most likely know more about potatoes than his peers.
I made several more notes before the final bell rang. The students all scrambled to their desks, and I pocketed my notebook, knowing that I’d have a few more prime chances in the day to continue mapping out the social scene: lunch, time in the halls between classes, and on the bus.
“Good morning, my bright-eyed social studies students,” Mrs. Marlow announced from her desk at the front of the classroom as she clapped three times. She was about my mom’s age with a pleasant, round face and long, curly, black hair.
“Good morning, Mrs. Marlow,” the class said, followed by three loud claps. I guess that was a thing here.
“Class, we have a new … Braxlynn, please put your phone away,” Mrs. Marlow said craning her neck and pointing to the blond girl in the back of the room.
Braxlynn casually swiped across her phone screen as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
“Braxlynn, did you hear me?” Mrs. Marlow said, her soft voice straining to sound stern.
Braxlynn rolled her eyes without looking up from her phone. “Oh my gosh, yes. You don’t need to get all salty.”
Mrs. Marlow waited patiently for Braxlynn to finish up and finally put her phone away. “Class, this is Daniel Day. His family just moved to Poky. Daniel, would like to tell us some more about yourself?”
“Howdy, I’m Danny,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m from just outside of Conroe, Texas, which is just outside of Houston. I like video games and Ping-Pong, and I’ve never seen snow.”
“Oh, well, we’ll be sure to scratch that last one off your list come winter, won’t we, class?” Mrs. Marlow said with a white smile.
“Oh, and I can read people’s minds,” I added.
“You what?” Mrs. Marlow crinkled her nose.
“I know it seems weird, but I can one hundred percent read people’s minds,” I said, turning from Mrs. Marlow to the students. “Dead serious.”
A few kids laughed, and Mrs. Marlow’s face was a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and curiosity, but she looked like she was going to humor me and allow it. Any time I did one of these weird discard-day stunts, it always provoked a reaction, and provoking reactions was one of my favorite discard-day pastimes. If you want to find out how an unfamiliar machine works, you press its buttons, twist its dials, and turn its knobs. You want to quickly find out what makes a person tick, you do the exact same thing. Discard Danny was a wizard at pushing people’s buttons.
A few students raised their hands, while the gamer kid with the Mario shirt just blurted, “Oh yeah, Professor X, then what am I thinking?”
“I will take the Professor X comment as a compliment,” I said before turning to address the other three students with their hands up. “I just need you to tell me your name and then write a phrase on a piece of paper, and I’ll guess what you wrote,” I responded coolly.
The gamer kid smirked. “My name’s Noah.”
The other three students told me their names as they scribbled something down, covering it with their hands. I gestured to Noah, who rolled his eyes and wrote something as well.
“Okay, Professor X. What’d we write?” Noah said, folding his arms across his chest.
I looked to the ceiling and rubbed my chin. It didn’t really matter what I said at this point as long as I got to see what they wrote so I could accurately guess it on the sticky day, but passing up an opportunity like this to insult a loudmouth like Noah would be criminal.
“Well, Amy wrote down that you smell like a rotten potato. Shar wrote down that you look like a rotten potato. And Carrie wrote down that you still play with Mr. Potato Head. You wrote down that your favorite video game is secretly Tinker Bell’s Magical Wardrobe. I’m a little disappointed that yours didn’t have anything to do with potatoes, but waddaya gonna do?”
Noah’s face went as red as the Mario Bros. hat logo on his shirt, and the air seemed to rush out of the classroom. Poorly restrained giggling bubbled up from the silence. I took out my notebook and scribbled down which kids snickered and which looked like they wanted to punch me in the nose.
The tall athletic kid in the front row burst out in a foghorn of laughter. “This Texas kid’s savage!”
“Jaxson, quiet down please,” Mrs. Marlow said, her voice too gentle to actually sound threatening. “And, Danny, that was an extremely … odd and unkind thing to say. That’s not how we behave here at Snake River Middle School.”
“Yeah, there’s gonna be a lot of that from time to time,” I muttered.
“Please take a seat.” Mrs. Marlow gestured to an empty desk at the back of the classroom.
Jaxson held out his hand for a five as I walked past. “Sick burn, man.”
I reluctantly slapped hands with Jaxson as I made my way to my desk, which happened to be next to Braxlynn’s. Even though Jaxson acted like my new best friend, I had impressed him by being a complete jerk to Noah. Birds of a feather flocking together and all, my initial impressions of him that I had jotted down in my notebook were probably
pretty accurate.
I sat down at my desk and glanced over at Braxlynn, who already had her phone back out on her lap. I watched as she quickly snapped a photo of another student, a heavyset girl a few rows ahead, and deftly used a filter to add pig ears and a tail before getting to work on a caption. A crumpled piece of paper beaned me in the head. I looked over to see Noah brush his hair away from his face, revealing a knotted scowl. I picked up the paper and unfolded it.
You’re Texas accent makes you sound like a dumb cowboy
I waved to Noah before copying the sentence (including the spelling error) into my notebook. I whispered to a few people for the three students to pass me their papers so I could see what they had actually written down. When I got the notes, I recorded what was written and put my notebook away.
The day was only just getting started, and I’d already found a couple of real winners here at Snake River. That said, I knew better than anyone that first impressions could be misleading. Sometimes the second face that people hid looked polar opposite to the one they showed. A lot of the time, though, it was hidden because it was just an even darker version. I was committed to spending the rest of the day discovering if Noah actually was a punk, Jaxson was a jerk, and Braxlynn was a snot. And if they were and I made a few enemies, then it really didn’t matter, because come tomorrow morning this day would start all over, and no one would remember a thing … except for me, of course.
CHAPTER 2
SPUDMASTERFLEX
(Discard Monday—Sept. 6th)
I slid my cream-colored plastic lunch tray across the metal counter and loaded up with a corn dog, sliced peaches, green peas, and Tater Tots. The lunch lady handed me a small carton of chocolate milk, and I turned to scan the lunchroom. There was no better time in the entire day to see who was who than during lunch. After spending more than a decade in elementary school, I knew there were always three basic groups: kids who didn’t get made fun of for what they liked (typically the sporty boys and the fashionable girls), kids who got made fun of for what they liked (those would be the nerds), and kids who didn’t care about the school social scene (those are your hunters, farmers, and outdoorsy types). The middle category was the most broad and was proudly on display as I looked for an interesting place to sit.
