by Mike Thayer
I took a step toward her and made a show of sniffing the air. I shook my head. “You’re excused, but I typically don’t even apologize unless it smells.”
Her jaw dropped as her sculpted eyebrows knit downward into a sharp V. I had apparently found the line I was searching for. Accusing someone like her of publicly passing gas typically had that effect.
“Is there a problem here?”
I recognized the voice from earlier in the day and turned to see Jaxson’s tall frame towering over me. The henchman had arrived.
My stomach twisted. The double day made the Braxlynns of the world toothless tigers. Her main weapon was long-term reputational damage. Any harm she could inflict was gone at the stroke of midnight. The Jaxsons were different, though. They could punch me in the face. That hurt no matter what day it was.
“Yeah, this little goblin hick put his arm around Sefina and then tried to take her phone,” Braxlynn spat.
“Is this true?” Jaxson took a step toward me, his adult-sized hands balled into fists.
I looked over to Sefina, who just stared at her pristinely white Vans, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
Braxlynn’s face slowly scrunched into a grimace, and she burst into tears. “Yes, it’s true. I was just sitting here with my girlfriends, and he came over and was like, ‘You girls are stupid.’ Then he snatched Sefina’s phone and my phone and said he was going to post something to all my twelve thousand, four hundred and thirty-three followers.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and dabbed her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. However good of an actor I thought I was, Braxlynn would put most Oscar winners to shame. This girl was over-the-top ridiculous.
“First off,” I said, holding up both hands, “I didn’t take anyone’s phone. I’m pretty sure Braxlynn has hers surgically attached to her palm anyway, so I’m not even sure how that would be possible.”
“You calling her a liar?” Jaxson said through gritted teeth.
I bobbed my head from side to side, considering. “Well, what she said was like twenty-five percent true.” I paused. “You look confused. Twenty-five percent is like a fraction. It means one out of four—”
Jaxson’s fist slammed into my stomach, dropping me to my knees. The world suddenly focused down to a single point as I gulped vainly for my next breath. I had been punched before, but this was different. This was closer to the time I misjudged a jump from my roof to the trampoline and landed belly-first onto the bars.
Jaxson leaned down over my crumpled body and whispered in my ear. “How about you stop creeping on my girlfriend and mosey on back to wherever you came from, Texas turd. I can’t believe I thought you were legit.”
I wheezed, struggling for air that wouldn’t come, until I was sure my lungs would implode. Nothing like being proven right about your judgment of someone’s character … by being blasted in the gut.
“What’s that, Texas turd?” Jaxson said, leaning even closer. “Were you gonna read my mind, too?”
I held up a hand for him to wait as air mercifully rushed back into my lungs. “I wanted to read your mind.”
“But let me guess. You don’t know how to read.” Jaxson laughed and looked around for anyone to acknowledge his sick burn.
I coughed several times and shook my head as I got to my feet, straightening with some difficulty. “Nah, the pages were blank.”
I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I knew it was going to cost me. But even with the guarantee of physical punishment, I couldn’t help myself. I rarely could on a discard day. I could see the gears wheeling inside Jaxson’s brain before his eyes flared wide. I clenched my fist, ready for him this time, although the lingering pain in my stomach told me it probably wouldn’t change the outcome.
Jaxson lunged but stopped short, frozen mid-charge. I flinched backward, narrowly avoiding his flailing punches and noticed someone had grabbed him from behind.
Jaxson looked back and growled. “Get off me, Zak.” He turned and pried himself away with some difficulty.
“Take it easy, man,” Zak said, placing a hand on Jaxson’s shoulder. “Crowd’s starting to gather. Just bring it down.” The kid spoke softly, like someone trying to convince the Hulk to turn back into Bruce Banner. He was big, maybe even a bit taller than Jaxson but not quite as beefy. His skin was dark, but I couldn’t place his ethnicity off hand. Jaxson shrugged off Zak’s hand just as the end-of-lunch bell blared from the school’s speakers. He turned to me and opened his mouth, but I spoke first.
