Chapter Two | Frequencies and Friendship

Milo was the first to say it aloud.
“Marblecake’s not weird,” he declared in the middle of math class. “She’s just… not regular.”

No one argued.
In Thimbletuck, “not regular” was practically a compliment. After all, this was a town where the librarian spoke fluent Morse code and the post office occasionally delivered letters written by dreams.

That Friday, Marblecake invited Milo and Petra over for what she called a “snack experiment.”
The apartment was glowing softly, scented with something between vanilla and lightning. The table was covered in bowls of colorful batter, each with a label: Citrus Nebula, Plum Eclipse, Caramelized Stardust.

“This one fizzes,” Marblecake said, handing Petra a spoon.

Petra didn’t ask questions. She grinned and took a bite. “Tastes like tangerine and mystery.”

They laughed until their stomachs hurt, and by the time the first batch of muffins came out, Milo had taken off his jacket and was helping wash dishes.

That night, after her friends had left and the kitchen had returned to its usual quiet, Marblecake turned on the radio again.

The signal came quickly this time.

A low hum, then static, then that same feeling—familiar but far away.
Then, a voice. A real one.

“Unit 9.3… Thimbletuck… report?”

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the dial.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “Still adjusting.”

A pause. Then:
“You are not alone.”

The radio cut out.

Marblecake sat for a long while, staring at the glowing knob.
There was something comforting about it.
Not just the signal.
But the idea that even across time and space, someone thought to check in.