Sean Griswold's Head

by Lindsey Leavitt

  I gasp again. He laughs.

  “I’m joking, Payton. Yes, Philadelphia. But I thought I’d take it easy on you today and just do the loop.”

  “Okay. Not that I need any special treatment. I know how to ride a bike, you know.”

  Sean smiles. “Have you ever done this loop before?”

  I stand up and throw my leg over the bike. I don’t like Sean looking at me like that. Like I’m a scrub. I’ve played sports my whole life. I can do this. Easy. “Yeah, all the time. I’m surprised we haven’t seen each other here.”

  Sean rubs his chin, his eyes dancing. “I’ll draft then. Let’s stop at the arch monument, then Washington’s Headquarters. We’ll skip the hill—”

  “I can do the hill,” I insist. I did a hill getting here. How bad can it be?

  “We’ll see. Just stay with me.” Sean clicks his shoes into the pedals of his bike and readjusts his helmet. He takes a sip from his water bottle and spits it out. I do the same, except I choke on the water and end up coughing. Sean just shakes his head and starts to ride.

  We pass by the bunkers that Revolutionary War soldiers slept in back before heating and Serta mattresses were around. Valley Forge has a different feel than say, Gettysburg, because there weren’t actual battles here. This was the rebels’ camp for six months and they endured all sorts of terrors like hunger, disease, and lack of outdoor plumbing. But this place puts things into perspective for me. I’m thinking about how much my butt hurts when I remember they had to walk through the snow with bloody feet. I’m worried that I won’t make it through a bike ride while the soldiers didn’t know if they’d live through the next day.

  We weave around the dog-walkers and tourists along the path. My bike is the equivalent of a Ford Escort and Sean’s riding a Beamer. I see him tightening the resistance on his bike while waiting for me to catch up. A smile is set on my face so Sean doesn’t know how hard I’m working.

  We make it to the arch, and Sean stops to take a drink. He’s obviously doing this for me because he hasn’t broken a sweat and isn’t even close to winded. I, however, guzzle half my water bottle.

  Time to start in on my questions. Not that I have any prepared. I figure I’ll just see where the moment takes us.

  Sean unzips his jacket pocket and unveils a bottle of Advil. He pops it open and knocks back three pills.

  “Are you an addict?” I blurt out.

  Sean seems to contemplate this for a minute. “That’d be a pretty lame addiction. Advil. I mean, if I was going to be a user, I’d be a little more extreme, you know? Don’t want the other druggies making fun.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Sean shrugs. “I get headaches. Lately I’ve been getting them more and more. Pretty soon I’m going to have to give up the ibuprofen and move to the hard stuff.”

  “Like?”

  “Excedrin.” Sean swigs some more water.

  Headaches. I can relate to headaches. First question down. Now …“You ever come riding with your brother?”

  “That would be hard, being as I’m an only child.”

  “Oh. So who lives with—” I freeze. Sean doesn’t know Jac and I called him the other day. Sean doesn’t know any of our investigative … techniques. “I mean, so how often do you ride?”

  Sean leans against his handlebars. “Almost every day when the weather is good. Longer rides on weekends. I focus more on swimming and running in winter, and take a few spin classes at the Y when the snow keeps me off the road.”

  “Didn’t you tell my brother you’re doing a triathlon?”

  “Yeah. This summer. It’s a sprint—there aren’t many bigger ones with divisions for my age. In a few years I’ll work up to some of the national competitions. My main goal is to win the Ironman someday.”

  Which leads to Question #4: “What makes you want to do that?”

  “It’s the biggest high. And the test of the ultimate athlete. I want to be the strongest. I want to be the best.”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  “I don’t know.” Sean gives me a sideways glance. “It’s complicated. Why do you like basketball?”

  I rub at a scuff on my shoes. I’m supposed to be asking the questions here. “I quit basketball.”

  “Really?” Sean looks surprised. “That was always your sport in junior high.”

  The tiniest thrill runs up my spine. He remembered I played basketball. Granted, before I quit the team, I wore the jersey to school on game days. But, still—he remembered. “I gave it up a month or two ago.”

  “So you don’t like it anymore?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then why’d you quit?”

