Lindsey Leavitt - Sean Griswolds Head

Lindsey Leavitt

Contents

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 problemsFiction. 2. Multiple sclerosisFiction. 3. Family lifePennsylvaniaFiction. 4. High schoolsFiction. 5. SchoolsFiction. 6. PennsylvaniaFiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.L46553Se 2011 [Fic]dc22 2010006949

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

To Curry,
Every day I love you.
But today, you get a book.

Nothing creates a buzz like an Executive Deluxe day planner. Not that I have much experience with buzzes, especially of the chemical variety, but my brother did double-dose me on NyQuil once when I was eleven. That thirty or so minutes of faint inebriation had nothing on this feeling. Pure, organized bliss.

I hug the planner to my chest and slowly brush the leather. Itll cost me a third of my Christmas money, but this baby has monthly and weekly calendars, financial graphs, to-do checklists and did I mention the sweet, sweet leather?

I cant believe you are spending that much money on an organizer, Payton. My best friend, Jac, leans against the store counter. Were at the mall, taking advantage of post-Christmas sales, and Im itching to prep my organizer for the new year. You can get an electronic one for like fifty bucks more. And what do you really need to plan, anyway? Youre a freshman, not a CEO.

I smile serenely at my cute, ignorant friend. I cant use my new highlighting system on a computer screen. And theres something about crossing off a task with a nice ballpoint, you know?

No. I really dont. But I love you all the same.

Of course she doesnt get it. Jac just spent eighty dollars on these ridiculously impractical red boots that will match two outfits, tops. Now, my well thought-out purchase? Ill use it every day.

So you probably arent interested in my highlighting system for our English readings. Its genius, really. Yellow for literary devices, pink for plot points, orange for conflict

Why orange?

Because I look like crap in that color. Id fight anyone who made me wear it.

Jac nods. Clothingnow thats something she understands. Why not save the school stuff until were actually back in school .

Midterms are only a few weeks away.

So lets enjoy our freedom while we have it. Jac fingers a green wallet. Im actually surprised your parents didnt get you a planner for Christmas. Theyre usually, like, the best present-givers. Unlike my parents. This is the third Christmas in a row that my dad gave me diamond earrings.

Diamonds. Whoa. Daddy McThrifty strikes again.

Hey, I was going to regift them to you for your birthday, but

Okay. Yes. That does suck. In a non-sucking way.

You know what I mean. Jac checks the price tag on the wallet and sticks it back on the shelf. Your parents know you as, like, an actual person. Its almost weird how functional you all are.

True. But my dad got me a book on rocks. I havent collected rocks since I was ten. TEN. If he had it his way, I would still be four. I bet he slipped antigrowth hormones into my eggnog last week.

Jac giggles. You hate eggnog. Her phone buzzes with a text. She checks it and points toward the counter. We better hurry, schnookums. My sisters waiting and I want to walk by Cinnabon again and see if Hot Freckle Boy checks me out.

I hand the cashier my money with a post-holiday coupon and tuck my new planner into my messenger bag. Once were by the food court, Jac achieves her desired catcall. And yes, Im positive its directed at her. I might get an occasional look from guys, but Jac Jac gets the whistles.

Fifteen minutes later, she leans out the window of her sisters Jeep. Call me tonight! I need you to tell me what happens in A Tale of Two Cities before break ends.

You could read it, you know. Or buy the CliffsNotes.

Forget Cliff. Payton Notes are much better.

I laugh. I bet you wouldnt say that if Cliff was cute.

Hed have to be way cute to pull off a name like Cliff.

I hug her good-bye and race into the house, excited to show off my toy to Mom and Dad. Theyre always teasing me about my organizational skills, but I know they love my neurotic tendencies. They never have to worry if Ill get my homework done.

Dad! I call. Ive taken anal retentive to a whole new level! Mom? I bounce through the hallway, photos of the family from now back to my great-grandfathers infancy watching me as I go. No one. I peek into the garage. My brother Trent borrowed Moms minivan because he claims it delivers the ladies. Dads Acura waits alone in the darkness.

Huh. They were home when I left. Maybe they went on one of their ever-increasing walks along the Schuylkill River. Theyve been kind of weird lately, out together day and night. Gazing at each other like they do in a bad soap opera during a long good-bye.

Sometimes, I get a little worried that something is seriously up.

I mean, theyre always pretty lovesick around each other, but what if its more? A good soap opera would throw in a murder cover-up or an unplanned love child. Which would be gross, because that means my parents are still capable of doing the act that produces babies.

I hear murmuring coming from the bathroom, then laughter. My paranoia melts. Theyre laughing. Just like always. In fact, Moms probably shaving Dads head, a biweekly event almost as entertaining as color coordination. I jiggle the doorknob, and since its unlocked, throw the door open. Hey, baldy! I sing. Then stare.

My dad is bent over the toilet seat, pants pulled down just enough that I see the top of his left butt cheek. Mom is standing behind him with a hypodermic needle in her right hand, poised to make a poke. They both startle when I barge in. Mom jerks so the needle grazes Dads skin. His pants slide lower and I almost see Way Too Much. I slam the door shut.

Not paranoid. Something was up. But I thought something was more along the lines of my parents sharing a cute midlife crisis. Not shooting each other up with drugs .

Payton! Mom yanks the door back open. Honey! Wait!

Im still standing at the door, my mouth hanging lower than my fathers pants. Hes behind her in a second, fumbling with his zipper. Sunshine. Lets go to the living room. We need to talk.