Sean Griswold's Head by Lindsey Leavitt Page B

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.
    â€œYou good?” he calls.
    â€œYeah.”
    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.
    â€œWhew. 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.”
    â€œNext time?” I close my eyes.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œYou ready to finish?” Sean asks.
    I choke on my words. “You want … Are you serious?”
    â€œNah. We can walk back.” Sean chuckles. “You know, I never knew you were this fun to tease.”
    â€œThere’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.

    â€œTell 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.
    â€œThere’s nothing to tell. We went on a bike ride. We had fun. I want to