Sean Griswold's Head

by Lindsey Leavitt

  Jac giggles. “She’s kind of a drunk, huh? I hope I’m not like that when I’m old. Partying with some groddy old men.”

  “She’s not old.” Sean turns his head and analyzes Miss Marietta. “I’d guess she’s twenty-five.”

  “And she’s not a drunk,” I say.

  “Yes, she is.” Jac sticks her tongue out at me. “My sister sees her partying all the time. She’s always dancing up on all the guys at the club. I bet she’s a slut.”

  “Your sister would know all about that.”

  “What did you say?” she asks.

  “Just because she looks one way, doesn’t mean she’s not dealing with something else. Maybe she’s super-depressed or her dog died or … she just found out she can’t have kids. I don’t know. There could be a million things wrong with her. So don’t you think she’s entitled to go out and forget? To like guys and be a little self-centered and do what she wants without worrying about what everyone else thinks? Huh?”

  Jac and Sean look like they’ve been slapped. Jac recovers first and gives a forced laugh. “Gosh, get all serious on us. Hey Sean, you want to study later? I’ll teach you everything you ever wanted to know about cell components.”

  “Sure.” He speaks to Jac but he’s still gazing at me. “We’ll have to do that sometime. Hey, are you okay, Payton?”

  Not so much. “I’m fine.”

  “You want me to walk you to the next class so we can talk?”

  Jac’s lips melt into a pout. “What about me?”

  The bell rings and Sean doesn’t answer. It’s unclear if he heard her or if he’s just choosing not to. He picks up my books and I follow him out the door.

  I’ve never had a boy carry my books before. It’s the kind of hallmark you immediately rush to tell your best friend, dissecting the significance for hours. But that’s hard to do when you’re competing with that friend, she’s staring at you and the boy with pure hostility, and you can’t figure out why all you want to do at that moment is cry.

  “So,” says Sean as we navigate our way to the quad. “What’s bugging you? You seemed pretty upset a minute ago.”

  “I’m fine. Everything is great.”

  “All right … but, are you sure?”

  “I said I’m fine,” I snap, then cover my mouth. What is wrong with me?

  Sean’s eyebrow goes up and his scar arches in unison.

  “Sorry. I’m … I don’t know what is up with me today, but I don’t really want to talk about it. Is that cool?”

  Sean purses his lips together. “If I said it wasn’t, would it matter?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. We’ll do a change of subject then. Here it goes. Soooooooo …” He draws the so out until I giggle. I’m giggling. How does he do that?

  “Did you get my bike?”

  I stop and slap my forehead. I still haven’t thanked him. “Yes! I totally forgot!”

  “You forgot? I just gave it to you yesterday.”

  “No, I mean, I forgot to thank you. I didn’t forget about the bike. I love it. I already rode it yesterday.”

  “Yeah?” Sean grins. “What’d you think?”

  “You’re right. My old bike was totally slowing me down. This moves much faster. It’s like, like I’m—”

  “—flying. I know. Isn’t it a—”

  “—rush,” I finish. “Totally. Like nothing I’ve ever done. It’s the best valentine I’ve ever gotten.” I stop, suddenly shy. “I mean, not that it was like a valentine valentine. I just mean it was a great gift. If it was a gift?”

  Sean blushes. “Oh, yeah. It’s just my old bike. You can hold on to it as long as you want. But you better put it to good use.”

  “I will.” We open the doors to the quad and get blasted by a burst of cold. I zip up my coat. “But maybe not for a while. This weather is nuts.”

  Sean breathes out, his sigh displayed in the frigid air. “I’m disappointed in you, Payton Gritas. You’re going to let some weather stand in your way? I thought you were more hard-core than that.”

  I stiffen. “I am hard-core!”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Am too.”

  “If you were hard-core, you’d come riding with me today.”

  “I’ll not only go with you, I’ll bike circles around you.”

  Sean grins. “Like you did at Valley Forge?”

  I screw my face up and try my best to think of the perfect remark. It never comes. The silence turns stale.

