blunderbus03

[blunderbus03]

The Flipside - Chapter 1

The Before

Cold radiates from the window, my forehead pressed against the glass. I notice frost clinging to the corners of the panel—then I hear it—the familiar, unmistakable hum of Frank’s car. He pulls into our driveway, tires crunching over patches of ice and gravel. I grab my bag and fly out the door, locking it behind me since Mom already left for work.

I climb into the back seat, slamming the door behind me, and toss my backpack onto the floorboard. The heater’s blasting, and Quiggly’s already sitting in the back seat, leaving Frank alone up front to be our chauffeur.

“Morning, Dante,” Frank’s chipper, like he always is in the mornings. “I see you survived Christmas?”

“Hardly, almost froze to death,” I tighten the coat around me. “You?”

“Eh, it could be worse.”

I give Quiggly a raised eyebrow and she rolls her eyes, mouthing ‘dad.’

I dip my head forward with a grimace. I peek at Frank through the rearview mirror to check if he’s watching us. I lower my voice so only Quiggly can hear. “Did you get it?”

Quiggly reveals a small black box from her tweed coat, her grin widening as she opens it. Removing the box’s lid, Quiggly extends the piercing gun into my hands. It catches the weak sunlight and a dull gleam shines against the cheap plastic. “Of course I got it, what do you take me for?”

Frank must've caught our whispering. He glances at us in the rearview mirror and his eyes narrow. “What is that?”

Quiggly smirks, taking back and raising the piercing gun a little higher so it can be seen in the mirror. “A piercing gun.”

Frank groans. “You’re kidding me. No. Way. No way you’re doing this now. Not in my car—not before school.”

“We’re absolutely doing this before school,” Quiggly cooly shoots back.

I can’t help but huff a laugh. “Come on, Frank. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“It died somewhere around the last time you two dragged me into one of your body mods. It took forever for my eyebrows to completely grow back in.” Though Frank’s objecting, I catch the faintest curve of his smile on lips.

Quiggly fiddles with the gun as we drive, testing the spring. Frank cuts the engine in the school parking lot. 

“I’m not cleaning up any blood,” Frank points an accusatory finger our way.

“We’ll be fine,” Quiggly assures, “it’s just cartilage anyway. It’s not like we’re giving ourselves stick-and-poke tattoos in the school bathroom.”

“It’s pretty close, Quiggly!”

I stare at the gun in Quiggly’s hands and I briefly hold my breath in an attempt to suppress my nerves. “You’ve done this before, right?” 

“Nope,” Quiggly pops the ‘p’ with such casualty that makes me even more nervous. “But how hard can it be? Point, squeeze, done.”

My eyes dart to Quiggly, then at the gun—then back to Quiggly again. “I’m doing yours first.”

Quiggly reveals another small box from her pocket. Inside are two sets of small, silver studs.

I raise my brows. “Matching earrings?”

“Well, yes!” 

Frank groans again from the driver’s seat, leaning his head back against the rest. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Quiggly doesn’t hesitate despite Frank’s protest. She flips her hair over her shoulder and tilts her head sideways, waiting. Her confidence makes it easier somehow. I align the earring in the gun’s chamber and then I push the tip to her earlobe, my hands steadier than I expect, and pull the trigger. There’s a soft click, followed by a sharp inhale from Quiggly.

“Hurt?”

Quiggly shakes her head. “Not really. Felt a pinch, that was it. You’re okay to do the other side.”

I repeat the loading of the gun and bring it to Quiggly’s other ear. I pull the lever again, sending another punch through. “Done,” I draw back to inspect the studs. “They look even.”

After ruffling her hair to rest down the front of her shoulders, Quiggly grins. “Your turn.” Taking the gun, she lines up one of the earrings in the chamber. “You ready?”

Cocking her head to one side, Quiggly’s hair falls across her face, and for a moment, I almost tell her no. Instead, I nod. “Do it.”

Quiggly slants forwards, her fingers ice cold as they brush against my ear. The implement feels heavier than I expect when she presses it against my lobe. There’s a faint click, and then a sharp pinch—not bad, but enough to make me wince.