  I tilt my head to the side. “It’s complicated.”

  “Touché.” Sean’s expression grows thoughtful. “But it can’t be that complicated. If it’s not your thing, that’s fine. But if you love something, you hold on to it.”

  “You always this deep when you ride?” I ask.

  Sean laughs. “Nah, usually I just try to hit squirrels that get in my way. Let’s see if we can run some over.” He clicks his shoes into his pedals and takes off.

  He’s joking. Totally. But just to make sure, I whistle every now and then to warn any unsuspecting rodents.

  Everything around us is dead—the trees, the grass, the sky. It’s like we’re stuck in a black-and-white movie with no color, just varying degrees of gray. Even the sunlight, seeping through the clouds, has a dingy hue. We ride past the arch, downhill to an open field with deer galore. Sean veers off the road toward a crop of trees sloping upward. I shift gears and follow.

  The hill is murder. Without Sean around, I’d jump off and walk my bike up. I’m standing on the pedals now, pumping my legs and leaning forward. The hill doesn’t let up, getting steeper and steeper with each turn of my wheels. We’ve probably only done a half of a mile, but it feels like I’m scaling Everest. It’s the most intense thing I’ve ever done. Sean’s ahead of me, but not far and he keeps looking back to make sure I’m with him.

  “You good?” he calls.

  “Yeah.”

  But I’m not.

  My head is spinning. I can’t get my legs to pedal anymore. It’s like my body has an instant power outage. I stumble off my bike and kneel on the gravel, managing to get my helmet off before I throw up what seems like gallons of water. When I’m done, I contemplate lying down in the middle of the road to let a car finish me off. I’m already half-dead.

  Sean is beside me now, forcing me to drink some water before he pours more onto my face and hair. He zips off his jacket and balls it up into a pillow, which I gratefully lie on. Next, he lifts my legs and massages my calves.

  Horror—I didn’t shave my legs today. Did I yesterday? It’s winter! I should be safe from male contact. I spend my whole adolescence shaving compulsively and one of the few times I forget is when the action happens. But this isn’t action. Is it?

  He doesn’t seem to notice the prickly hair; his attention is on the knotted muscles. Up and down his hands slide. Heat rises in my face and it’s not from biking. This is the closest I’ve been with a boy, but the vomited water next to me nixes any romantic ideas.

  “Whew. I’m sorry.” He raises his arm and wipes his brow. “I shouldn’t have taken us up the hill. Next time I’ll let you borrow one of my bikes, okay? And we’ll skip the hill.”

  “Next time?” I close my eyes.

  “You have to do it, and soon, or else you’ll never touch a bike again. I threw up the first time I rode this hill too. Right after I crashed.”

  My eyes flutter open and I look up at Sean. Time for the final question. “Is that how you got that scar on your forehead? You crashed your bike?”

  His hands pause midmassage. “No. Not from a crash. Something else.”

  I’m about to ask him more, when a pair of bikers call ahead for us to move. I scramble up and lug my bike farther off the trail.

  “You ready to finish?” Sean asks.
>
  I choke on my words. “You want … Are you serious?”

  “Nah. We can walk back.” Sean chuckles. “You know, I never knew you were this fun to tease.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I say as I pick up my helmet and loop it onto my handles.

  Sean’s voice softens. “I don’t doubt it.” And then even softer, soft enough I almost don’t hear, he says, “But I wouldn’t mind changing that.”

  We’re silent as we walk down the hill. As if to punctuate the change in mood, the clouds open up and it begins to rain. I’m freezing. I can still taste vomit. My legs are on fire.

  And I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.

  PFE

  Feb 9

  Topic: Cold Hard Facts learned based upon five questions experiment.

  1. Sean is an only child. So we do not know who answered the phone when Jac called.

  2. He pops pills because he gets headaches.

  3. He wants to be the next Ironman.

  4. He likes to feel in control.

  5. I still don’t know where the scar came from. Although, I wasn’t focusing on it much once his jacket came off.* Hello, arm muscles.

  *Sorry, I’m dehydrated and the searing pain in my buns is causing me to not think straight. I shouldn’t objectify Sean like that (although he is a Focus Object so maybe …).

