Sean Griswold's Head (14 page)

My mom brushes past me on her way to the kitchen. “Can you wrap up the fish sticks? I just have to finish the french fries and we can sit down and eat.”

“Sure thing. Where's the fresh newspaper?”

“It's on the table.”

“Oh, happy Valentine's Day!” I smile.

“You too,” Mom says suspiciously.

I get to work assembling newspaper cones for the fish and chips. When I'm done, my mom dumps in the fried mess and we all sit down on the ground to eat.

If you would have told me after The Jac Incident today that I'd be this happy at dinner, I would have laughed. Or, more likely, cried. But I just can't stop smiling. Sean got me a bike. And riding it was the best feeling in the world. And it's fun now, wondering what's happening inside Sean's head, and clinging to the hope that his feelings match my own.

There. Okay. I said it. I'm definitely feeling something for Sean.

“So how was your Valentine's Day, Dad?”

My dad's fish stick freezes midway to his mouth. “It was great. How was yours?”

“Fabulous! Aren't these fish sticks delicious?”

“Did you hit your head?” Trent asks.

“No. Why?”

Dad clears his throat. “This fish reminds me of something.”

“School lunches?” I ask.

Dad flashes his irresistible smile and shakes his head. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of where it came from. The ocean.”

“Yeah.” Trent pops his tenth stick into his mouth. “From the ocean and probably from the farm and maybe even a landfill. These aren't exactly fresh.”

Dad examines his fish stick. “You know, you're right. I think this family deserves some fresh fish.”

“Hey,” Mom says. “I'm sticking with the theme here. I'll make you some of that salmon in the freezer later in the week.”

“Not good enough. I want something fresher.”

“What are you getting at?” Mom asks.

Dad stands up and pulls an envelope out of his back pocket. “I was thinking maybe some swordfish. Or marlin. I hear the marlin is delicious in Florida. Which is why I booked us all a flight to the Keys for spring break. Because this family deserves a decent meal.”

My mom squeals and hugs Dad's legs. Trent lets out a whoop and starts singing some rap song about girls in Miami. I pull my knees up close to my chest and don't say a thing. My happy mood has evaporated. I gave this the okay. Too late to change my mind again. The tickets are booked—my family canceling now is about as likely as a Florida snowstorm.

EIGHTEEN

I never realized how much of my day's activities involved Jac until she wasn't there. I mean, she was THERE, at school, but we both made a point of avoiding each other. Like, before school I saw her out of the corner of my eye turn into the hallway. She saw me and turned right around. Meaning she'd have to walk all the way around the portable classrooms just to get into the adjourning hallway and make it to her class.

I get to bio early, intent to slouch over my math book, making it look like I'm scrambling to finish an assignment and not avoiding Jac. The only one in the room is Miss Marietta, who seems completely oblivious to my presence. Her head is down on her desk again with a halo of stringy hair cascading around her.

This is the fourth time in the last three weeks she's looked like this. She must be quite the partier. Maybe she even does drugs. Can you imagine? A teacher—the person who introduces DARE and all those “Just Say No” school programs—shooting up? I move closer to her desk to see if I can find track marks on her arm. But then she hears me and jumps up in her seat.

“Payton! I didn't realize you were in here. Is it third period already? Where did the prep time go? Ugh, I didn't even finish grading those papers. There goes my lunch.”

She says it all in one breath, like it's not a sentence but just one super-long word. And she's not really saying it to me, she's more talking out loud to herself and I just happen to be there. No track marks on her arm, although her eyes are puffy and red, but not hungover red. Crying red.

“Oh. Um … Miss Marietta? Is everything all right?”

Her shoulders sag. “Do I look like everything is all right?”

I give what I hope looks like a knowing and sympathetic nod. We are both women of the world. She parties until dawn and I get a valentine from the boy I'm researching. We can understand each other. “I know how it is.”

She looks me up and down for a moment and lets out a terse laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

“No. Really. Guy troubles are tough.”

She rustles through some papers on her desk and says in a low voice I'm not sure I'm supposed to hear, “Guy troubles. I
wish
all I had to worry about was high school drama.”

My classmates start to fill into the room, including Sean and Jac. Although Miss Marietta's assessment that high school drama is any easier than adult problems is
way
off, I still feel like I need to help somehow. I go for her elbow and give it a quick squeeze, unsure if it's too over the line to give a teacher a hug. I don't know why I chose the elbow and not say, her shoulder. Awkward. She gives me a tight smile and takes a step back as if to say I'm dismissed.

“All right, guys. Instead of doing a class review on cell components, let's have you partner up and go over last week's notes. Make sure you cover all the parts of the cell, because that will be on your next test. I'm here if you have questions but …” She sighs. “I'm a little tired, so … try not to have too many questions.”

The room buzzes with everyone partnering up. I search for Sean, figuring this will be a good opportunity for me to ask about the bike. I spot him sitting next to Jac, who is already talking to him a mile a minute. She looks my way just long enough to give me a smug smirk.

So Jac's decided to go for Sean after all. Traitor. I bet she was lying about the valentine being on my behalf. She was probably just moving in. Well, one thing is for sure, I'm not going to let Jac walk all over me like before. I'm taking control from now on.

Their heads are bent low over Sean's notes when I tap him on the shoulder and flash him a smile that would rival my dad's. “Hey, guys. Mind if we study together?”

Jac scrunches up her nose. “I believe Miss Marietta said partners, as in only two. And if you count, you'll see that quota is already full.”

“Quota. Wow. Big word.”

“I know lots of big words.
Narcissist
is another.”

“What's going on? Do you two have a problem with something?” Sean asks, puzzled.

“No.” I smile again and pull a seat close to Sean. “I don't have a problem. Jac might have a problem but—”

“I don't have a problem either,” Jac says. “Everything is fine.”

“Peachy,” I say.

“Fabulouso,” says Jac.

“Well … good.” Sean opens his book. “I'm sure it's all right if you study with us. I don't think Miss Marietta would notice.” A tense pause follows. Jac looks at the ceiling. I look at the floor. “Um … should we look at that one picture on page 285? The one with all the parts mapped out?”

We all exhale at the release in tension.

“Love to,” I say.

“Can't wait,” Jac says.

“I guess I'll quiz you guys first. Let's see … what are mitochondria?”

“Powerhouse of the cell!” Jac and I chime in unison.

“Whoa, you guys are, uh … enthusiastic. Okay, so what about Golgi apparatus?”

Jac's face screws up in concentration. My mind rapidly lists off the different vocab words until I come to it. “They're the storage vessels. For waste. Right?”

“Right. I can't believe you remembered that.” My reward is a smile from Sean and a dirty look from Jac. I may not know boys, but I sure as heck know the human cell.

The rest of the period proceeds the same way—Jac and I smiling and pushing ourselves closer to Sean, responding to his questions. Sean, switching back and forth between a goofy grin and a baffled frown. And Miss Marietta, head still down on the desk, quiet except for the occasional whimper.

With five minutes left, we've gone through both human and plant cells twice. Everyone else has abandoned all pretense of studying, but Jac and I are neck and neck with the quizzing and neither one is willing to give up.

“Let's do plant parts one more time,” Jac suggests, glaring.

Sean fishes through his pocket and pulls out his Advil. “
C'mon
,
guys.” He counts out four pills. “I think you both know your stuff. You'll do fine, if Miss Marietta ever takes her head off her desk long enough to give us the test.”

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?”