by Mike Thayer
After feeling pretty confident about all the quiz material, I finished the rest of my discard-day routine by stockpiling sports scores, news, and even a bit of celebrity gossip. Sticky Danny wasn’t one for drawing too much attention with ultra-bold predictions (a caution from Dr. Donaldson), but I still liked to go into the day armed with a bit of info in case it came in handy. I checked my notes and added a quick Google search on Double Dragon. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. before all my duties were done, which left two hours for video games. I turned off the lights, sat back on my bed, and pulled out my phone, not bothering to slip into my pajamas. I also didn’t have to brush my teeth or floss, which was a plus.
I lost myself in the game. I had a couple of quick rounds with unlucky drop locations but managed to crack the top five on three different occasions before my five-minute alarm buzzed on my phone: 11:55 p.m. The discard day was almost up. I stashed my phone in my pocket and made my way downstairs to the fridge. Capping my discard days off with a midnight snack was a tradition I tried to keep as often as I could.
When I got to the kitchen, I froze. My dad sat at the table, the light from his open work laptop illuminating his sleeping body in a pale glow. His head lolled to one side as he breathed heavily in the darkness. Catching my dad like this was about as surprising as it would have been for my dad to catch me playing video games at 11:55 p.m.
“Dad, what are you doing?” I said, jostling him on the shoulder.
“Wha-what?” My dad startled awake, and I had to steady him to keep him from falling out of his chair. “Danny? What are you doing up?” My dad rubbed his eyes and squinted at the clock on the wall.
“Getting a drink.” Of Dr Pepper. “Sorry to wake you, Dad. You looked super comfortable in that hard chair.”
My dad winced as he rolled his neck from side to side. “Yeah, I’m going to be feeling that one for a while. Get your drink and go off to bed, buddy.”
I paused a moment and glanced at his laptop screen. The page was filled with row after row of Ls. He must have fallen asleep with his hands on the keyboard. Beyond being tired, my dad also didn’t notice that I’d come downstairs to get a drink in my school clothes. “You okay, Dad?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just trying to get ahead of something.” My dad reached over and closed his laptop. “Let’s go to bed, son.”
“Yeah, okay.” I reached for my discard-day notebook to write something down, but I’d left it upstairs in my room, and before I could get it, the discard day was done.
CHAPTER 10
OATMEAL RAISIN
(Sticky Tuesday—Sept. 7th)
Mr. Wilding peered down his sharp ski slope of a nose. “Class, who knows how to solve a fraction divided by another fraction? Take two-fifths divided by four-ninths. Nobody?”
I waited to give the answer. No use giving something away that could earn you extra quiz points.
“It was on page one of your reading. Page one. This is preposterous … Look, I will give five bonus points on your next quiz to whoever can tell me the answer. Anyone?”
I looked at Zak and gave him a sly smirk before raising my hand. “I believe you multiply the first fraction by the reciprocal of the second.”
Mr. Wilding flinched, like my answer had just given him a mild electric shock. Zak gave me an impressed nod.
“Why, yes, actually. That’s correct. Very good. David, is it?” Mr. Wilding walked over to his desk to write my name down.
“Daniel, sir.” I played up my Texas accent. Kids made fun of the accent, but the adults seemed to like it. I was off to a great start. I’d aced my first- and third-period tests and now nabbed the math quiz bonus points. Doing whatever I wanted on a discard day was awesome, but really pulling off a flawlessly executed sticky day had a satisfaction all its own.
After another twenty minutes, the bell rang, and a mad rush of students fled toward the lunchroom. I made my way to the door, but paused at the sound of Mr. Wilding’s voice.
“A moment, please, Daniel, if I could.”
I couldn’t risk missing the Brown Bag Game, but Sticky Danny wasn’t about to blow off a teacher. I had a few minutes.
“Yes, Mr. Wilding?” I turned and looked expectantly back at my math teacher.
“That was some very fine work today. Very impressive, especially for a new student. How do you find the curriculum here in Idaho compared to Texas?”