“One down,” Quiggly pulls back to admire her handiwork. “Easy.”

I reach up, touching the stud. It’s warm against my skin and the tiny weight feels heavy. I’m sure the newness will eventually wear off.

Quiggly loads the gun again with the last earring and gestures for me to turn my head. “Last one.” But when she lines up the second stud, something feels off. The gun jams halfway through the motion, catching on my ear.

“Uh.” Quiggly frowns at the gun.

“What do you mean, ‘uh’?”

“Relax,” Quiggly squints as she lightly tugs. “I can fix it—hold still.”

I yelp. “Don’t pull it!”

“Stop moving!”

Frank whirls around in his seat to face the two of us, both pawing at the piercing gun and my ear. “What did I say about blood? If you two—”

“There’s no blood!” Quiggly and I yell at the same time, though it’s a statement that doesn’t hold my complete confidence.

“Hold still,” Frank’s arms twist around. He angles himself over the console to grab the gun, giving it a precise twist and click. There’s this horrible crunching of my cartilage, but then the device comes free, and I feel the weight of the stud settle into place. 

“There,” Frank drops the piercer into Quiggly’s lap. “Dante, you okay?”

I feel around my ear gingerly, sensing a slight heat from where the new piercing sits. “Quiggly—you nearly maimed me!”

“Oh, please. You’re fine,” Quiggly brushes aside my mock outrage.

Frank shakes his head in disapproval as he twists back into his seat. He adjusts the sun visor’s mirror downward, momentarily studying himself. “It’s always on a Monday,” he mutters, the words aimed more at his reflection than at us, before opening his door.

Outside the car, I linger for a moment to catch my own reflection on the car’s side mirror. My matching studs gleam in the faint light. 

It’s good to be back around the Dovecotes. Though we had all of the winter break, we never actually see each other during that time. The Dovecotes always have family parties and events to attend. For me, my family’s activities are less eventful and leave plenty of room to feel the dull pang of missing my best friends.

Maybe it’s because it’s our first day back and I’ve adjusted to my school free routine, but classes drag by in a haze of lectures and half-hearted note-taking. By now, the cafeteria is a welcome change. I’m trying to drown out the clatter of trays and snippets of conversation when Quiggly’s voice slices through. 

“Shut up, Frank! My grades have nothing to do with this!” Quiggly’s tone is sharp, yet lined with the faintest hint of laughter. Her loudness echoes in the cafeteria, over the distant chatter of students.

Frank swings his legs idly, letting them dangle from the edge of the table. “Okay, Quiggly, sure,” he says with a sarcastic laugh. “So you’re telling me you’re going to ace Mr. Thompson’s capitals quiz?”

Quiggly’s face lights up with an odd certainty, her hair bouncing as she nods with vigor. “Definitely. I love geometry.”

The words stagnate and I almost choke, a stifled laugh bubbling up as I cover my mouth with my hand. “You mean—”

“—You know what I mean!” Quiggly huffs, her eyes narrowing at me. She pounds her fist playfully on the table, making our cups rattle. Quiggly then slips back to the familiar, comfortable place of half-annoyed banter. “Today’s our first day back, anyways. I have a couple of weeks to study, so it’s not like I need to be quiz-ready right now.”

“No offense, Quiggly, but have you considered getting a tutor?” Despite Frank’s joking tone, he’s half serious.

“Now why should I when you can tutor me for free. Besides, you and I are home together more often than I would be able to get with a tutor. It’d be way easier.”

“No, not really.” Frank picks at a piece of lent on his jeans. “Student council is picking back up with the community service stuff, and I've been doing my own studying trying to up my ACT score. Have Dante tutor you,” Frank suggests.

My eyes widen, and I look up at Quiggly, trying to appear confident even though I feel put on the spot. “I mean, yeah, why not?”

“I suppose we could. If you don't mind.”

“When would you wanna start?” It’s not how I planned on spending my future evenings, but I can’t say I’m particularly upset to be hanging out at the Dovecotes house—a place where I feel more at home than my own.