  Sorry again. Fatigue-driven delirium is setting in.

  “Tell me about it again,” Jac insists, popping a third cheesecake bite into her mouth. It’s our Saturday sleepover, I’ve already told her about the ride twice, and I’m wondering how much longer she’ll keep talking before I pass out from exhaustion.

  “There’s nothing to tell. We went on a bike ride. We had fun. I want to surgically remove my butt. Nothing big.”

  “Did he say anything flirty?”

  “No, we were bike riding. And it wasn’t like a stroll along the beach. It was extreme.”

  “I want to go on a bike ride.” She balls up her cheesecake wrapper and pantomimes steering a bike over to the trash. “I bet he’ll take us. Let’s call him and ask.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You don’t think what? Why can’t I go too?”

  “It’s just—”

  Jac points at me. “Aha! You like him, don’t you?”

  “Well …”

  “You do! You do! Admit it.”

  My heart flutters for a moment but my head stays clear. “No. I don’t like him. Not like that.”

  “But you care if I call him. You’ve never cared what boys I bring along with us before.”

  “That’s because they’re random. I never know them. So they’re all the same to me.”

  “So even better if we hang out with a guy you do know. Plus, you’re getting your homework done at the same time. It’s like a Payton dream come true.” Jac flicks on the TV, like it’s not a big deal. Like she really is going to take this to another level.

  It’s a Very Big Deal. Something changed today between me and Sean and I don’t want to mess it up by being too aggressive. If I give Jac any inkling about the weirdness I felt when he massaged my legs, she could go matchmaker on me. Last time she tried that, I ended up behind the swings with Anthony Barbarini, trying to convince him not to shove his tongue down my throat, and my only method of persuasion was a harsh kick in the groin. I don’t want my relationship with Sean to end as abruptly.

  “Jac. Can you drop this?”

  She turns down the TV and looks at me. “If you want me to, sure. But why quit now? You could have a good time with him, if you let yourself. And I think you could really use that.”

  Oh … fine. I give up. “Okay. We can all go on a ride together. Maybe he can even bring more boys.”

  Jac squeals. “Huzzah! The more boys, the more joys. Especially if they’re all in spandex.”

  “Speaking of spandex,” I say, grabbing Jac’s hand so she stops her channel surfing. “Look at what that woman is wearing.”

  We groan together. Lifetime movie. The perfect subject changer.

  “I wish I could go back in time to the eighties and offer fashion help to that sad woman,” Jac says. “She’s famous and she still wasn’t saved from the bangs of death.”

  “I’ve seen this one!” Like I should actually be proud I’ve wasted two hours of my life on an old Lifetime network movie. “The mom gets breast cancer, and gets the lump removed and decides to get fake boobs and starts dating younger men …”

  Jac squints at the TV. “Maybe my mom can try out if they do a remake. Change it.”

  “No! It’s sad. I can’t remember how it ends, but I remember it’s sad.”

  We watch as Spandex Woman waves as her teenage daughter leaves on a date, then slips into the hall closet and starts sobbing hysterically. The next scene is of the mom in a hospital bed. No spandex now. Bangs still surprisingly high, though.

  “Mom,” says the daughter. “I thought you’d fought this. The doctors said the chances of this happening again were so small—why didn’t you tell us you were sick again?”

  “I wanted you to enjoy your prom … I wanted …” Tears. Hugs. Hazy close-up. “Doctors don’t know everything. But I don’t regret the surgery, even if it might have masked the remaining tumor. You see, my breasts finally made me feel like a woman. Well, those men made me feel like a wom—”

  “Oh, please. Turn it off.”

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Mom, it’s only prom. I just wish you would have told me. I wish I knew this could happen. I thought the worst was over, and now—”

  Tears slip down my face. The mom’s hospital monitor flatlines and a bunch of nurses rush in, pushing the daughter out of the way. “Mom! This isn’t supposed to happen! You weren’t supposed to die! They were just boobs!”

  Jac finally stands up and turns off the TV. “Tell me you aren’t crying.”

  I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “I’m not.”

