The Flip Side Read Online Free Page B

up my phone—second nature.
    Dad clears his throat. “Dinner rule.”
    â€œOh yeah.” I push my phone back under the edge of my plate. “I’ll show you after dinner. It’s so amazing!”
    â€œEh.” My brother, Josh, shrugs me off, but his dimples are showing. “You know, flip around a bar a few times. No big deal.”
    I poke him in the arm, hard. “Whatever.”
    â€œOw! Watch it! These biceps are an endangered species!”
    â€œI know, right? Fading away before our very eyes.”
    My phone buzzes before it starts ringing. I glance at the screen, cheating on our no-phones-at-the-table rule. But I’ve got to silence it, right? It’s Zoe.
    â€œNo phones at the table means no phones at the table,” Josh says, deepening his voice to sound more like Dad. We’re only eleven months apart, and Josh is a year ahead of me in school. Thankfully. He gives me enough grief as it is. I can’t imagine what it would be like if we were in the same classes.
    â€œI didn’t answer it!” I cry. “You are such a pest.”
    Dad scoots back his chair. “Never a dull moment around here. I can tell you two missed each other. But as much fun as I’m having watching this display, I’ve got to get back to work.” Four years ago my dad got laid off from his job. It was the first time I encountered the fear of uncertainty, the possibility of losing my dreams. I didn’t handle it very well, worrying that with no money coming in, I’d have to give up gymnastics. But somehow Mom and Dad scraped the money together for my lessons. It was a huge relief two years later when Dad patented an improved spring used in car suspension, which led to a start-up business manufacturing and distributing his invention. He always says his next big innovation is going to be an improved spark plug. Knowing about the sacrifices that my parents made for me, I’m even more determined to stand on the podium at the next Olympics, to bring home the gold.
    Dad carries his plate to the dishwasher. “You know where I am, Charlie, if you want to show me that video of the kovanoff thing later.”
    â€œKovacs, Dad. Kovacs!”
    â€œKovacs,” Dad repeats, winking. “You might have to repeat that a few more times before it sticks.”
    After loading his plate, he disappears down the hallway. Dad seems to be working all the time, locked away in his home office with the QUIET, PLEASE. BRAINS AT WORK sign pegged to the door. At least I know who I inherited my sense of discipline from.
    Mom picks up her plate too. “I’ve got some bookkeeping to get done. Charlie, you’re on cleanup duty tonight.”
    I stifle a groan. The ranch isn’t the best place to get homework done, and I’ve got a killer amount this week, including that stupid U.S. government exam. The last thing I need is dish duty. But everybody’s busy around here. Dad with his business. Mom with the freelance accounting she took on when Dad lost his job—not to mention the bookkeeping she now does for Dad’s business. Josh with his . . . video games. Okay, not everybody’s busy. But I guess it’s only fair that we all pull our own weight around the house.
    I shovel the last of my chicken into my mouth. “I’m done too. Sorry to leave you all alone, poor baby,” I say to Josh, and carry my plate into the kitchen.
    â€œWe need to talk.”
    I spin around. “What? What’s wrong?”
    Josh sets his plate in the sink, leans a hip against the counter, and crosses his arms over his chest. “I ran into Zoe at school today, and she wanted to know why I wasn’t at my aunt’s ranch in Texas.” He raises his eyebrows and gives me a pointed stare.
    â€œYou never run into Zoe at school.” Juniors and seniors have their lockers nowhere near freshmen and sophomores. And they seldom have the same