Sean Griswold's Head (25 page)

Glasses. Not a brain tumor. Glasses. My freak-out was the result of blurry vision. My own blurry vision.

“They look good on you,” I say.

Sean stands. “Thanks. Well, hey, it was good talking to you, but my family's meeting me in the parking lot. Tell your dad I said bye. I'll see you later, I guess.”

He nudges through the crowded store. The shop bell rings as he opens the door. I look back at the sundae melting on the table and shovel in bite after bite until my brain freezes. Ah, kryptonite!

Wait, what am I doing? How can I think about ice cream at a time like this? I spring out of my seat and race outside. Sean's halfway down the boardwalk. I run after him and grab his arm. We both stare at my hand, but I don't move it. I think of the last time I stopped him like this, in the hallway when he found out about the PFEs. He forgave me then. Could he do it now?

“I'm wondering if you can help me with something before you leave,” I say, out of breath.

Sean nods. I release his arm and draw myself up straight.

“See, I've been thinking about those Revolutionary War soldiers and how they must have been torn, you know fighting the good fight but being away from their families.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You think they ever got scared, ever … ran away? Like, as a self-preservation kind of thing?” I ask. “Even if they knew they weren't supposed to. Even if they really, really didn't want to?”

Sean squints at me. There's so much behind his look—curiosity, amusement, uncertainty. I can feel him though, even from a few inches away, loosening. The edge he's had in his voice is gone. “I bet they did.”

“What was the punishment for that? When they got the … brains to come back, when they realized how stupid they were. How
sorry
they were. How did they make things better then? Could … could they make things better?”

Sean paces the boardwalk, hands behind his back, like a general issuing orders to his troops. “You're speaking of great treachery here. Especially if it's a repeat offense. Trust was vital in the camp.”

I hang my head low. I'm an idiot. “I know.”

He stops pacing. “But I think the patriots would've forgiven them.”

I stop breathing. Could that mean … does he forgive me? “Really?”

“After all, those rebels had to stick together, right? How else were they going to win against such huge odds?” He raises my chin. His eyes are endless. His scar is glorious. His hair is sunshine.

His head … is heaven.

“So you still think I'm hard-core?” I ask, my voice shaking.

Sean leans in and brushes his lips against mine. There's the taste of peppermint I've been waiting for. I close my eyes and take him in. It's not unicorns or dandelions. It's better. So much better.

“No way,” he says, his voice low. “Hard-core doesn't even begin to describe you.”

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A robust thank you to:

Sarah Davies, for finding Sean the perfect home and believing in this story despite the absence of tiaras and vampires (oh, wait. So there kind of is a vampire).

Lisa Schroeder, Holly Westland, Angela Cerrito, Shelley Seeley, Rich Wallace, Cynthea Liu, Rachel Hawkins, Sarah Deford Williams, and especially Kristin Daly for reading, critiquing, and guiding me through many drafts.

The publishing dream team at Bloomsbury: Melanie Cecka, Danielle Delaney, Deb Shapiro, Beth Eller, and Alexei Esikoff. Caroline Abbey, Editor of Awesome, for asking just the right questions, understanding/loving the quirkiness, and including enough revision smiley faces to keep me going. It's been an absolute joy to share this bookish experience with you.

My parents for, you know, raising me and stuff. Rylee, Talin, and Logan for being sweet and adorable … most of the time. My little sister, Rachel, for reading the manuscript first and loving Sean (even if you insisted I give him dark hair, which was just wrong, wrong, wrong). To my father-in-law, Berne, for answering my questions about multiple sclerosis, and to the National MS Society for helping me understand the complexities of the disease. To Curry, my high school lab partner turned best friend turned husband turned father of my children turned man who helped me write about Valley Forge and bike riding. I never did add a slap-on-the-butt bike crash because no one would be
that
careless. Oh, except, um … you. LOVES.

Copyright © 2011 by Lindsey Leavitt LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

First published in the United States of America in March 2011

by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
E-book edition published in March 2011
www.bloomsburyteens.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

Leavitt, Lindsey.

Sean Griswold's head / by Lindsey Leavitt.-1st U.S. ed.

p. cm.

Summary: After discovering that her father has multiple sclerosis, fifteen- year- old Payton begins counseling sessions at school, which lead her to become interested in a boy in her biology class, have a falling out with her best friend, develop an interest in bike riding, and eventually allow her to come to terms with life's uncertainties.

ISBN 978-1-59990-498-6 (hardcover)

[1. Emotional problems—Fiction. 2. Multiple sclerosis—Fiction. 3. Family life—Pennsylvania—Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Pennsylvania—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.L46553Se 2011      [Fic]—dc22    2010006949

ISBN 978-1-59990-568-6 (e-book)