What's the difference between 8th and 9th grade? Peach fuzz. Pimple attacks. Pubescent squeaks. And joint custody.
Plans are a funny sort. One surprise, one twist, one turn, and a plan becomes a pickle. Now, a pickle is a different matter. I don’t like pickles — the food or the conundrum. They’re slimy, sour, and if you’re not careful, they appear without warning, like on a cheeseburger or in a mystery. My plans turned sour on most occasions, and I found myself face to face with a pickle.
I've uploaded the first six chapters for reading. Thanks to Bradley Wind for teepeeing the cover.