“I know, I know.” I waved him off. I didn’t need the double day to know what he was going to say next. “This isn’t over. You’ll make me pay for this, blah, blah, blah.”
Jaxson hesitated before turning toward the school and storming back to class. Braxlynn followed him but glanced over her shoulder to flash a predatory smile that would make a rabid wolf whimper. The other girls gathered their things and left as well, but not before Sefina gave Zak an embarrassed smile and a little wave.
I looked on in silence for a moment before Zak finally spoke. “Dude, what did you do?”
“Oh, you know, just trying to make friends. Thanks, by the way.” I reached out my hand to Zak. “Danny Day.”
“Zak Ansah.” Zak’s large hand engulfed mine, his grip like iron. “I got to get to class, but you going to be okay?”
“Who, me?” I pointed to myself. “Man, that’s just how we say goodbye in Texas.”
Zak’s eyebrows shot up. “In that case, I will just see you later, then.”
“See you later, Zak.” I chuckled and waved to him as he joined the mob of students headed back into the school.
I reached for my notepad and took a pen from my backpack.
Follow-up: Look more into this Zak kid. Seems pretty legit. Jaxson is easily provoked and punches like Thanos with the Infinity Gauntlet. Do not anger on sticky day. BRAXLYNN, however, pulls the dummy’s strings. Alpha-level bully. Avoid at ALL costs.
I mulled over this last line. This was an important one. She knew that I’d have to be a fool before pulling anything like that again, and she was right. It would be a very long time before I went toe-to-toe with Braxlynn or Jaxson on a sticky day, probably forever. What she didn’t know was that only half my life was sticky days … and Discard Danny took pride in being a fool.
CHAPTER 4
BUS RIDE
(Discard Monday—Sept. 6th)
The clock ticked away the final seconds of the school day as I flipped through my notebook. I lightly touched my stomach and flinched back from the pain. Jaxson must have clipped a rib or something.
There were several markers that I used to measure how far I’d taken things on a discard day: nurse’s office, principal’s office, suspended, grounded, hospital, and police station. Despite the chaos of my first day at school, I was somehow on track to avoid all of them, which was somewhat disappointing. If the fight with Jaxson had escalated, I probably could have checked off three or four of them. I’d never gotten all in one day before, but I always thought it would be fun to try.
The bell rang, and kids scrambled to their backpacks and out the door. I made my way onto the bus, and although I recognized a few kids, it was mostly full of unfamiliar faces.
I passed Noah, who looked up from his phone and flashed a stupid grin when he saw me. “Hey, my wish came true,” Noah said, pointing to my stomach. “I heard you’re somehow worse at fighting than you are at Champions Royale … or reading minds.”
Word must have gotten around. I didn’t have a witty comeback, so I just shook my head and walked on by, Noah’s jittering laughter pelting me from behind. It was moments like this that had me racking my brain for the entire evening to develop the perfect comeback for the sticky day. I didn’t plan on being in this same situation tomorrow, however, so I just had to let that one go.
I sat on an empty bench and pulled out my notebook. I hadn’t taken down so much new information in my life. Usually it was just a few quick notes about ideas for clever things to say, questions on test
s, or embarrassing moments to avoid. I had to memorize as much of this as I could before I went to sleep and it all vanished. First thing tomorrow morning, I’d copy down everything I could remember in my sticky-day notebook.
“Hey, this seat taken?”
It was Zak. He wore neat, expensive clothes, held a violin case in one hand, and had a full-sized notebook in the other.
“It’s all yours,” I said, gesturing to the seat. “Unless you’re here as one of Jaxson’s assassins or something.”
Zak slipped his backpack off and slid his violin under the seat. “If I was an assassin, I would have taken the seat behind you.”
“Good point.” I shrugged. “Thanks, by the way, for holding Jaxson back.”
Zak waved a hand. “Don’t mention it. Although it looks like he still got you good.” Zak mimicked a punch to the stomach. “Dude, what were you doing rocking up to the Clique anyway?”
“The Clique?” I lifted an eyebrow.
“Braxlynn and her friends,” Zak said. “That’s what they call themselves.”
