Eleanor & Park (16 page)

His voice was deeper than she’d

ever realized, but sort of warm in

the middle. He kind of reminded

her of Peter Gabriel. Not singing,

obviously. And not with a British

accent.

‘Where did
you
come from?’

he asked.

‘The future.’

Park

Eleanor had an answer for

everything – but she still managed

to evade most of Park’s questions.

She wouldn’t talk about her

family or her house. She wouldn’t

talk about anything that happened

before

she

moved

to

the

neighborhood or anything that

happened after she got off the bus.

When her sort-of stepbrother

fell asleep around nine, she asked

Park to call her back in fifteen

minutes, so she could put the kid

to bed.

Park hurried to the bathroom

and hoped that he wouldn’t run

into either of his parents. So far

they were leaving him alone.

He got back to his room. He

checked the clock … eight more

minutes. He put a tape in his

stereo. He changed into pajama

pants and a T-shirt.

He called her back.

‘It so hasn’t been fifteen

minutes,’ she said.

‘I couldn’t wait. Do you want

me to call you back?’

‘No.’ Her voice was even

softer now.

‘Did he stay asleep?’

‘Yeah,’ she said.

‘Where are you now?’

‘Like, where in the house?’

‘Yeah, where.’

‘Why?’

she

asked,

with

something

just

gentler

than

disdain.

‘Because I’m thinking about

you,’ he said, exasperated.

‘So?’

‘Because I want to feel like

I’m with you,’ he said. ‘Why do

you make everything so hard?’

‘Probably because I’m so cool

…’ she said.

‘Ha.’

‘I’m lying on the floor in the

living room,’ she said faintly. ‘In

front of the stereo.’

‘In the dark? It sounds dark.’

‘In the dark, yeah.’

He lay back on his bed again

and covered his eyes with his arm.

He could see her. In his head. He

imagined green lights on a stereo.

Street lights through a window. He

imagined her face glowing, the

coolest light in the room.

‘Is that U2?’ he asked. He

could

hear

‘Bad’

in

the

background.

‘Yeah, I think it’s my favorite

song right now. I keep rewinding

it, and playing it over and over

again. It’s nice not to have to

worry about batteries.’

‘What’s your favorite part?’

‘Of the song?’

‘Yeah.’

‘All of it,’ she said, ‘especially

the chorus – I mean, I guess it’s

the chorus.’

‘I’m wide awake,’ he half

sang.

‘Yeah …’ she said, softly.

He kept singing then. Because

he wasn’t sure what to say next.

Eleanor

‘Eleanor?’ Park said.

She didn’t answer.

‘Are you there?’

She was so out of it, she

actually nodded her head. ‘Yes,’

she said out loud, catching herself.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking – I’m – I’m not

thinking.’

‘Not thinking in a good way?

Or a bad way?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. She

rolled over onto her stomach, and

pressed her face into the carpet.

‘Both.’

He was quiet. She listened to

him breathe. She wanted to ask

him to hold the phone closer to

his mouth.

‘I miss you,’ she said.

‘I’m right here.’

‘I wish you were here. Or that

I was there. I wish that there was

some chance of talking like this

after tonight, or seeing each other.

Like,
really
seeing each other. Of

being alone, together.’

‘Why can’t there be?’ he

asked.

She laughed. That’s when she

realized she was crying.

‘Eleanor …’

‘Stop. Don’t say my name like

that. It only makes it worse.’

‘Makes what worse?’

‘Everything,’ she said.

He was quiet.

She sat up and wiped her nose

on her sleeve.

‘Do you have a nickname?’ he

asked. That was one of his tricks,

whenever she was put off or

irritated – changing the subject in

the sweetest way possible.

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘Eleanor.’

‘Not Nora? Or Ella? Or …

Lena, you could be Lena. Or

Lenny or Elle …’

‘Are you trying to give me a

nickname?’

‘No, I love your name. I don’t

want to cheat myself out of a

single syllable.’

‘You’re such a dork.’ She

wiped her eyes.

‘Eleanor …’ he said, ‘why

can’t we see each other?’

‘God,’ she said, ‘don’t. I’d

almost stopped crying.’

‘Tell me. Talk to me.’

‘
Because
,’ she said, ‘because

my stepdad would kill me.’

‘Why does he care?’

‘He doesn’t care. He just wants

to kill me.’

‘Why?’

‘Stop asking that,’ she said

angrily. There was no stopping the

tears now. ‘You always ask that.

Why
. Like there’s an answer for

everything. Not everybody has

your life, you know, or your

family. In your life, things happen

for reasons. People make sense.

But that’s not
my
life. Nobody in

my life makes sense …’

‘Not even me?’ he asked.

‘Ha. Especially not you.’

‘Why would you say that?’ He

sounded hurt. What did he have to

be hurt about?

‘Why, why, why …’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘
why
. Why are

you always so mad at me?’

‘I’m never mad at you.’ It

came out a sob. He was so stupid.

‘You are,’ he said. ‘You’re

mad at me right now. You always

turn on me, just when we start to

get somewhere.’

‘Get where?’