“Tomorrow? I have my flash cards. You can test me.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect,” Quiggly leans back into her chair. “Also—sidenote—are we still going to The Parlor when I get out of fencing practice? Fitch wants to have a meeting with me—but he said we could talk any day this week.”

“I’d like to go, if Fitch can wait just a day.” Frank’s gaze drifts to the other students at another table. “It might be awhile before I can go again. I’m about to be a slave to the government.”

A noise escapes me, something between a snort and a scoff. “School government, you mean?”

“Yeah, that,” Frank smiles. “Going to have to start getting here early now, as well as staying afterwards for the meetings.”

“Oh, rough,” Quiggly wrinkles her nose. “Guess that means no more carpooling, huh?”

“Probably, unless you’d like to be here at seven every day?”

Quiggly frowns. “Hard pass, but thanks, though. I don’t mind driving, anyway.” She pauses to pivot towards me. “I’ll be picking you up from now on then. You’ll have to adjust to my driving.”

The cafeteria speakers crackle, the feedback shrill and harsh, causing a few heads to turn. “Franklin Dovecote, please report to the principal’s office.”

All three of us freeze. Frank’s expression falters, his mask slipping as confusion and dread flicker across his face. He slides off the table, his stance suddenly uncertain as he glances between us.

“Uh-oh,” Quiggly says in her best singsong voice.

A flash of bewilderment crosses Frank as he begins to take a few nervous steps forward.

From another table, Kaden Lark yells out to Frank in mockery. “Guess the golden boy isn’t so golden after all. What’d you do, embezzle the bake sale funds?”

Frank shoots Kaden a mixed expression of disbelief, confusion, and disappointment. “Oh get bent, you roach.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Kaden fires back.

Frank rolls his eyes. “Go jump in a lake.”

And this is how it always goes. The two boys trade passive-aggressive jabs, their comments just weird and vague enough to keep them out of trouble. When staff intervenes, they suddenly morph into the perfect picture of camaraderie, acting like they adore running the council together. Kaden always claims that he’s, ‘only here to support Franklin as a loving and supportive vice president.’ But we all know better.

“I’m sure it’s nothing!” I say, trying to drown out Kaden’s taunts.

Frank doesn’t look back.

“Probably student government stuff. He’ll be fine,” Quiggly assures me. Or assures herself.

The three of us follow our usual routine after classes. Frank parts ways with Quiggly and me so he can hold one of his student council meetings, leaving the two of us to attend the fencing club. I don’t actually participate—I just watch Quiggly and silently cheer her on from the bleachers in the gymnasium.

Two and a half years ago, when Quiggly first joined fencing as a freshman, I thought I’d get booted from the bleachers or scolded by the instructor for being a distraction. That hasn’t happened. Honestly, I think Fitch and his members are happy to have a small audience.

Quiggly’s gotten pretty good at it, too. She attended several fencing camps over the summer, and I didn’t expect them to make much of a difference. But it’s clear they did—she’s improved so much that her fellow members are no match for her.

I watch intently as Quiggly advances on her opponent, her sabre clanking against the other’s sword. The sound is harsh but satisfying, and she racks up fifteen points in no time, completely demolishing her opponent. Quiggly has no trouble dominating her clubmates. Though her face is hidden beneath her helmet, her bold strikes and confident steps radiate assurance. She’s proud of herself.

Typically, the clubs finish their meetings in just over an hour, including student government. As president, Frank stays behind for a few minutes to clean up. Quiggly is always eager to hurry to The Parlor for something to eat. I can’t blame her—if I had been fencing for a solid hour, I’d probably feel the same. That’s why I stash protein bars in my backpack for those times when Frank takes just a little too long for Quiggly’s liking.

We have a solid system. Frank and Quiggly pick me up in the morning on their way to school. After attending and participating in our afterschool activities, we head to the Parlor, and then they drop me off at my house before going to theirs. Fridays are the exception—I’ll go straight to Frank and Quiggly’s house with them. Most weekends, I spend both Saturday and Sunday with the Dovecotes, unless my mom has a rare day off work.

When Mom’s off, I try to spend time with her, but with her taking more shifts than ever, I’ve been spending most of my spare time with my best friends. Lately, though, with Frank needing to dedicate his time elsewhere, our whole arrangement feels uncertain.