“The Clique, huh?” I said. “They like the popularity mafia or something?”
Zak weighed my comment. “That’s one way to put it. To be honest, a lot of them are pretty cool if you get them one-on-one. Most of them are in my neighborhood, and Sefina’s actually my next-door neighbor. Braxlynn does run the show, though, if you haven’t already noticed.”
“I noticed,” I said flatly. I flipped through my notebook and stopped on a term I had written down after the fight. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask someone. I heard Sefina say something about posting a picture to Stud Spuds before … well, before things went south.”
Zak winced and let out a little sigh. “I might as well just show you.” Zak took out his phone and opened up Instagram. “It’s a shame no one warned you before you went headfirst into this buzz saw. You cross paths with Braxlynn, on purpose or not, and you either end up as a Stud Spud or a Dud Spud.” Zak swiped to an account, which showed filtered pictures of Braxlynn, her friends, Jaxson, and others before switching to a second account.
“Oh dear,” I said. The latest post showed a picture of me, mouth open and eyes bulging, complete with a photoshopped cowboy hat, fake tears, and text bubble that read Everything’s bigger in Texas … especially the DUDS! The picture already had twenty comments.
“Sorry, man.” Zak patted me on the shoulder.
“Wow,” I said, rather impressed. “They must have taken that picture at the exact moment he punched me. They should be photographers for National Geographic or something. Can I see that?”
“Your funeral,” Zak said, handing me his phone. I flipped through more pictures and noticed the picture Braxlynn had taken in the morning of the girl she made into a pig. She was put in a side-by-side picture with Shrek. A heart was placed in the middle with the question Ship or Dip? The comments were not kind.
“Ship or dip?” I asked.
“Do you think they’d make a good couple,” Zak explained, rolling his eyes.
“Yikes,” I said, shaking my head and handing back the phone. “Pocatello’s a rough place, man. No one shuts these down?”
“What’s someone going to do?” Zak said. “One comes down, another takes its place. Welcome to Snake River Middle School. Getting on Duds your very first day is a tough break.”
“Meh.” I waved my hand. “Everyone will forget by tomorrow. Trust me.”
“I admire your optimism, but I’m not so sure you know how the internet works, or Jaxson for that matter. The kid can’t remember how to spell his last name, but he never seems to forget a grudge. You had a heck of a first day.”
“I aim to please,” I said. “I gotta ask, though. If Jaxson never forgets a grudge, then why’d you risk jumping in to grab him? Oh, and how did you even manage to grab him? That’s like wrestling a Russian circus bear … and not one of the nice ones. One of the old ones who turns on their trainer.”
Zak laughed. “Jaxson and I have a … mutual respect for one another.”
I stared at Zak, squinting my eyes. “You guys got in a fight before and you won, didn’t you?”
Zak shrugged modestly. “It’s not like you think. Jaxson’s wrestling team came to my judo dojo last year as kind of a cross-training exercise. Again, we respect each other’s skills.”
I pressed my lips together. If this Zak kid could take on a guy like Jaxson—and apparently refuse to brag about it—then he was one to keep an eye on as a potentially valuable ally.
The bus took a sharp turn, and Zak’s violin case slid out from under the seat into the center aisle.
“I bet that thing’s a pain in the rear,” I said, pointing. “I don’t see anyone else having to lug one of those around. You lose a bet or something?”
Zak pushed his violin case back under the seat. “I actually take private lessons.”
“Dude.” I shook my head in astonishment. “What don’t you do?”
“In discipline there is power to accomplish all things,” Zak recited. “Within rules there is freedom from everything that would stand in your way.”
“What, is that some ancient judo proverb or something?”
“No.” Zak chuckled. “That’s what my dad tells me every morning before I go to school.”
“Yikes,” I winced. “So your parents are pretty intense, then?”
“I guess so,” Zak said. “My dad was born in Ghana, Africa, so he had like absolutely nothing until they came here when he was little. Worked super hard and ended up playing college football for Oklahoma, where he met my mom. She was a concert violinist for the Tokyo Junior Orchestra Society when she was younger. They’re pretty accomplished people.”