‘Somewhere,’ he said. ‘With

each other. Like, a few minutes

ago, you said you missed me. And

for maybe the first time ever, you

didn’t sound sarcastic or defensive

or like you think I’m an idiot. And

now you’re yelling at me.’

‘I’m not yelling.’

‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘Why

are you mad?’

She didn’t want him to hear

her cry. She held her breath. That

made it worse.

‘Eleanor …’ he said.

Even worse.

‘Stop
saying
that.’

‘What
can
I say then? You can

ask me why, you know. I promise

I’ll have answers.’

He sounded frustrated with

her, but not angry. She could

remember him sounding angry

with her only once. The first day

she got on the bus.

‘You can ask
me
why,’ he said

again.

‘Yeah?’ She sniffed.

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay.’ She looked down at

the turntable, at her own reflection

in the tinted acrylic lid. She

looked like a fat-faced ghost. She

closed her eyes.

‘Why do you even like me?’

Park

He opened his eyes.

He sat up, stood up, started

pacing around his small room. He

went to stand by the window – the

one that faced her house, even

though it was a block away and

she wasn’t home – holding the

base of the car phone against his

stomach.

She’d asked him to explain

something

he

couldn’t

even

explain to himself.

‘I don’t like you,’ he said. ‘I

need you.’

He waited for her to cut him

down. To say ‘Ha’ or ‘God’ or

‘You sound like a Bread song.’

But she was quiet.

He crawled back onto the bed,

not caring whether she heard it

swish. ‘You can ask me why I

need you,’ he whispered. He

didn’t even have to whisper. On

the phone, in the dark, he just had

to move his lips and breathe. ‘But

I don’t know. I just know that I

do …

‘I miss you, Eleanor. I want to

be with you all the time. You’re

the smartest girl I’ve ever met, and

the funniest, and everything you

do surprises me. And I wish I

could say that those are the

reasons I like you, because that

would make me sound like a

really evolved human being …

‘But I think it’s got as much to

do with your hair being red and

your hands being soft … and the

fact that you smell like homemade

birthday cake.’

He waited for her to say

something. She didn’t.

Someone knocked softly on

his door.

‘Just a second,’ he whispered

into the phone. ‘Yeah?’ he said.

His mom opened his door, just

enough to push her head through.

‘Not too late,’ she said.

‘Not too late,’ he said. She

smiled and shut the door.

‘I’m back,’ he said. ‘Are you

there?’

‘I’m here,’ Eleanor said.

‘Say something.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Say something, so that I don’t

feel so stupid.’

‘Don’t feel stupid, Park,’ she

said.

‘Nice.’

They were both quiet.

‘Ask me why I like you,’ she

finally said.

He felt himself smile. He felt

like something warm had spilled

in his chest.

‘Eleanor,’ he said, just because

he liked saying it, ‘why do you

like me?’

‘I don’t like you.’

He waited. And waited …

Then he started to laugh.

‘You’re kind of mean,’ he said.

‘Don’t

laugh.

It

just

encourages me.’

He could hear that she was

smiling, too. He could picture her.

Smiling.

‘I don’t like you, Park,’ she

said again. ‘I …’ She stopped. ‘I

can’t do this.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s embarrassing.’

‘So far, just for me.’

‘I’m afraid I’ll say too much,’

she said.

‘You can’t.’

‘I’m afraid I’ll tell you the

truth.’

‘Eleanor …’

‘Park.’

‘You don’t like me …’ he said,

leading her, pressing the base of

the phone into his lowest rib.

‘I don’t like you, Park,’ she

said, sounding for a second like

she actually meant it. ‘I …’ – her

voice

nearly

disappeared

–

‘sometimes I think I live for you.’

He closed his eyes and arched

his head back into his pillow.

‘I don’t think I even breathe

when we’re not together,’ she

whispered. ‘Which means, when I

see you on Monday morning, it’s

been like sixty hours since I’ve

taken a breath. That’s probably

why I’m so crabby, and why I

snap at you. All I do when we’re

apart is think about you, and all I

do when we’re together is panic.

Because every second feels so

important. And because I’m so out

of control, I can’t help myself. I’m

not even mine anymore, I’m

yours, and what if you decide that

you don’t want me? How
could

you want me like I want you?’

He was quiet. He wanted

everything she’d just said to be the

last thing he heard. He wanted to

fall asleep with ‘I want you’ in his

ears.

‘God,’ she said. ‘I told you I

shouldn’t talk. I didn’t even

answer your question.’

Eleanor

She hadn’t even said anything nice

about him. She hadn’t told him

that he was prettier than any girl,

and that his skin was like sunshine

with a suntan.

And that’s exactly why she

hadn’t said it. Because all her

feelings for him – hot and

beautiful in her heart – turned to

gobbledygook in her mouth.

She flipped the tape and

pressed play, and waited for

Robert Smith to start singing

before she climbed up onto her

dad’s brown leather couch.

‘Why can’t I see you?’ Park

asked. His voice sounded raw and

pure. Like something just hatched.

‘Because my stepfather is

crazy.’

‘Does he have to know?’

‘My mom will tell him.’

‘Does she have to know?’

‘Eleanor ran her fingers along

the edge of the glass coffee table.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know what I mean. I