Sean Griswold's Head (12 page)

“Hold up,” Sean calls. “We're coming too.”

“No worries,” I yell back. “I'll meet you down there.”

I pump my legs, not even bothering to clip my helmet straps. I have to get far away so I can think and not listen to Sean's reactions to Jac's stupid flirting.

Once I'm alone in the darkness, I consider the possibility: maybe that whole thing back there was progress. Maybe Sean wants the same thing I do. Now I just have to figure out what that “thing” is.

FIFTEEN

I never used to understand the expression “float through the day.” People don't float. They stand. They walk. Maybe run. Feet leave the ground for a moment, but not indefinitely. But somehow, I find myself floating.

I talk to Trent when he drops me off at school. I pretend to listen to Jac as she details her sister's new tattoo. I take notes in math, more scribbles and abstractions than anything legible. Because I'm not there. I'm back on the hill with Sean.

I've never liked a boy before. I've thought boys were cute and I've had crushes, but I've never gone beyond that to the Land of Like. I'd seen Jac go through it so many times and it seemed like so much effort: the doodled notebooks, dissected conversations, trying to look good for that person all the time. I'd rather use energy like that on basketball or something. But now basketball is gone, and here I am.

Was Sean going to kiss me? If not, did he want to? Did he feel any differently about me now than he did a few weeks ago? What did he think of Jac? Did Jac like him too? Should I tell Jac I like him? Do I like him?

Obviously, in Like Land, all sentences end in a question.

PFE

February 12

The pros and cons of Turning Your Focus Object into Your Crush

Pro:
I've gotten to know him better lately, and for the most part, I like what I've learned.

Con:
I've gotten to know him better because he's my FOCUS OBJECT and thus, I should maintain a safe distance. I mean, it'd be like that gorilla lady falling for one of her apes. Ew, never mind, it's not like that
at all
.

Pro:
I feel like he knows what I'm thinking, like he understands things in a way no one else does.

Con:
I'm not at a point right now where I want someone, least of all a crush, to know what's going on in my head.
I
don't even want to know what's going on in my head.

Pro:
He suggested I do that bike ride for my dad. I'm not sure if I will, but it shows he's a problem solver.

Con:
What if I'm one problem that can't BE solved?

Pro:
He really is cute. Nice body, nice features, nice … niceness.

Con:
He really is cute! How can I focus on focusing with all his cuteness distracting me?

Pro:
Sean has confidence without cockiness. He's funny, smart, sarcastic, and interesting.

Con:
Crap. I've got nothing.

I work on my chart all through biology. Miss Marietta explains our cell project, and since I plan on recycling Trent's (another act of rebellion; I'm on a roll), my fuzziness is more justified. When she faces the board to draw a diagram, Sean turns around.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.” I tuck my Focus Journal underneath my biology book.

“Doesn't Miss Marietta kind of look like Jerry's girlfriend in episode 165? The one who walks around naked all the time?”

I look at Miss Marietta and stifle a giggle. “Do you think they're related?”

“Hope not.” Sean smiles. ”The nudity thing might be hereditary.”

This time the laugh escapes and Miss Marietta stops talking. “Do you find the nucleus entertaining, Miss Gritas?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean … sorry.”

She goes back to lecturing and Sean gives me a wink. Usually, winking is something my sicko uncle does after he compliments my “blossoming.” I'm not usually a fan of the wink. But Sean's wink says a million things all at once. The fuzzy floating feeling returns, but this time with a scent of peppermint and tire rubber.

A piece of paper hits my head and I look around, confused. Jac's giving me the eye, so I pick up the note and read.

Hey, what were you two just talking about?

I make eye contact with her and mouth, “
Seinfeld
.”

She shakes her head and scribbles on another sheet of paper. She launches and I catch it just before Miss Marietta looks up suspiciously. I'm all innocence as I unfold the paper under my desk.

Research tip/boy tip number one million—even if you
say
you don't like Sean, it's generally a good idea to avoid the
Seinfeld
references when talking to boys. No one gets them.

I shrug at the paper, not bothering to look at Jac. She doesn't get it, but Sean does. Sean gets me, maybe even more than anyone else.

My stomach flips at that thought and a haze settles over my float. Sean gets
what I've put out there
, but if he knew the rest, the therapy stuff and the PFEs, he might not be winking my way anymore.

Jac's at least taught me one thing about boys: they don't want a girl with issues. The MS drama makes me high maintenance enough as it is; therapy catapults me into a whole new arena. So I need to convince Ms. Callahan I'm sane or cured or whatever I'm supposed to be so I can get out of these chats.

And make sure that Sean never, ever finds out about my research.

PFE

February 14

Topic: My “I Am Cured!” Speech

Ahem. I've solved Sean's mysteries, and by doing that have explored my own inner child. Or my inner demons. Whatever inner thing I was supposed to look at. Except my innards, because that's just gross.

I shall now continue a normal adolescence consisting of frequent mall visits, vast consumption of Doritos, and countless hours devoted to various Internet addictions. Or something like that.

Okay, maybe I went too far with the inner child part. I'll have to work on it, on my whole show, to really pull the speech off. Part of that is reassessing how I view my Focus Journal. It's not a therapy ploy. It is a regular ol' journal. Which means I'm normal for writing in it. Which means anything I write about a boy should induce no guilt because I'm not using Sean. Girls write notes about boys in journals all the time.