I could see he was looking for affirmation more than the truth, so I gave him what he wanted. “Oh, just as good if not better. Very pleased to be here.”
Mr. Wilding gave a satisfactory nod. “Great to hear. We work hard up here to present engaging material. Gotta think differently with this rising generation, you know. You’re used to instant gratification. High-speed internet, computers in the palm of your hand, binge-watching TV shows.”
“Uh-huh.” I stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to say something else before speaking up. “Well, I need to be getting to lunch now, Mr. Wilding. Don’t want to miss out on those Tater Tots.”
“Already converted you, did we?” He gave a nasally, snorting laugh. “You know, most folks think the Tater Tot was invented in Oregon, but they’d be wrong. My grandfather was making those over in Inkom before the Second World War.”
“I’d love to hear more about that someday,” I said, inching for the door.
“Ah, yes. Another time, then. I always eat lunch in my office if you ever want to hear the whole story.” Mr. Wilding pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“All righty, Mr. Wilding,” I said.
“Well, okay. Run along to lunch. Again, great work today.”
Odd dude, I thought as I rushed out the door and made my way to the vending machines. Even though I typically made better dietary decisions during sticky-day lunch, I still opted for the pink cookie and soda. Partly because I was now running behind and partly because I was a bit superstitious when it came to pulling off stuff like this. No need to unnecessarily upset the balance of the cosmos by getting a plate of Tater Tots instead of a giant sugar cookie.
I turned the corner to the commons area outside the lunchroom and skidded to an abrupt stop. Not ten feet in front me, Jaxson and two of his goon friends stood at the vending machines, surrounding a kid in tan slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt who came up to Jaxson’s armpit. Braxlynn stood off to the side, her face in her phone.
I froze, not even daring to swallow, praying I hadn’t drawn too much attention when I’d clumsily thrown on the brakes. I should have just kept making my way to the lunchroom, but it was like I was in Jurassic Park and I didn’t want the T-Rex to see me. If I didn’t make any sudden movements, they’d never even notice I was there.
“C’mon, Wallace,” Jaxson said, walking right up into the littler kid’s face. “You’re saying you can’t spot us a few bucks for lunch? Unless you’re telling me you don’t want to be cool with us. Unless you’re telling me you’re some kind of dud.”
Braxlynn looked up as if Jaxson’s final word was some sort of hypnotic command phrase. She swiped at her screen a few times, most likely queuing up her camera. Wallace looked around with all the nervous skittishness of a cornered mouse trying to avoid becoming cat food. “Nah, yeah, we’re cool. No worries, guys. I got you.” He shakily reached into his pocket to take out his wallet.
“My man.” Jaxson laughed and roughly shook Wallace by the shoulder as Braxlynn rolled her eyes and returned to her phone.
If I were Zak, this would be a different story. I’d have no problem stepping in and rescuing this poor kid. As I tried to will my body to do anything but stand there like a statue, one thing became abundantly clear: I was not Zak.
I watched as Wallace shelled out a few bucks to Jaxson and his friends. They each took their turn buying something, and it was only from some primitive survival instinct that I was able to lower my head and step past them unnoticed as they walked by. I took a couple of deep breaths before I put my money in and punched the numbers on the vending machine.
&
nbsp; “Crisis avert— What the crud … no!” I banged on the glass as I saw an oatmeal raisin cookie spiral out and thunk into the retrieval bin. I was so distracted I’d punched the wrong item number. I let out a disgruntled growl as I collected my garbage cookie and reached into my pockets for more money. I pulled out two dollars but stopped just shy of inserting them into the machine. Two bucks … “The Brown Bag Game!”
I raced to the lunchroom, swimming past kids as I made my way to the gamers’ tables. I could already hear Noah hurling insults at the other gamers. I was too late.
“You gotta be kidding me.” I slapped a hand to my forehead and emitted a pained grumble that was thankfully drowned out by the lunchroom chatter. My perfect chance to catch Noah cheating had gone up in a smoke of cowardice.
