Tuesday Oct. 18 1978
I’m a scrawny thirteen-year-old, smaller than most kids my age. My pants look like I need to grow into them, and my button-down shirt always seems too loose. Other than the scrawny part, I really could care less how my clothes fit. My name is Fisher Shoemaker.
Something crazy happened to me last summer, something that I’m not sure I want to talk about. But at some point it involved a dead body, a sailboat, and a drunken lobsterman called Skinny Pete. And that doesn’t even include my first kiss I had with Sara. But that’s all behind me now, and because of it I was able to buy a new bike. (It’s a long story)