I pulled out my notebook and scribbled down some of the information. “So when do you have time to do anything?”
Zak looked confused by the question. “Like in addition to all of the stuff I do?”
“No. Like when you do have time to just chill?”
“So you’re asking me when do I have time to do nothing?”
I opened my mouth to reply but stopped, considering his comment. “That’s a weird way of putting it, but yes. When do you have time to just sit there and like play video games or something?”
“I’m not much of a gamer,” Zak admitted.
“Well.” I put my hands on the seatback in front of us and stood. “I appreciate you saving my life at lunch and all, but I believe we’ve reached the end of our little conversation.” Zak’s face froze in an odd twist of confused surprise before I laughed and sat back down. “I’m just kidding. No one’s perfect, I guess.”
We continued chatting as the bus weaved through town dropping off students. Turned out his dad was one of the big bosses at the computer chip factory that my dad now worked at. He may have been a bit more straitlaced than my Houston friends, but I had a good feeling about Zak. The video game thing was fixable with the right amount of effort. I jotted a few more things down in my notebook.
Goal: Introduce Zak to the marvelous world of gaming.
Strange how most of my goals revolved around video games.
* * *
“I’m home,” I called as I opened the front door. I followed a narrow path between stacks of moving boxes to the kitchen, where my mom was busy unpacking the pots and pans.
“Oh, honey, how was your first day?”
“Just daa-andy.” I winced reflexively as I said the word, favoring my left side. Dang that Jaxson.
“Honey?” My mom’s face deepened with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The best answer to these kinds of questions was typically whatever would get me out of trouble until tomorrow morning, when everything would reset. Could it really be considered lying if it ended up never actually happening? The lack of physical markers with this particular injury gave me near-limitless options for an explanation. “I tripped over someone’s bag in class and fell into a desk. I’m fine.”
“You have all the grace of your father
,” my mom said, digging through a few boxes before pulling out a dishcloth that she filled with a handful of ice cubes from the freezer. “Well, put some ice on it, and be careful, please. I knew a kid once who tripped on an extension cord in the middle of class and split his head open on an overhead projector. Had slurred speech for a month.”
“Really?” I said, grabbing the towel and pressing it to my side.
“No,” my mom admitted, “but it could be true, and that’s all that matters.”
I chuckled. I could never tell if my mom was making a joke with stuff like this or some serious point. “I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow, Mom. Where are the twins?”
“They’ve been playing upstairs since lunchtime. Thank goodness for their fascination with large empty boxes. With them distracted, I’ve been able to get a lot more done than I thought I would. Now you go on upstairs and get settled. I’ll need your help later on with the rest of the unpacking.”
I gave my mom a kiss, worked my way back through the maze of boxes, and went upstairs. I popped my head into the twins’ room and immediately realized why my sisters had been so quiet all afternoon.
“Oh, that’s not good.” Black scribble marks covered the walls and carpet. I ducked into one of the big moving boxes and found Sarah and Alice asleep, dual-wielding uncapped permanent markers. They had apparently used each other as canvases as well. I pulled out my notebook.
Crisis: Find permanent markers … before the twins do.
I went to my room, tossed my backpack on the floor, and crashed onto my inflatable mattress. We didn’t know how long it was going to take to set up the beds, so we’d packed the camping gear in last. Not a bad discard day. I rolled over and pulled a blank sheet of paper from my backpack and began mapping out the school’s social scene as much as I could from memory. While anything I drew today—just like any notes I wrote down—would disappear overnight, I found the best way to retain a lot of information was to make it visual. I plotted out the various groups, drawing different-sized circles depending on their relative power, numbers, and influence. I then placed all the confirmed bullies and potential friends. By the end, I only needed to refer back to my notes a few times. When I had it all mapped out, I went on to memorizing my task lists, which I organized into different categories: follow-ups, embarrassments, comebacks, goals, deep thoughts, stockpiles, and crises. It was a method I’d devised with Dr. Donaldson to bring a bit of order to the double day.