It's required. It's a rite of passage. I really have no choice.

I'm jolted from my speech preparation by the aroma of pancakes and sausage. Mom's new way to promote family togetherness is to exploit my weakness—food. Except I get emotional when I'm hungry, and I can use that to fake-cry better today during the Imposter Dad chat at my counseling session. A few tears coupled with my carefully prepared words and Ms. Callahan will finally, finally proclaim me sane.

I wear a mature and polished outfit—gray skirt and black top—so it looks like I've grown up and transformed. And I match. Progress. I'm looking at myself in my full-length mirror when Trent weasels into the room.

“What's with the outfit? You revolting against Valentine's Day or something?”

I stare at him, the remark not registering. Valentine's Day. I'd completely spaced it. Which meant I'd also spaced on making my trash card.

Trash cards have been a family tradition since Mom and Dad met. The legend goes that they were so poor when they first got married that Dad made Mom's card from things in the trash. The tradition has grown, and now every year we each choose a name, make a card, and vote on whose is the most disgusting. I would, of course, lose this year because I forgot to make Dad's and now had nothing.

“Not revolting.” I turn back to the mirror. “I just … forgot it was Valentine's Day.”

Trent whistles. “Bad news. I'm guessing you didn't do a card, either.”

“I … just haven't finished it.” Which isn't a total lie. My room was littered with trash, so I've already prepared the materials. “But I will. Promise.”

“You better. Dad would be crushed if you screwed this up too.”

I let out a slow breath. Dad wasn't the only one I had to consider. Jac takes valentines to the craziest degree, especially with me because she's not really feeling the love with anyone at home. I consider doing nothing as payback for the weird flirting the other night, but I doubt she even knew she did something wrong. I haven't technically told her I like Sean—if I do indeed like Sean. And since the only other valentine she'll get is flowers from her dad's girlfriend, today I needed to come through for her. And my dad. And prove my sanity.

I hate this holiday.

I sigh. “I'm not going to screw this up. Look, I didn't get anything for Jac either and we always do something. Take me to Rite Aid before school and I'll make a great card for Dad.”

“Fine. I'll take you. For Dad's sake.” Trent smirks. “Did you want to get something for your boyfriend from the mall too?”

“Sean? Why would I do that?”

“ 'Cuz you snuck out to see him the other night.”

My jaw drops. “I … I don't know … How did you—”

“Please. The whole ‘I'm having girl problems' tipped me off. And our rooms are next to each other. But, hey, relax, secret's safe for now. I'll just hold on to it for later.”

The weird thing is, the truth kind of liberates me. I've proven I'm more grown-up than he thought and grown-ups discuss their relationships openly. “Sean's a great guy; maybe I'll get him something. Maybe I'll get something for another guy. And maybe I'll just let them get me something.”

Trent laughs. “Man, I miss high school. Okay, let's go buy some teddy bears and plastic roses.”

After I stock up on valentine goodies, Trent drops me off and I walk into Greystone High. As predicted, heart-shaped balloons fill the halls. Some, no doubt, are self-bought due to the universal teenage belief that without a valentine, you are a loser.

Jac's waiting next to my locker, which is decorated in crepe paper, balloons, and taped-on candy. Is having your best friend be your valentine every year the same as having no valentine at all? She squeals when she sees me and gives me a hug.

“Happy V-Day, sugar-pop! Do you like the deco?”

I grin despite myself and hug her back. She may be a boy-crazy maniac, but she's my boy-crazy maniac. “You've outdone yourself.”

“Just wait until you open it.”

I rush through my combination and when the locker opens, candy, roses, and a hideous stuffed purple cat spill out onto the floor. Jac grabs some candy and throws it up in air, dancing around and laughing. The hall monitor gives her a weary look and I scramble to clean up the mess.

“Okay, my turn,” Jac says, closing her eyes and holding out her hands. “Whatcha get me? Whatcha get me?”

I unzip my backpack and hand her a paper Rite Aid bag. “It isn't much.”

Jac looks inside and then at me in bewilderment. “No, it's great. Candy. I like … candy.”

“It's not just candy.” I rummage through the bag's contents. “It's a joke. Think about it. A lollipop, Sugar Babies, honey chews, a box of gumdrops. The can of pumpkin is a stretch but they didn't have an actual pumpkin this time of year.”

Her face is still blank. “Oh, um … help me out.”

“Jac, it's all your pet names in a bag. Lollipop, honey, pumpkin. I couldn't find one for darling, though.”

She thinks about this for a moment, then smiles. “Oh, I get it. So it's one of those it's-the-thought-that-counts gifts, right?”

“Never mind. It was a stupid idea. I was just trying to be creative. I should have gotten the teddy bear holding a heart.”

“No! I love it.” She pops a gumdrop in her mouth. “Gumdrop. Too punny. Get it, PUNny instead of fun—”

“I get it.” Her present is better. Mine sucks. Yeah, I get it.

She shrugs. “Well, this is just the start. Wait until you see what I do in biology.”

“Nothing embarrassing?”

The bell rings. “I gotta go. See you in bio.” Jac skips down the hallway.

“Nothing embarrassing, right?” I call after her.

She doesn't answer.