At least today feels normal.

I give Frank a minute to sort through his basket of fries before I bombard him. “So what did Principal Gale want? My curiosity’s been driving me nuts.”

Quiggly enthusiastically puffs her cheeks with air. “Oh yeah! Did you get in trouble?”

“Oh, no. Well, maybe,” Frank hesitates. “The pool supply and maintenance closet was found open on Monday during winter break. Apparently, it was wrecked.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Since the student council usually runs the latest out of all the extracurriculars on Fridays, Principal Gale thought it might have been me or one of my members.” Frank half-shrugs, palms turned upward. “The door’s supposed to be locked anyway—it’s a staff issue—I don’t know why he jumped to me or the council members about it. ” 

“Weird,” Quiggly hums as adjusts her grip on her waffle cone. “Doesn't swim doesn’t meet on Fridays?"

“That’s my thinking, too,” Frank agrees. “But I’m not about to argue with Principal Gale. I don’t think it’s a huge deal, but there are a bunch of chemicals in that maintenance closet, so he wanted to address me about it as soon as it was appropriate. I just took the blow and told him I would talk to the members about it at our next meeting—which was today,” Frank sighs. “I’m already feeling slammed. I really do feel bad about not being able to meet up as often with you guys—but I really do have to get my community service hours in. I didn’t meet the quota last semester, but they’re letting me stack them onto this one.”

“It’s alright, Frank, really,” I insist, a smile tugging at my lips. “It just means we’ll be doing more studying together, that’s all. We have all summer to do anything else.”

My gaze drifts to the window, where sunlight slants across the room. Past summers flash through my mind—lazy afternoons sprawled on the lawn, endless conversations that blurred into the early hours of morning. A quiet comfort settles over me at the thought that we still have at least a couple more summers ahead before everything changes. Without the two of them, college would be like walking into a void. It’s why maintaining what we have now is so important to me.

“What are you thinking about?” Quiggly interrupts my thoughts.

“Just about college, I guess.” I glance down and realize I’ve mashes up my styrofoam cup that held my ice cream

“Have you started applying yet?”

“Not yet. Feels a little too soon.” My eyes land on Frank. “What about you, mister Student Council President?”

“I want to try to raise my ACT score a bit more before I apply,” Frank leans back into the booth. “And I would like to be able to put on my application that I was student council president for a whole couple of semesters. Can’t quite put it onto paper if I haven't achieved it yet,” Frank explains. “And details like that are the kinds that could make or break me getting the scholarships I’m aiming for.”

“It’ll be a miracle if we can get into the same college.” Quiggly snorts as she bites into her waffle cone. Crumbs scatter onto the table and she brushes them aside halfheartedly.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Frank. I’ll be lucky if I even get into a community college with how bad my ACT score is—and my GPA.”

Frank grabs another fry, pausing before he speaks. “You can bring up both of those things still, it’s not too late at all.”

“Yeah,” I chime in, trying to keep my tone light. “Remember, I’ve got your back. We still on for studying tomorrow?” I hope she catches a flicker of my optimism.

Pushing her dirty napkins aside, Quiggly collapses into her arms, sprawled onto the table. “Ugh. It’s just so hard sometimes.”

“Have you talked to Mal about things getting worse?” Frank leans closer and lowers himself to Quiggly.

Quiggly flops her whole body side to side, face still pressed to the table. It takes me a second to realize she’s trying to mimic shaking her head.

“—What’s getting worse?” I ask.

Quiggly brings herself back upright. “Just the words moving more on the page, letters changing and switching up on me. Dyslexia stuff. And my ADHD stuff.”

I scrunch my nose. “Sounds like they should up your med dosage or something. If that’s how it works?”

“Oh, I totally agree, but that means setting up an appointment with the psychiatrist. And by the time they could squeeze me in for a reevaluation, well, the semester would probably be over.” She groans and slumps back into our booth seat. “I feel like a failure.”

“Listen, you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. You’ll get by.” Frank gives Quiggly a reassuring nudge with his foot from underneath the table.