  “Here, I’ll give you a chance to prove your hard-coreness today. I have swim practice, so maybe a little later. Like 3:30?”

  “I’ll be there,” I say. Then, because I want to add something tough I say, “Lamebrain.”

  Sean lets out a loud guffaw. Half the quad looks our way. “Did you just seriously say lamebrain?”

  “I think I did.” I raise my chin.

  “Is this a word you use often? I mean, should I be offended or flattered or what here?”

  “I was trying to think of something hard-core sounding and lamebrain is what came out,” I admit.

  “Why not buttmunch? I’ve always been a fan of that one. Even though I have no idea what a buttmunch is.”

  “I think it’s self-explanatory.”

  “Then that is pretty low … Hey. It looks like the school guidance counselor is trying to get your attention.”

  Ms. Callahan is waving at me from across the quad, the billowing lime green sleeves of her dress flapping like a flag. I instantly look at my shoes, hoping she’ll follow the social rules of public ignoring. But—surprise—she’s next to us in a minute. Apparently women who wear lime green are unaware of social rules. “Payton, I called your house last night to discuss the … incident in my office. I realize it was a holiday so perhaps not the best time but I do plan on contacting your parents in the near future. Maybe even have them come in—”

  “Yeah. Yeah that’s fine. But can we maybe talk about this later?” I give what I hope is a meaningful look. The lady can’t be that clueless.

  “Oh.” She looks from me to Sean and her eyes widen. “Oh! Yes. So this is … your friend. I understand.”

  Yep. She is that clueless.

  Ms. Callahan analyzes Sean. “I understand completely.”

  “That’s debatable,” I say through clenched teeth.

  She looks me dead in the eye. “We need to talk.”

  “Later.” I pull Sean away.

  “What was that all about?” Sean asks once I’ve gotten us to safety.

  Somehow, she-knows-who-you-are-because-she-just-figured-out-I’m-focusing-on-you doesn’t seem like a reasonable explanation. I look down at my watch-less wrist. “Oh, look at the time. You really should get to class. But I’ll meet you at Valley Forge around 3:30, ’kay?”

  “Yeah, but why did she look at me like that?”

  “Bye!” I rush across the quad, staring at my feet some more and willing myself to melt into the floor.

  PFE

  February 15

  The drama that is my life: distributed into a pie chart

  NINETEEN

  I hardly recognize Sean, he has on so many clothes. Not that I’m much different; I have on thermal underwear, some tight-fitting sweats, a sweatshirt, and my yellow North Face jacket. Ears, hands, and neck are all covered in the appropriate accessories, and yet I still feel like a human Popsicle.

  “Warm enough?” Sean asks.

  “I’m on the beaches of Hawaii as we speak.”

  “Me too. Swimming in a lava pit.”

  “ ’Cause we are hard-core.”

  “To the core,” Sean says.

  “Well, buttmunch, I’m going to show you how hard-core I am on my new bike here.”

  “You’re drafting?”

  “Uh, is that where I bike ahead of you?”

  Sean laughs. “Follow me, Gritas. And try not to freeze.”

  Sean curves his bike down a little hill, taking us in the opposite direction we went last time. He’s be
ing cruel, because now we start the ride with a constant, butt-burning incline. I don’t say a word, just grip my handlebars and follow. Follow and don’t freeze.

  His bike makes all the difference. Although my legs protest after only a few minutes, I’m able to keep up at the quicker pace he’s set. We reach a point of release by Defender’s Gate and coast down until we hit General Washington’s headquarters. Sean waves for me to follow him and turns into the parking lot.

  “Let’s take a break.”

  I unclip my helmet and pull off my beanie. “Are you kidding me? We’ve only been going for a few minutes.”

  “Well excuse me, Miss Hard-Core, but I need to take a trip to the Little General’s room.”

  “Huh?”

  “The bathroom, Payton. I have to use the bathroom.”