The day had started out so well: acing quizzes, getting bonus points in math. I looked down at my hand, now balled into a fist of frustration, and saw yet another victim of this debacle: the oatmeal cookie. I relaxed my grip, but the damage had been done. As if that cookie wasn’t enough of an abomination already. I shook my head. Some days you thought life was handing you a soft, delicious, pink sugar cookie, and all you got left with was a lumpy, mangled oatmeal-raisin mush. I didn’t know if I was more mad at myself for freezing up at the vending machines, at Mr. Wilding for delaying me, or at Jaxson, Braxlynn, and Noah for being turds. I did know a few things, though. I knew I was incredibly mad, I knew tomorrow wasn’t a sticky day, and I knew that Snake River Middle School was about to see exactly what Discard Danny was capable of.
CHAPTER 11
EMERGENCY BOX
(Discard Wednesday—Sept. 8th)
“Danny, you’re going to be late for the bus,” my dad yelled upstairs. He seemed a little less pleasant than usual this morning.
“I’m coming.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out an old pencil box with the words Discard Day Emergency Box scrawled across the lid in faded marker. I popped it open and did one final check of the contents. It was all there. I had never used every item in one day, but I didn’t want to leave behind a single thing. You were just never quite sure what opportunities would present themselves.
I put the emergency box back into my backpack and sprinted for the door, giving my mom a kiss and my dad a hug, and poking my sisters in the bellies on my way out the door.
I boarded the half-filled bus and found Freddie sitting by herself close to the front. Zak was toward the back but already had a few other kids sitting next to him, so I gave him a wave and plopped down next to Freddie. The green leather seat had clashing black duct tape running across a hole on the backrest. Freddie looked surprised at my choice in bus companions but gladly scooted over to make a bit more room.
“Hey there, Texcalibur,” she said, grinning. “Any wild predictions or mind-reading tricks today?”
I had gone back over to the Roost during the sticky day afternoon, but without the evidence of Noah’s cheating or even the screenshots to cause suspicion, the visit was much less eventful than before. However disappointed I had been at school, I just felt too bad for Freddie to ditch out on her when she’d been counting on me coming over.
I massaged my temples and exaggerated a squint. “I think I wore out my telepathic powers for a bit. I’m just a normal kid today, I’m afraid.”
Freddie shrugged. “Too bad. You’re gonna be way less fun as a normal person.”
I smiled. “Oh, you might be surprised. You gonna play in the Brown Bag Game today?”
“No”—Freddie cast her eyes to the floor—“I don’t have the money today. If I give up milk at lunch for the next week or so I should be able to get another shot.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” I said, handing it to her. It was a good chunk of my personal savings, but it wasn’t like I was actually giving it up. Plus, sometimes a prank of good fortune was as fun to do on a discard day as a mischievous prank … sometimes.
Freddie’s mouth fell open as she dumbly held the money up. “I can’t take this.”
I shook my head. “You’re not taking it—I’m giving it. Seriously. Keep it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
For a moment, I thought Freddie was going to tear up right there in the middle of the bus. An unfortunately familiar voice broke up the moment.
“Oh no, Freddie. You have to sell the family’s prized cow or something?” Noah stood in the aisle, mock concern on his face, before turning around to the rest of the students on the bus. “I’m shocked she didn’t come back with magic beans. Check your wallets, everyone, looks like we have a pickpocket on the bus!”
A few kids laughed, but most of them just ignored Noah, probably used to his loud outbursts.
“Stuff it, Noah,” I shot back.
Noah froze then slowly turned to stare at me. “What, are you like her boyfriend or something, Professor Tex? Moving pretty fast there, don’t you think?”
I made to stand up, but someone spoke up from behind me. “Sit down, Noah, and leave her alone.”
It was Zak from a few rows back. He didn’t say it threateningly or even raise his voice. Miraculously, Noah obeyed, while muttering a few additional insults under his breath. Zak had totally just shut down Noah. I looked back and nodded my thanks. Who was this kid? I didn’t know exactly what I was going to end up doing before this discard day was over, but I knew full well it wouldn’t be something Zak would do. But maybe I was going about this all wrong. Maybe Zak’s approach was worth looking into. I dwelled on the thought for about five seconds until Noah’s irritating laughter ripped it from my brain. I needed to do something about this kid … today. I’d have other discard days to reinvent myself.
