Sean Griswold's Head (15 page)

“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 being 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: C
LOSED FOR
R
EENACTMENT
. 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!”

“You okay?” I touch his forehead.

“That hurt.”

“Well, yeah. It would.”

“Not that. Well,
that
, but what you said.
Jac
was my secret admirer?”

I pull my hand away. “Um … kind of. Yeah.”

“Oh. So … so it wasn't … it wasn't you?”

“Um, no. Jac says she did it for me, but I didn't know she was going to do it.”

“So you never got me a valentine?”

“Right. I, er … sorry. I should have, I would have, but no. No, I didn't.”

“Humph.” Sean grunts and lies back down.

“But that's why Jac and I got in a fight. You see, ever since … a while ago, Jac has been butting in.”

“Butting into what?”

“What? Oh, um …” Can I give him the truth without telling him the whole truth and nothing but the truth? He knows about my dad and the sessions. He knows about Jac. But the PFEs and Sean stalking? Forget about it. I have to maintain some semblance of sanity. “Butting into my business. I mean, that part isn't important. She knew how I felt about you and gave you that present without telling me first. That's why we fought. That's my truth.”

A goofy grin spreads across Sean's face. “How you felt?”

“Hey, no more questions.”

“Fine. But is that really the truth? All of it?”

“Of course.” I swallow. “Why would I lie?”

“I just thought it was weird the way Ms. Callahan looked at me today. Like she knew stuff about me. But if she witnessed a catfight in my honor, I guess it makes sense. Although—”

“Your turn,” I say. “Three things.”

“Three things.” Sean strokes his chin. “Let's see … First, I am an alien from the planet Xerox, where everyone is a clone. Second, I am secretly a celebrity doing research for my next historical drama in which I star as a dashing guard to General Washington. And third … I'm completely, utterly, and overwhelmingly … cold.”

“Sean! That's obvious.”