Eleanor & Park

Park’s mom was so mad, she wouldn’t come get him. She called his dad at work. When his dad showed up, the principal thought he was Steve’s dad.

‘Actually,’ his dad said, pointing at Park,

‘that one’s mine.’

The school nurse said Park didn’t have to go the hospital, but he looked pretty bad. He had a black eye and probably a broken nose.

Steve did have to go the hospital. His tooth was loose, and the nurse was pretty sure he’d broken a finger.

Park waited in the office with ice on his face while his dad talked to the principal. The secret-ary brought him a Sprite from the teachers’

lounge.

His dad didn’t say anything until they were driving.

‘Taekwando is the art of self-defense,’ he said sternly.

Park didn’t answer. His whole face was throbbing; the nurse wasn’t allowed to give out Tylenol.

‘Did you really kick him in the face?’ his dad asked.

Park nodded.

‘That had to be a jump kick.’

‘Jump reverse hook,’ Park groaned.

‘No way.’

Park tried to give his dad a dirty look, but any look at all felt like getting hit in the face with rocks.

‘He’s lucky you wear those little te

… Seriously, a jump reverse hook?’

Park nodded.

‘Huh. Well, your mom is going to hit the goddamn roof when she sees you. She was at your grandma’s house, crying, when she called me.’

His dad was right. When Park walked in, his mom was practically incoherent.

She took him by the shoulders and looked up at his face, shaking her head. ‘Fighting!’ she said, stabbing her index finger into his chest. ‘Fighting like white-trash dumb monkey …’

He’d seen her this mad at Josh before – he’d seen her throw a basket of silk flowers at Josh’s head – but never at him.

‘Waste,’ she said. ‘Waste! Fighting! Can’t trust you with own face.’

His dad tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.

‘Get the boy a steak, Harold,’ his grandma said, sitting Park at the kitchen table and inspect-ing his face.

‘I’m not wasting a steak on that,’ his grandpa said.

His dad went to the cupboard to get Park some Tylenol and a glass of water.

‘Can you breathe?’ his grandma asked.

‘Through my mouth,’ Park said.

‘Your dad broke his nose so many times, he can only breathe through one nostril. That’s why he snores like a freight train.’

‘No more taekwando,’ his mom said. ‘No more fighting.’

‘Mindy …’ his dad said. ‘It was one fight. He was sticking up for some girl the kids pick on.’

‘She’s not some girl,’ Park growled. His voice made every bone in his head vibrate with pain. ‘She’s my girlfriend.’

He hoped so, anyway.

‘Is it the redhead?’ his grandma asked.

‘Eleanor,’ he said. ‘Her name – is Eleanor.’

‘No girlfriend, no,’ his mom said, folding her arms. ‘Grounded.’ Eleanor

When Eleanor rang the doorbell, Magnum P.I.

answered.

‘Hi,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘I go to school with Park. I have his books and stuff.’

Park’s dad looked her up and down, but not like he was checking her out, thank God. More like he was sizing her up. (Which was also uncomfortable.) ‘Are you Helen?’ he asked.

‘Eleanor,’ she said.

‘Eleanor, right … Just a second.’

Before she could tell him that she just wanted to drop off Park’s stuff, he walked away. He left the door open, and Eleanor could hear him talking to someone, probably in the kitchen, probably Park’s mom. ‘Come on, Mindy …’ And, ‘Just for a few minutes …’ And then, right before he came back to the door, ‘With a nickname like Big Red, I expected her to be a lot bigger.’

‘I was just dropping this off,’ Eleanor said when he pushed the screen open.

‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘come on in.’

Eleanor held up Park’s backpack.

‘Seriously, kid,’ he said. ‘Come on in and give it to him yourself. I’m sure he wants to see you.’

Don’t be, she thought.

But she followed him through the living room, down the short hall to Park’s room. His dad knocked softly and peeked in the door.

‘Hey. Sugar Ray. Someone’s here to see you.

You want to powder your nose first?’

He opened the door for Eleanor, then walked away.

Park’s room was small, but it was packed with stuff. Stacks of books and tapes and comic books. Model airplanes. Model cars. Board games. A rotating solar system hung over his bed like one of those things you put over a crib.

Park was on his bed, trying to prop himself up on his elbows, when she walked in.

She gasped when she saw his face. It looked so much worse than it had earlier.

One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his nose was thick and purple. It made her want to cry. And to kiss him. (Because apparently everything made her want to kiss him. Park could tell her that he had lice and leprosy and parasitic worms living in his mouth, and she would still put on fresh ChapStik. God.)

‘Are you okay?’ she asked. Park nodded and sat up against his headboard. She set down his bag and his coat, and walked over to the bed. He made room for her, so she sat down.

‘Whoa,’ she said, falling backwards, tipping Park on his side. He groaned and grabbed her arm.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘oh my God, sorry, are you okay? I wasn’t expecting a waterbed.’ Just saying that word made her giggle. Park laughed a little, too. It sounded like snorting.

‘My mom bought it,’ he said. ‘She thinks they’re good for your back.’

He was keeping both of his eyes mostly shut, even the good one, and he didn’t open his mouth when he talked.

‘Does it hurt to talk?’ she asked.

He nodded. He hadn’t let go of her arm, even though she’d recovered her balance. If anything, he was holding it tighter.

She reached up with her other hand and lightly touched his hair. Brushed it out of his face. It felt smooth and sharp at the same time, like she could feel each strand under her fingertips.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She didn’t ask why.

There were tears pooling in the slit of his left eye and slipping down his right cheek. She started to wipe themaway, but she didn’t want to touch him.

‘It’s okay …’ she said. She let her hand settle in her own lap.

She wondered if he was still trying to break up with her. If he was, she wouldn’t hold it against him.

‘Did I ruin everything?’ he asked.

‘Every-what?’ she whispered, as if listening might hurt him, too.

‘Every-us.’

She shook her head, even though he probably couldn’t see her. ‘Not. Possible,’ she said.

He ran his palm down her arm and squeezed her hand. She could see the muscles flex in his forearm and just under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

‘I think you might have ruined your face,’ she said.

He groaned.

‘Which is okay,’ she said, ‘because you were way too cute for me, anyway.’

‘You think I’m cute?’ he said thickly, pulling on her hand.

She was glad he couldn’t see her face. ‘I think you’re …’

Beautiful. Breathtaking. Like the person in a Greek myth who makes one of the gods stop caring about being a god.

Somehow the bruises and swelling made Park even more beautiful. His face looked ready to break out of its chrysalis.

‘They’re still going to make fun of me,’ she blurted. ‘This fight doesn’t change that. You can’t start kicking people every time someone thinks I’m weird or ugly … Promise me you won’t try. Promise me that you’ll try not to care.’

He pulled on her hand again, and shook his head, gingerly.

‘Because it doesn’t matter to me, Park. If you like me,’ she said, ‘I swear to God, nothing else matters.’

He leaned back into his headboard, and pulled her hand to his chest.

‘Eleanor, how many times do I have to tell you,’ he said, through his teeth, ‘that I don’t like you …’

Park was grounded, and he wouldn’t be back at school until Friday.