The first full-length novel that I picked out and read all by myself was The Exorcist (1971). I got off to a good start.
It was sold out all over town, but I called around and found it at Straughan’s on Lawndale. I got my mother to take me over there “to get something important and can I have four dollars?”
She was pissed when she saw what I got. By the time we got back home, she changed that to, “well, I guess it’s good you are reading.”