Sean Griswold's Head by Lindsey Leavitt Page A

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.
    â€œAre 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.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œLike?”
    â€œExcedrin.” Sean swigs some more water.
    Headaches. I can relate to headaches. First question down. Now …“You ever come riding with your brother?”
    â€œThat would be hard, being as I’m an only child.”
    â€œOh. 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.”
    â€œDidn’t you tell my brother you’re doing a triathlon?”
    â€œYeah. 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?”
    â€œIt’s the biggest high. And the test of the ultimate athlete. I want to be the strongest. I want to be the best.”
    â€œYeah, but why ?”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œReally?” 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.”
    â€œSo you don’t like it anymore?”
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    â€œThen why’d you quit?”
    I tilt my head to the side. “It’s complicated.”
    â€œTouché.” 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.”
    â€œYou 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