Freddie did most of the talking as I mulled over all my options for pranks. Some pranks were elaborately planned, while others were more shoot from the hip. You couldn’t go wrong either way, really. Each was fun in its own right, but today was for shooting from the hip. The plan was to run through as many pranks as I could before eventually getting caught. I’ve had a few perfect runs before, but it was easy to get greedy when I was on a roll.
The bus pulled up to the drop-off, and I told Freddie I’d see her at lunch before hustling straight to my first-period class, not even bothering to swap books out at my locker. Rarely was I more excited to get to school than on a prank day. You had to space these days out, though. Prank days were like eating a piece of my mom’s super-rich homemade cheesecake. You eat it every now and again, it’s like the best thing ever. Eat too much too often and you start to lose your taste for it. And trust me, I once tried to eat an entire cheesecake in a day. Amazing how throwing up a food through your nose will affect your long-term appetite for the thing.
I rushed into the classroom and was rewarded for my initiative: not a student in sight and Mrs. Marlow had her back turned as she busied herself with some elaborate drawing on the whiteboard. These were the opportunities you were looking for when shooting from the hip. I quietly unzipped my backpack and opened the emergency box, retrieving the remote-control fart machine I affectionately referred to as the “robo-toot.” I looked over the empty desks and pictured where everyone sat, counting from the left and right side of the classroom just to make sure I had it correct. Even though my actions wouldn’t have any lasting consequences on a discard day, it wasn’t an excuse to be sloppy or hasty. I took one last glance at the door, then at Mrs. Marlow, and made my way to Jaxson’s desk. I knelt down, made to tie my shoe, and suction-cupped the robo-toot on the underside of his chair.
I quickly made my way to my seat and waited for the other students to trickle into the room. I lost track of time as I thought through my next steps. I’d put fresh batteries and stink-bomb spray into the machine last night before I went to bed. I was primed for action.
The bell rang, and the last few students scrambled to their desks, except for Jaxson, who sauntered through the door, purposefully taking his sweet time. Mrs. Marlow clapped three times and h
ad to tell Noah twice to put away his phone before he obeyed. I think Mrs. Marlow just gave up with Braxlynn, who was currently using her phone as a mirror to apply another coat of lip gloss.
I hung on every word Mrs. Marlow said as I ran my fingers over the rubbery buttons of the robo-toot remote stashed in my pocket. I didn’t know exactly what I was waiting for; I’d just know it when it came.
“One of the richest and most distinct cultural expressions we have from peoples around the world is their music,” Mrs. Marlow said, pointing to a group of expertly drawn musical instruments on the board. The right moment was close. “Here in America, we have more modern expressions like rap, blues, and rock and roll. Europe is known for its contributions to classical music, of course, while ancient religious and tribal songs cover the world over. Archeologists have even found harp fragments from Mesopotamia that date back some five thousand years. I can almost hear what those ancient melodies must have been.”
A long squeaky fart sounded from Jaxson’s desk.
Mrs. Marlow’s eyes flared wide. The whole classroom froze as if taking a huge breath before erupting in laughter. Jaxson’s name echoed around the classroom.
“Jaxson Johnson,” Mrs. Marlow said aghast. “Excuse you.”
“That wasn’t me.” Jaxson’s face turned beet red as he glanced around the room, scowling at the entire class. “It wasn’t me.”
Mrs. Marlow shook her head, her round, pleasant face twisting with disappointment. A discard-day amateur would have released the stink-bomb spray on the very first fart, but I was no amateur. You had to pace yourself, draw these things out, wait for the right moment. Ten minutes later, it came.
“All right, class,” Mrs. Marlow said from the whiteboard. “I would like you to take the next five minutes to do some silent reading from your textbook. Look for a culture you find interesting. You need to choose one for your upcoming paper on the history of music around the world.”
