Chapter 1

The most annoying thing about my situation was by far the easiest thing to fix. Forget that my mother was the biggest gold digger I'd ever heard of, shacking us both up with her newest overachieving, rich, and midlife crisis, alpha male wannabe she could sink her hooks into. Never mind that I could count myself lucky if the room my slut mom stashed me in had a bed AND a door within her prey's maison de luxe (that's backwards French for house of luxury). It seemed like a triviality compared to the steaming bowl of shit that was my existence, but I said it was the most annoying. Life in the shit bowl meant that things like not being annoyed or getting into awkward situations were at the top of my list for things to avoid. The daily and yearly chain of events that came from not having a phone made this the felony offender among the misdemeanors that made up the shit bowl. I was a senior at the high school for rich kids in our small metropolitan town and I was the only person attending or working that didn't have a cell phone.

It wasn't so much that I needed all of the things that a cell phone could do. The only person I had any reason to call was my mother and even then I'm sure she would just screen and ignore. The thing is that it made me everything in school that I shouldn't have been. I was studious and attentive in class. I didn't date and never went to parties. If the rare occurred, I was in on a conversation and only understood the English between the words like 'apps' or 'gigs' and the giant source of my confusion, 'chat speak'. Now that I look back on it, the phone was merely the focus of my anger of being ridiculed. I suppose that genetically speaking I was an easy target since birth, that and the glorious surname that came with my entry into the world.

Where are my manners? Hello, my name is Clayton Skwitt. Objectively I am 6'5", 165 lbs, with a great big muscle body and long thin limbs. Coupled with the apparent lack of wardrobe and that wardrobe highlighting the lankiness in my limbs I've been blessed with, my peers have honored me with the endearing sobriquet, Squid. In short, hello I am Squid. My handle was bestowed by the varsity first string quarterback the first day of my freshman year when we were assigned as lab partners in advanced chemistry (did I mention I was brainy). I reached across the table to pick up a pencil and the oh-so-bright athlete just couldn't help himself, God bless him.

"Dude, you look like a freaky squid! Sucks!" afterwards the social signal of the alpha male in the room laughing cued the rest of the herd to respond in kind. After that I was referred to as Squid. I doubt the faculty knew my real name, even with the advantage of roll call. The only way I could escape my moniker and hear my name was to go to work.

Hi, I'm Clay your rental skate disinfectant engineer professional. I got the gig because my mom's last boyfriend saw me walking home one day and in a surprising display of fatherhood (in a fucked up kind of way) he took me out for ice cream. My first instinct was sexual predator, but I reasoned with myself that I would have to first be desirable for that to be possible. It turned out he just wanted to bitch about my bloodhound-for-money mother and the way he was treated. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened but this was the first time I had gotten job offer from it, albeit a shit job. I was okay with it though. Spending the rest of my weekdays with people's foot odor and aerosol deodorant was significantly better than being at home. At least, that was my rationale when I agreed to the job. The reason I stayed was 5'5", 120 lbs, red hair and curvy. Her name was Miegan (Mee-gun). Miegan was everything I wasn't. Our first conversation left my mouth and my mind open.

"Hi I'm Clay! I work here now, doing the skate ... stink. I uh, well..."

Chapter 2 »