  He unclicks his shoes and helmet and walks over to the small building that holds the ticket booth and restroom. I get off my bike and wheel it to an empty bike rack before doing the same with Sean’s. The whole parking lot is empty. There are some deer across the field, watching me. I wave my arm, jumping up and down so they’ll run away, but deer here are like dogs. Pet one and it won’t even stop chewing the grass.

  I walk down the pathway and sit on a wooden bench outside the restrooms. There’s a sign hanging on the ticket booth window: CLOSED FOR REENACTMENT. As if to confirm it, there’s a distant shout of a cannonball. I shudder. Maybe we aren’t as alone here as I thought.

  Sean comes out wiping his hands on his jacket. “I have a confession. I’m not hard-core. That water in there is freezing. I think I’m about to wuss out.”

  I wag my finger at him. “The general would be disappointed in you. Picture doing that bike ride barefoot.”

  Sean looks around. “I feel like we’re on the fourth-grade field trip again.”

  “The one where the guide kept telling us we should at least be grateful for our jackets?” I ask.

  “And shoes.”

  “And frozen peanut butter sandwiches.”

  “Remember that hardtack he made us eat?”

  I laugh. “I spit mine out in my hand.”

  “It’s like episode 114 where Jerry hides his mutton in his coat pocket,” Sean says.

  “And Elaine puts it on!”

  “And the dogs start chasing her!”

  “Classic.”

  “Yeah.” Sean’s eyes fill with mischief. “You know what I always wanted to do on that field trip?”

  “What?”

  “Pretend I was one of Washington’s guards. Their bunks are over here.” His long legs stride across the small clearing and hop over the wooden fence. I look around for a place to put our helmets and end up leaving them on the bench. I’m not as quick or as sure-footed as Sean—I still have my bike shoes on. He moves in them like they’re running shoes and not covered in cleats.

  When I finally catch up, he’s already ducked under the chain with a DO NOT ENTER sign and is lying down on one of the wooden planks that served as the soldier’s bed. I turn back around and survey the vast and lonely park. There’s no one else there. No one can see us. With a little thrill, I crawl under the chain and crouch in the middle of the guard’s quarters.

  The room can’t be much bigger than my parents’ master bath. There’s a crude fireplace on one wall and four thin bunk beds. The quarters have a little desk in the corner with some old canteens and an inkwell on display. A fake Revolutionary War uniform is carefully laid out on the right bunk, like the soldier went to take a bath and never made it back to get dressed.

  “This is so cool,” Sean says.

  “Couldn’t we get in trouble for being in here?”

  “No, I think the DO NOT ENTER sign is just for looks.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Sean pats the weathered board and smiles. “But we’re hard-core, remember?”

  I laugh and sit primly on the edge of the bed, lowering my head a little so I don’t hit the board above me. “I think you might win that contest after all. Breaking the rules freaks me out. And I think I’m literally about to freeze my butt off.”

  “That would be a tragedy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got plenty of it to lose.”

  “I wouldn’t say plenty.” He scoots back, giving himself full rein to blatantly check me out.

  My mind and heart race. He just gave me a line. A total, flirty line! I avoid his gaze, unable to match him. “That’s because you’re too nice.”

  “I’m not that nice.”

  After a few beats, Sean clears his throat. “You know, when it got really cold, soldiers used to have to spoon all night.”

  “Spoon?” I ask.

  “Lie down, I’ll show you.”

  “Uh—” I run my finger along the board, leaving a mark in the dust.

  “Oh, come on. We’re just doing a mini reenactment.”

  He pulls my arm and I’m suddenly facing him, lying down. “Now roll over,” he commands.

  “What am I, a dog?”

  “No, you’re a Revolutionary War soldier and you’re about to freeze to death if you don’t do what I say.”

  I roll over. Sean scoots closer.

  “Soldiers used to lie in rows when they were out on the battlefields and their uniforms were thin from wearing them forever. They’d pull their blankets over themselves and lie all in the same direction. Then someone would call out which direction to spoon and they’d all roll over together. They’d do it all night.”

