Sean Griswold's Head (9 page)

ELEVEN

Bike ride with Sean is today. My bike still has neon spokes and I haven't been on it in a year. Not to worry. After all, riding a bike is like … riding a bike. You get on and go. A much bigger problem is clothes. I know hard-core cyclists wear tight clothes, but I don't do spandex. The devil wears spandex. And I doubt the devil's butt is as big as mine. Jac even had me try on a bunch of potential biking outfits—nothing worked. (But it's hard not to love her. She's the cheer mom who memorizes all her daughter's routines and does them in the bleachers during a game.)

After further deliberation, I throw a pair of basketball shorts over Jac's fuchsia yoga capri pants and ride my bike out of the cul-de-sac and onto the trail that will lead me into Valley Forge National Park. The weather is warmer than yesterday, but the clouds promise a change soon. I switch the gears of my Schwinn before heading up a small incline. This is exercise, not a sport. Bike riding isn't competitive. And my dad doesn't have a bike. This activity feels safe, although I don't get the same rush I did yesterday with the ball.

Even with the extra padding, my butt is already complaining about the seat. By the time I cover the four miles to the park, I'm ready to take a break. But there's Sean, stretching his legs next to the Visitors' Center entrance. He has on the expected biker shorts, with a blue jacket, helmet, gloves, and those weird shoes I saw when I began my stalking/research adventures. I feel self-conscious about my outfit and about the star stickers I stuck on my helmet in seventh grade.

“Hey,” I say and plop down next to him. “Sorry I'm late. I had to bike over from my house.”

“Where do you live?”

“Near Audubon. You?”

“Collegeville.”

“Collegeville?” I gasp. “But that's like ten miles away.”

“Usually I bike down to the city.”

“You mean Philadelphia?”

“No, New York.”

I gasp again. He laughs.

“I'm joking, Payton. Yes, Philadelphia. But I thought I'd take it easy on you today and just do the loop.”

“Okay. Not that I need any special treatment. I know how to ride a bike, you know.”

Sean smiles. “Have you ever done this loop before?”

I stand up and throw my leg over the bike. I don't like Sean looking at me like that. Like I'm a scrub. I've played sports my whole life. I can do this. Easy. “Yeah, all the time. I'm surprised we haven't seen each other here.”

Sean rubs his chin, his eyes dancing. “I'll draft then. Let's stop at the arch monument, then Washington's Headquarters. We'll skip the hill—”

“I can do the hill,” I insist. I did a hill getting here. How bad can it be?

“We'll see. Just stay with me.” Sean clicks his shoes into the pedals of his bike and readjusts his helmet. He takes a sip from his water bottle and spits it out. I do the same, except I choke on the water and end up coughing. Sean just shakes his head and starts to ride.

We pass by the bunkers that Revolutionary War soldiers slept in back before heating and Serta mattresses were around. Valley Forge has a different feel than say, Gettysburg, because there weren't actual battles here. This was the rebels' camp for six months and they endured all sorts of terrors like hunger, disease, and lack of outdoor plumbing. But this place puts things into perspective for me. I'm thinking about how much my butt hurts when I remember they had to walk through the snow with bloody feet. I'm worried that I won't make it through a bike ride while the soldiers didn't know if they'd live through the next day.

We weave around the dog-walkers and tourists along the path. My bike is the equivalent of a Ford Escort and Sean's riding a Beamer. I see him tightening the resistance on his bike while waiting for me to catch up. A smile is set on my face so Sean doesn't know how hard I'm working.

We make it to the arch, and Sean stops to take a drink. He's obviously doing this for me because he hasn't broken a sweat and isn't even close to winded. I, however, guzzle half my water bottle.

Time to start in on my questions. Not that I have any prepared. I figure I'll just see where the moment takes us.

Sean unzips his jacket pocket and unveils a bottle of Advil. He pops it open and knocks back three pills.

“Are you an addict?” I blurt out.

Sean seems to contemplate this for a minute. “That'd be a pretty lame addiction. Advil. I mean, if I was going to be a user, I'd be a little more extreme, you know? Don't want the other druggies making fun.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Sean shrugs. “I get headaches. Lately I've been getting them more and more. Pretty soon I'm going to have to give up the ibuprofen and move to the hard stuff.”

“Like?”

“Excedrin.” Sean swigs some more water.

Headaches. I can relate to headaches. First question down. Now …“You ever come riding with your brother?”

“That would be hard, being as I'm an only child.”

“Oh. So who lives with—” I freeze. Sean doesn't know Jac and I called him the other day. Sean doesn't know any of our investigative … techniques. “I mean, so how often do you ride?”

Sean leans against his handlebars. “Almost every day when the weather is good. Longer rides on weekends. I focus more on swimming and running in winter, and take a few spin classes at the Y when the snow keeps me off the road.”

“Didn't you tell my brother you're doing a triathlon?”

“Yeah. This summer. It's a sprint—there aren't many bigger ones with divisions for my age. In a few years I'll work up to some of the national competitions. My main goal is to win the Ironman someday.”

Which leads to Question #4: “What makes you want to do that?”

“It's the biggest high. And the test of the ultimate athlete. I want to be the strongest. I want to be the best.”

