BooksBarbecue
Back The Surrogate
Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Part Two
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Forty-Five
  51. Forty-Six
  52. Forty-Seven
  53. Forty-Eight
  54. Forty-Nine
  55. Fifty
  56. Fifty-One
  57. Part Three
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Acknowledgments
  64. About the Author
  65. About the Publisher

Both of our middle schools sent kids to Willaton High, one of the biggest in Minneapolis. I hated the principal and most of the teachers. They would catch me smoking. Or they’d tell me to take down my hood so they could see my face. They said they had a policy. Well, I had a policy of putting my hood up specifically so no one could see my face. Sometimes I took naps in class. Mostly I wanted to be left alone.

I got held back a year because they wanted me to improve at reading. So that meant I was older and taller than almost every other guy. I hated sticking out like that. I was the first to get facial hair. I was one of the first to get a job, get a beat-up truck, get a fake ID.

I told kids to fuck off when they bugged me about stuff. They bugged me about my clothes, but I didn’t care. So what if I wore the same pair of jeans every day? So what if my shoes were old? So what if I smelled like cigarette smoke? I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I lost a fingernail using a power drill. My hands were always dirty. Big fucking deal. It was no one’s business whether I combed my hair, and I wasn’t about to quit chewing toothpicks.

But I never had a problem finding girls. They hung around me, like mosquitoes. Always asking questions like I was a mystery they were trying to solve. Who were they trying to impress? I didn’t listen to half the shit they said. But Cally was cool, and I knew she liked me, too.

I knew because Noreen told me. First week of eleventh grade. I caught Cally staring at me. She was standing at her locker before lunch. I walked by and leaned a little in her direction. Just so my arm brushed hers. A few steps down the hall, I looked back. She was smiling, so I gave her the peace sign. She laughed and flipped me off. I liked her hair, the way it hung in her face, and how it was long and thick.

We had finger sex at Noreen’s Halloween party. We’d been taking vodka shots while standing around the Ping-Pong table. I took her hand. Found a dark corner of Noreen’s basement. I had a good buzz on. She was tipsy. There was always a party somewhere on the weekends, and there was always plenty to drink. It was easy to find a place to make out.