  “Because it’s different, you know. For you. I don’t know what it’s like … My dad wouldn’t have even cared enough to lie. You’re lucky, in a way.”

  “I said I wasn’t crying. It’s just a movie.”

  Jac shrugs and leaves to get ready for bed. I nestle under the covers and decide the bike ride aftermath has made me hallucinate. For some reason, in the last shot of the movie, I could have sworn Spandex Woman looked like my dad.

  “Hey.” Jac pokes her head out from the bathroom, mouth full of toothpaste. “I forgot. Sean. Hot. Spandex?”

  “I’m going to sleep now.”

  “Muscles. Bigger.” Jac stops to spit. “Did you see that?”

  I imagine Sean without his shirt, and face the wall so she doesn’t see me blush. “Good night, Jac.”

  “Someday you’re going to notice, honeybuns.” Jac turns off the light and slips into bed. “Maybe not with Sean, but someday you won’t think I’m so off.”

  I don’t think Jac is off at all, and that idea is what keeps me up for most of the night.

  TWELVE

  “Have you gotten your report card yet?” Mom asks.

  “No,” I lie. “Next week.”

  Brochures and a huge atlas are spread across a table at Pisano’s, my family’s favorite guaranteed-to-give-you-heartburn pizza place. I tap my feet in rhythm with Elvis singing “Don’t Be Cruel” but stop because it’s too much effort to unstick them with each upbeat. Germs everywhere. I attack my hands with sanitizer, rubbing the liquid into each fingertip. I don’t look up at my mom.

  “Next week?” Mom looks confused. “I could have sworn—”

  “Next week,” I say, this time more firmly.

  “Oh. I’m sure you told me. Not that we don’t already know you’ve done well.” She smiles. “I just want to get a copy for your scrapbook.”

  Your copy is already in the trash. Sorry I didn’t preserve the memory. I’m sure my first C is a moment to cherish.

  Trent’s on his cell and Dad is staring into space, frownin
g. He’s in a rare sour mood. Usually, he’ll pretend to feel fine but he’s not bothering today. A report card revelation would not help.

  Trent clicks off his phone and clears his throat. “I’d like to call this meeting to order. Operation Plan Spring Break has begun. First item of business?”

  How about changing the name to Dad’s Going to Relapse, You Idiots. Not that I share my clever name for the outing. It’s too many syllables.

  This is a first for our family, planning a vacation beyond a car ride down to DC. Actually, it’s our first trip since Caleb left for school and we abandoned family outings so the boys could enjoy a brotherly bonding trip somewhere with lots of sun and girls. My brothers plan their trips all year, and yet they’re giving it up. Which leads me to wonder—is this a vacation, or a farewell?

  “I think first”—Mom pushes a plate of buffalo wings aside so we can get a better view of the map of the Caribbean—“we need to figure out where everyone wants to go.”

  “Hawaii,” says Trent.

  “Key Largo,” says Dad.

  “And I’m thinking Belize,” Mom says, riffling through her brochures. “What about you, Payton?”

  “Alaska.”

  Everyone stares at me.

  “Alaska?” Dad shakes his head. “Why would we go there?”

  “It’s cold.”

  “The point is to warm up over spring break,” Trent says. “Maybe meet some girls and really heat things up.”

  Dad rolls his eyes. “Creative idea for a family trip.”

  “Well, I haven’t researched Alaska.” Mom frowns. “I don’t think anyone else would be interested in going there. No offense. Caleb gets enough gloomy weather in London and personally, I want to go somewhere I can tan.”

  “Think about it,” I say, exceeding my usual allotment of syllables. “This trip is a suicide mission.”

  “Payton! Don’t say that,” Mom says.

  Trent snorts, trying to make a joke of it. “How is it a suicide mission? What, you going to go cliff jumping and miss the water?”

  The waitress brings our pizza and I devote my attention to inhaling mine. The booth hurts my butt, although any kind of sitting stings. My family goes through each brochure, discussing the pros and cons of the various resorts. Finally, my dad nudges me. “Can you try to act excited? Check out this place in Florida. We can go see the Miami Heat play. Maybe find an old Shaq bobblehead. Maybe even see something scandalous like the team skinny dipping.”