“Yeah, but
why
?”

“I don't know.” Sean gives me a sideways glance. “It's complicated. Why do you like basketball?”

I rub at a scuff on my shoes. I'm supposed to be asking the questions here. “I quit basketball.”

“Really?” Sean looks surprised. “That was always your sport in junior high.”

The tiniest thrill runs up my spine. He remembered I played basketball. Granted, before I quit the team, I wore the jersey to school on game days. But, still—he remembered. “I gave it up a month or two ago.”

“So you don't like it anymore?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Then why'd you quit?”

I tilt my head to the side. “It's complicated.”

“Touché.” Sean's expression grows thoughtful. “But it can't be that complicated. If it's not your thing, that's fine. But if you love something, you hold on to it.”

“You always this deep when you ride?” I ask.

Sean laughs. “Nah, usually I just try to hit squirrels that get in my way. Let's see if we can run some over.” He clicks his shoes into his pedals and takes off.

He's joking. Totally. But just to make sure, I whistle every now and then to warn any unsuspecting rodents.

Everything around us is dead—the trees, the grass, the sky. It's like we're stuck in a black-and-white movie with no color, just varying degrees of gray. Even the sunlight, seeping through the clouds, has a dingy hue. We ride past the arch, downhill to an open field with deer galore. Sean veers off the road toward a crop of trees sloping upward. I shift gears and follow.

The hill is murder. Without Sean around, I'd jump off and walk my bike up. I'm standing on the pedals now, pumping my legs and leaning forward. The hill doesn't let up, getting steeper and steeper with each turn of my wheels. We've probably only done a half of a mile, but it feels like I'm scaling Everest. It's the most intense thing I've ever done. Sean's ahead of me, but not far and he keeps looking back to make sure I'm with him.

“You good?” he calls.

“Yeah.”

But I'm not.

My head is spinning. I can't get my legs to pedal anymore. It's like my body has an instant power outage. I stumble off my bike and kneel on the gravel, managing to get my helmet off before I throw up what seems like gallons of water. When I'm done, I contemplate lying down in the middle of the road to let a car finish me off. I'm already half-dead.

Sean is beside me now, forcing me to drink some water before he pours more onto my face and hair. He zips off his jacket and balls it up into a pillow, which I gratefully lie on. Next, he lifts my legs and massages my calves.

Horror—I didn't shave my legs today. Did I yesterday? It's winter! I should be safe from male contact. I spend my whole adolescence shaving compulsively and one of the few times I forget is when the action happens. But this isn't action. Is it?

He doesn't seem to notice the prickly hair; his attention is on the knotted muscles. Up and down his hands slide. Heat rises in my face and it's not from biking. This is the closest I've been with a boy, but the vomited water next to me nixes any romantic ideas.

“Whew. I'm sorry.” He raises his arm and wipes his brow. “I shouldn't have taken us up the hill. Next time I'll let you borrow one of my bikes, okay? And we'll skip the hill.”

“Next time?” I close my eyes.

“You have to do it, and soon, or else you'll never touch a bike again. I threw up the first time I rode this hill too. Right after I crashed.”

My eyes flutter open and I look up at Sean. Time for the final question. “Is that how you got that scar on your forehead? You crashed your bike?”

His hands pause midmassage. “No. Not from a crash. Something else.”

I'm about to ask him more, when a pair of bikers call ahead for us to move. I scramble up and lug my bike farther off the trail.

“You ready to finish?” Sean asks.

I choke on my words. “You want … Are you serious?”

“Nah. We can walk back.” Sean chuckles. “You know, I never knew you were this fun to tease.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me,” I say as I pick up my helmet and loop it onto my handles.

Sean's voice softens. “I don't doubt it.” And then even softer, soft enough I almost don't hear, he says, “But I wouldn't mind changing that.”

We're silent as we walk down the hill. As if to punctuate the change in mood, the clouds open up and it begins to rain. I'm freezing. I can still taste vomit. My legs are on fire.

And I can't remember the last time I felt this good.

PFE

Feb 9

Topic: Cold Hard Facts learned based upon five questions experiment.

1. Sean is an only child. So we do not know who answered the phone when Jac called.

2. He pops pills because he gets headaches.

3. He wants to be the next Ironman.

4. He likes to feel in control.

5. I still don't know where the scar came from. Although, I wasn't focusing on it much once his jacket came off.* Hello, arm muscles.

*Sorry, I'm dehydrated and the searing pain in my buns is causing me to not think straight. I shouldn't objectify Sean like that (although he is a Focus
Object
so maybe …).

Sorry again. Fatigue
-
driven delirium is setting in.

“Tell me about it again,” Jac insists, popping a third cheesecake bite into her mouth. It's our Saturday sleepover, I've already told her about the ride twice, and I'm wondering how much longer she'll keep talking before I pass out from exhaustion.

“There's nothing to tell. We went on a bike ride. We had fun. I want to surgically remove my butt. Nothing big.”

“Did he say anything flirty?”

“No, we were bike riding. And it wasn't like a stroll along the beach. It was extreme.”

“I want to go on a bike ride.” She balls up her cheesecake wrapper and pantomimes steering a bike over to the trash. “I bet he'll take us. Let's call him and ask.”