Quiggly grumbles in response. “Says you.” She lightly kicks back, aiming for Frank but catching my shin instead.

“Hey! Wrong target,” I yelp, rubbing my leg, but I don’t let it derail me. “Look, Quiggly. Frank is a whole eleven months older than you, and you have dyslexia—and ADHD problems. Despite that, you’re keeping up with him—and me—at the same grade level. If you’re holding your own alongside mega-genius Franklin, then surely you can figure out that you’re not a failure.”

As soon as I finish, doubt gnaws at the edges of my confidence. Did I just put Frank on a pedestal? Did I accidentally make it worse? My chest tightens as a rushed panic rises, and I look to Frank for backup.

Frank gives me an appreciative nod. “In summary, you’re doing great despite the circumstances. You weren’t dealt an even hand, and you should be proud of yourself for powering through. You’re one of the most determined people I know.”

Frank was always better with words than me.

Quiggly takes a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing a little. “Thanks, guys. I’m going to try really hard. For myself. Maybe I’ll even retake the ACT with you, Frank!”

Frank squints at her, hopeful. “Really? You will?”

Quiggly puckers her lips dramatically. “No. No, I won’t.”

Frank slowly blinks before casting his gaze elsewhere. “Didn’t think so.”

“But I will still try. You're serious about tutoring me, Dante?”

“I was never joking about it. I want to help.”

“I might be demanding.”

“Just drive me home, or something,” I counter. “If that will make you feel better about it.”

“Only if you agree to getting into my car in the morning?”

I toss my hands up in defeat. “Okay, alright.”

“Good!” Quiggly swiftly stands to her feet and snatches our trash and dirty napkins, sauntering away in victory.

My eyes shoot back to Frank to see him whisper a quiet, “Thank you.”

[blunderbus03]

Blurb for The Flipside

Dante Kordell’s most impactful high school years are divided into two—The Before and The After.

In The Before, junior year, Dante’s world revolves around Franklin and Quiggly Dovecote, a sibling pair who are as constant as they are contrasting. Those days consisted of ice cream after classes, helping Quiggly manage her dyslexia, and bailing out Frank—the ever-responsible student government president—on his endless council projects. The trio perfectly orbited around each other—until they didn't.

The After, his senior year, Dante finds himself placed right back into the middle of the Dovecotes, forcing them to confront their fractured friendship and how each individual has been impacted. A darkness emits from Quiggly’s room, where she has withdrawn from everyone, turning herself into a shut-in. Meanwhile, Dante sorts through his own problems at home, involving his mom’s parasitic boyfriend, Calvin.

Past bleeds into the present, Dante and the Dovecotes navigate the mending of their friendship, and the Dovecotes’ dynamic has shown itself to be even more complex than Dante originally believed it to be.

[blunderbus03]

being god isn't always easy

Me: I love writing, it’s so fun and creatively stimulating!

Also Me while I’m writing:

[blunderbus03]

The Flipside - Prologue

Dad’s hands move with purpose, his blade catching as it slices into a block of wood at our dining table. I can watch him like this for hours. Days like today, steeped in rain, have a way of making me want to draw closer to him. I enjoy his company; he enjoys mine.

Tiny wood shavings tumble to the carpet, vanishing into the beige fibers. Mom will notice later. She’ll probably mention it over dinner. But for now, it’s fine. Dad is fine to carve, and I am fine to watch him.

“Mom said that you’re sick again.”

“I am,” Dad’s voice carries a shake I’ve never heard before. It makes my stomach hurt.

I don’t mention him being sick again. I just stare at Dad’s hands, whittling away at the wood. “What’s it supposed to be?” I finally ask.

“Supposed to be a swan,” Dad pauses to glance up.

I squint at the emerging shape. “It doesn’t look like a swan.”

Dad huffs a soft laugh, returning his focus to his work. “It will. Just takes time.”

The rain taps against the roof, steady, like it’s listening to the rhythm of his knife. I lean back, almost hypnotized by the synchronization of sound and movement. “You carve a lot of birds.”

“I like birds.”

“Why?”

Dad smiles, as though I should already know. “Because they can fly, Dante.”