Eleanor & Park

Maybe his dad had been bracing for the entire neighborhood to swarm the house with torches and pitchforks as soon as they saw Park with eyeliner …

But almost nobody cared. Not even his grandparents. (His grandma said he looked like Rudolph Valentino, and he heard his grandpa tell his dad, ‘You should have seen what kids looked like while you were in Korea.’)

‘I’m going to bed,’ Park said, standing up from the table. ‘I don’t feel well either.’

‘So if Park doesn’t get to play Nintendo anymore,’ Josh asked, ‘can I put it in my room?’

‘Park can play Nintendo whenever he wants,’

their dad said.

‘God,’ Josh said, ‘everything you guys do is unfair.’

Park turned off his light and crawled onto his bed. He lay on his back because he didn’t trust his front. Or his hands, actually. Or his brain.

After he saw Eleanor today, it hadn’t oc-curred to him, not for at least an hour, to wonder why she was walking down the hall in her gymsuit. And it took him another hour to realize he should have said something to her. He could have said, ‘Hey’ or ‘What’s going on?’ or ‘Are you OK?’ Instead he’d stared at her like he’d never seen her before.

He felt like he’d never seen her before.

It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it (a lot)

– Eleanor under her clothes. But he could never fill in any of the details. The only women he could actually picture naked were the women in the magazines his dad every once in a while remembered to hide under his bed.

Magazines like that made Eleanor freak. Just mention Hugh Hefner, and she’d be off for half an hour on prostitution and slavery and the Fall of Rome. Park hadn’t told her about his dad’s twenty-year-old Playboy s, but he hadn’t touched them since he met her.

He could fill in some of the details now. He could picture Eleanor. He couldn’t stop picturing her. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how tight those gymsuits were? And how short …

And why hadn’t he expected her to be so grown up? To have so much negative space?

He closed his eyes and saw her again. A stack of freckled heart shapes, a perfectly made Dairy Queen ice cream cone. Like Betty Boop drawn with a heavy hand.

Hey, he thought. What’s going on? Are you okay?

She must not be. She hadn’t been on the bus on the way home. She hadn’t come over after school. And tomorrow was Saturday. What if he didn’t see her all weekend?

How could he even look at her now? He wouldn’t be able to. Not without stripping her down to her gymsuit. Without thinking about that long white zipper.

Jesus.

CHAPTER 42 Park

His family was going to the boat show the next day, then out to lunch, and maybe to the mall …

Park took forever to eat his breakfast and take a shower.

‘Come on, Park,’ his dad said sharply, ‘get dressed and put your makeup on.’

Like he’d wear makeup to the boat show.

‘Come on,’ his mom said, checking her lipstick in the hall mirror, ‘you know your dad hate crowds.’

‘Do I have to go?’

‘You don’t want to go?’ She scrunched and fluffed the back of her hair.

‘No, I do,’ Park said. He didn’t. ‘But what if Eleanor comes over? I don’t want to miss the chance to talk to her.’

‘Is something wrong? You sure you didn’t fight?’

‘No, no fight. I’m just … worried about her.

And you know I can’t call her house.’

His mom turned away from the mirror. ‘Okay

…’ she said, frowning. ‘You stay. But vacuum, okay? And put away big pile of black clothes on your floor.’

‘Thanks,’ Park said. He hugged her.

‘Park! Mindy!’ His dad was standing at the front door. ‘Let’s go!’

‘Park staying home,’ his mom said. ‘We go.’

His dad flashed him a look, but didn’t argue.

Park wasn’t used to being home alone. He vacuumed. He put his clothes away. He made himself a sandwich and watched a Young Ones marathon on MTV, then fell asleep on the couch.

When he heard the doorbell, he jerked up to answer it before he was awake. His heart was pounding, the way it does sometimes when you sleep too hard in the middle of the day, like you can’t remember how to wake up.

He was sure it was Eleanor. He opened the door without checking. Eleanor

Their car wasn’t in the driveway, so Eleanor figured Park’s family wasn’t home. They were probably off doing awesome family stuff. Eating lunch at Bonanza and having their portraits taken in matching sweaters.

She’d already given up on the door when it opened. And before she could act embarrassed and uncomfortable about yesterday – or pretend that she wasn’t – Park was opening the screen door and pulling her in by her sleeve.

He didn’t even close the door before he put his arms around her, his entire arms, all down the length of her back.

Park usually held Eleanor with his hands on her waist, like they were slow-dancing. This wasn’t slow-dancing. This was … something else. His arms were around her, and his face was in her hair, and there was no place for the rest of her to go but against him.

He was warm … Like really warm and fuzzy-soft. Like a sleeping baby, she thought. (Sort of.

Not exactly.)

She tried to feel embarrassed again.

Park kicked the door closed and fell back on it, pulling her even tighter. His hair was clean and straight and flopping into his eyes, and his eyes were nearly closed. Fuzzy. Soft.

‘Were you sleeping?’ she whispered. Like he still might be.

He didn’t answer, but his mouth fell on hers, open, and her head fell back into his hand. He was holding her so close, there was nowhere to hide. She couldn’t sit up or suck in or keep any secrets.

Park made a noise, and it hummed in her throat. She could feel all ten of his fingers. On her neck, on her back … Her own hands hung stupidly at her side. Like they weren’t even in the same scene as his. Like she wasn’t even in the same scene.

Park must have noticed, because he pulled his mouth back. He tried to wipe it on the shoulder of his T-shirt, and he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time since she got there.

‘Hey …’ he said, taking a breath, focusing.

‘What’s going on? Are you okay?’

Eleanor looked at Park’s face, so full of something she couldn’t quite place. His chin hung forward, like his mouth didn’t want to pull away from her, and his eyes were so green they could turn carbon dioxide into oxygen.

He was touching her all the places she was afraid to be touched …

Eleanor tried one last time to be embarrassed. Park

For a second, he thought he’d gone too far.

He hadn’t even meant to, he was practically sleepwalking. And he’d been thinking about Eleanor, dreaming about her, for so many hours; wanting her made him stupid.

She was so still in his arms. He thought for a second that he’d gone too far, that he’d tripped a wire.

And then Eleanor touched him. She touched his neck.

It’s hard to say why this was different from all the other times she’d touched him. She was different. She was still and then she wasn’t.

She touched his neck, then drew a line down his chest. Park wished that he was taller and broader; he hoped she wouldn’t stop.

She was so gentle compared to him. Maybe she didn’t want him like he wanted her. But even if she wanted him half as much … Eleanor

This is how she touched him in her head.

From jaw to neck to shoulder.

He was so much warmer than she expected, and harder. Like all of his muscles and bones were right on the surface, like his heart was beat-ing just under his T-shirt.

She touched Park softly, gingerly, just in case she touched him wrong. Park

He relaxed against the door.

He felt Eleanor’s hand on his throat, on his chest, then took her other hand and pressed it to his face. He made a noise like he was hurt and decided to feel self-conscious about it later.