  Sean’s body is pressed up against mine and I’m surprised I’m even able to assess his historical claim. “But these guys weren’t on a battlefield. This is Valley Forge. They all had these cabins.”

  “So I get my history facts a little muddled. It might have been the Civil War, actually.” He scoots a little closer. “It’s really just my trick to get warmer.”

  We lie there for five minutes, not talking, just breathing in unison. There are about ten layers of clothes separating us, but I can still feel his chest muscles push against my back. His left arm is around me and I can feel the muscles in his forearm too. I want to push his jacket back and look at his arms, at his muscles. I want to see if his arm hair matches the hair on his head. It’s all for research, I tell myself again and again. I never want the research to end.

  “You know what else soldiers used to do?” Sean asked.

  “You sound like our fourth-grade tour guide.”

  “Be nice or I’ll make you eat more hardtack.”

  “No, Mr. Griswold,” I say. “What else did Civil War soldiers used to do?”

  “Revolutionary War.”

  “Anyway …”

  “They played games,” he finished. “All different kinds. Card games. Dominoes. Chess.”

  “Let me just pull out an old Chutes and Ladders from under this bunk and we’ll go at it.” I strain my neck so I’m peeking under the bed.

  He laughs and pulls me back up. “Don’t you know any other games?”

  “All I know are cheesy car games my mom and brothers used to play.”

  “Favorite one?”

  I squint at the weathered beam above our heads. “License plate bingo.”

  “Favorite one that we can pretend fits into the American Colonial Era?”

  “What about Three Things? My family made it up, it’s kind of like Two Truths and a Lie but tweaked.”

  “What’re the rules?”

  I turn around and face him. His lips look really soft this close up. “They’re simple. You say three things about yourself. One is true, the other two aren’t. You want to make them all similar, so it’s hard to know which one. Then, the other person has to guess. If they guess it right, they get to ask you anything they want. If they guess it wrong, you get to ask them anything you want.”

  “So then it ends up being like Truth or Dare?”

  “People end up streaking in Truth or Dare. This is a family game.”

  “Got it. I’m in. You go first.”

  I close my eyes and think. I used
to suck at this game because of my lack of scandals. Trent would always lay out three wild stories, stumping us because we couldn’t believe one was actually true. Like cow tipping and hang gliding and throwing up on his prom date. After endless car rides, I finally nailed my strategy. Kill them with monotony.

  “Okay. Things I did today. First—I filed my nails. Second—I ate watermelon. Third—I put on mascara.”

  “You’re kidding me. You could have done all those things.”

  “That’s the game. One is true, the others aren’t. Pick your poison.”

  Sean chuckles and shakes his head. “All right. I’m going to guess the mascara one.”

  I groan. “How did you know?”

  “Well, watermelons are out of season. Why would you care about your nails when you’re wearing gloves, not to mention I always see you picking at them. And your eyes look pretty today.” He blushes. “Not that they don’t usually. Never mind. I just guessed.”

  Pretty? My murky brownness pretty? Did he really just use that word? On me? This game is awesome. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome.

  “So you got it right. Ask your question.”

  Sean recovers quickly. “Easy game. So, what was with you and Jac today in biology?”

  “Can’t you give me another question?”

  “Sure. Why was Ms. Callahan looking at me all funny?”

  Man. I have to tell him. He’s too smart. And I’m too bad at keeping a secret. Plus it’d be breaking the rules of the game not to spill. I’d already reached my rule-breaking quota for the day.

  “Jac and I got in a fight.”

  “Obviously. Why?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure. She came into my counseling session and—”

  “Counseling session?”

  Even with the cold, I feel my face heat up. “Oh, yeah. I have to go to these counseling sessions. Because of my dad,” I add lamely.

  “Got it,” he says. And he does. Get it, I mean. Because he doesn’t question or pry. And the silence encourages me to go on.

  “So she came into my counseling session and I was mad at her for making you that secret-admirer stuff.”

  Sean sits up and bumps his head on the top bunk. “Ouch!”