There’s not much keeping Ian McDermott in Spokane, but at least it’s home. He’s been raising Sammy practically on his own ever since their mom disappeared again on one of her binges. They get by, finding just enough to eat and plenty of time to skateboard. But at Morrison High, Ian is getting the distinct, chilling feeling that the administration wants him and his board and his punked hair gone. Simply gone. And when his temper finally blows–he actually takes a swing at Coach Florence and knocks him cold–Ian knows he’s got to grab Sammy and skate. Run. Their search for the one relative they can think of, their only hope, leads Ian and Sammy across the entire state of Washington in the cold and rain–and straight into a shocking discovery. Through it all, Ian knows exactly what he has to do: protect Sammy, and let no one split up their family of two. Michael Harmon tells a nuanced and unflinching story of wilderness survival, the fierce bond between brothers, and teen rage–and redemption. “Readers will continue to cheer for this outsider who finds life’s deck stacked against him. . . . A must-read for fans of Chris Crutcher.”–The Bulletin “[A] remarkable first novel.”–Kirkus Reviews “Harmon compellingly renders wary, brittle Ian, particularly the tension between his admirable motivations and his self-destructive impulses.”–Booklist “A marvelous debut.”–Kirkus Reviews “Harmon knows the world of outsiders, and he writes in a dead-on true voice, both funny and tragic.”–Chris Crutcher Michael Harmon's hobbies include backpacking, fishing, woodworking, and building skateboard and snowboarding ramps for his kids in the backyard. Skate is his first novel. The author lives in Spokane, WA. Chapter One Tony Freemont can’t keep his mouth shut for longer than thirty seconds at a time because Tony is one of those guys where words come out in uncontrollable spasms. He looked at the cut of my ex-girlfriend’s bra through her gym shirt, and I could almost feel it coming. “Dude, gotta be Victoria’s Secret,” he said, bending his head to my ear. Coach Schmidt’s eyes flicked our way, a big fist wrapped around a small blue paddle, but the Ping-Pong sermon continued. I had no desire to talk to Tony Freemont about the cut of Veronica Jorgenson’s bra, because I’d seen that particular one without the shirt on over it, and even though we’re not together anymore and it burns a bit, my mouth stays shut about those things. Tony knows I still like her, too, and every chance he gets, he rubs it in. Tony is a linebacker for Morrison High’s junior varsity football team, and Veronica is captain of the JV cheerleaders. He’s had a thing for her since we started school, and that she dated a guy, even for a little while, with four earrings and another in his eyebrow had him questioning the all-American qualities a Morrison High jacket bestowed upon a person unlike myself. He nodded her way. “Skater boy wipes it again. Take a look at what you’re missing, dorko.” I kept my eyes on Coach to avoid the push-ups I knew were coming if we got caught, but I almost couldn’t resist body- slamming him into the floor. Now wasn’t the time to teach Tony a lesson in manners, and anyway, I’d have half the JV defensive line after me if I did. “I heard your mom sticks a cork up your ass to shut you up, Tony. Did it come out?” That closed his mouth for a few seconds, but it was too late. Coach zeroed in on us with those steel pop rivets for eyes and fell silent. Coach Schmidt is a two-hundred-thirty-pound stump of flesh with a head sticking out of the top of it, and aside from having to shave more than me, she’s the first, and only, female football coach the city of Spokane has ever had. She’s also the state women’s arm-wrestling champion four years running. Her eyes slid from us to Veronica, then back, as if she knew exactly what we were talking about. Just like Mom but with big biceps. “Did you boys have something to share with us today?” “No, ma’am.” I smiled because she was posed like a state arm-wrestling champion in a ballet class; the paddle midswing, her beefy arms frozen like an action figure. I was tempted to give the class an explanation of Tony’s preoccupation with Veronica’s boob-holders, but I didn’t. Coach Schmidt doesn’t like anything funny unless it has to do with cartilage damage, dislocated shoulders, or death on the playing field, and I’m already on her bad side for blowing off the sports program my freshman year. She stared at me, then assumed a non–Ping-Pong stance before shooting daggers at Tony. He’s the mouth, so I figured I’d slide by. “And you, Mr. Freemont?” she said. “Do you have something enlightening to say?” “No, ma’am.” She pointed to the ground. “Push-ups.” I bent to hit the floor, and Tony held up his arm, smiling. “Bad shoulder. Coach Thompson says I should take it easy for a few days. Strained it on the press.” Coach Thompson is the JV football coach, so it looked like Tony had an out. Play a spo