Sean Griswold's Head by Lindsey Leavitt

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.
    â€œHey,” I say and plop down next to him. “Sorry I’m late. I had to bike over from my house.”
    â€œWhere do you live?”
    â€œNear Audubon. You?”
    â€œCollegeville.”
    â€œCollegeville?” I gasp. “But that’s like ten miles away.”
    â€œUsually I bike down to the city.”
    â€œYou mean Philadelphia?”
    â€œNo, New York.”
    I gasp again. He laughs.
    â€œI’m joking, Payton. Yes, Philadelphia. But I thought I’d take it easy on you today and just do the loop.”
    â€œOkay. 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—”
    â€œI can do the hill,” I insist. I did a hill getting here. How bad can it be?
    â€œWe’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