Sean Griswold's Head (10 page)

“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, frowning. 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.”

“I'm down if they're with some desperate fans!” Trent adds.

I shrug him off.
Listen to yourself, Dad. The team name is Heat. Meaning they are located in a place where there is HEAT! Remember Cancun—the place where your MS symptoms started? Now you're thinking about going on another trip? Do you want to end up in a wheelchair?

“It's too hot” is all I say.

“You're being stubborn, Payton,” Dad says. “What's going on? Are you worried about my MS?”

“Someone needs to be.”

Dad runs a hand down his face. “We've thought this out already. Got the okay from my doctor. Heat can cause a flare-up, but so can any number of things.”

This is the most I've talked to my parents about any of this. A tiny bead of sweat trails down my back. “But you're still going to risk it.”

“It's not about risk.” His voice has a slight edge to it. “I don't understand why you're acting like this. It's a trip.”

“You don't need to get mad at me.”

“I'm not … I'm not mad.” Dad lets out a breath and shakes his head. “Look, I don't know how long I'll be able to do things like this with you. I want to take advantage of it while I can.”

“Yeah, you brat,” Trent says. “Be glad your dad even wants to do something with you.”

Their anger feels good, much better than worry. I grab a slice of pizza and stand up. “You all know how I feel, not that it matters. I'll wait outside.”

I rush out of the restaurant. It's raining again, so I sit under an awning and finish my soggy pizza. My family joins me twenty minutes later and no one says a word the entire way home.

After another tense weekend, I'm ready to get to school and enjoy the carefree lifestyle of a fifteen-year-old. You know, hanging with friends. Eating a nice lunch. Which is what I'm about to do, until Jac plops her lunch tray down by Sean.

We aren't even on our side of the cafeteria! I swear, the whole universe groaned at our blatant rebellion of the high school caste system. Sean sits at the I'm-too-into-sports-to-care-about-girls-yet table. So if you're a girl, you don't go there. Unless you're the butch goalie on the hockey team, and even she sits at the edge of the group.

But Jac is oblivious to the ways of the world, or acts like she is. She just flicks her braids and turns to Sean. “So when are we going on a bike ride?”

We? WE! Since when does she become a WE with Sean?

Sean smiles, but when he speaks, he looks at me. “It's a full moon tonight. Supposed to be clear skies. We could do a late-night ride.”

Even with appropriate bike gear, riding at night is not always safe. Plus, there might be lunatics,
real
lunatics, waiting to jump out of the trees and abduct us. “Jac's got theater stuff and I—”

“Sounds exciting.” Jac grins at Sean. At least the other boys at the table give her the same look of disgust. “Maybe you can bring some friends too. Do you have any friends who like to bike?”

Sean bites into his sandwich. “Sure. I'll bring them along. Maybe a quarter or so after nine. Sound good to you, Payton?”

“I don't know—”

“He'll go easy on you this time, right, Sean? You sure worked her the other day. She's been talking about it all weekend. All weekend.”

Sean swallows and coughs. “Really? Didn't you like it? If we go tonight, I'll set an easier course.”

Blood pumps into my face like air into a tire. Shut up, Jac. “The last course was
fine
. I rode it, didn't I? Jac's the one I'd be worried about. Shopping is her idea of exercise.”

Jac laughs. “We'll see you tonight then. And bring those friends in case we need someone to carry us home.”

The bell rings and I wait until Sean is gone to pull Jac to the side. “What was that?”

“What? The bike ride? You said it was fine.”

“Not that. Your cantankerous attitude.”

“Can't-what-a-cus?”

“Rude. You were being rude.”

Jac's eyes are all innocence. “I was
teasing
you, schnookums. That's what you do around boys. I wasn't trying to be mean. And I thought it was cute when Sean looked all concerned about you.”

Yeah, he did. But why is she the one pointing that out? I'm confused enough about my feelings right now, not just with Sean, but with life. I don't like feeling rushed into stuff like this. I rub my left shoulder. Maybe a well-designed Focus Exercise would calm me down.

When I don't say anything, Jac sighs. “Look, I'm sorry. I was just doing what we talked about on Saturday. The wild and crazy have-some-fun plan I came up with, remember?”

I roll my eyes.

“And you know this will be awesome. I'll meet you at the corner by your house at nine. Mom is out of town and my sister won't care.”

“My parents would never go for it.”

“Hello? Then don't
tell
them. Aren't you supposed to be going through a rebellious phase right now?”

I'm torn. If I don't go, Jac will. And she might cause more damage. Plus, I did have fun with Sean the other day. An easier ride might give us more of a chance to talk. But my parents would rage if I snuck out. It's one thing to not talk to them, it's another to use their inability to disclose a family crisis as an excuse to practice inappropriate adolescent behavior.

I shake my head. Wow. That reasoning sounded
way
too much like Ms. Callahan for me to listen to it. Jac's right. I've never snuck out, never lied to my parents, never jumped off a cliff. What is holding me back? Maybe the best way to learn more about myself is to stop being … myself.

Besides, if I get caught, what are they really going to do? Send me to a counselor? Ground me from spring break?

“Fine. We'll go. And it might even be fun. But you better wear protective headgear.”

Jac throws back her head and laughs. She's still laughing when she leaves me at my locker.

I don't know what's so funny. Bike safety is no laughing matter.