Eleanor & Park (3 page)

them. ‘You get the top bunk,’ he

said, ‘and Ben has to sleep on the

floor with me. Mom already told

us, and Ben started to cry.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ their

mom said softly. ‘We all just have

to readjust.’

There wasn’t room in this

room to readjust. (Which Eleanor

decided not to mention.) She went

to bed as soon as she could, so

she wouldn’t have to go back out

to the living room.

When she woke up in the

middle of the night, all three of

her brothers were asleep on the

floor. There was no way to get up

without stepping on one of them,

and she didn’t even know where

the bathroom was …

She found it. There were only

five rooms in the house, and the

bathroom just barely counted. It

was attached to the kitchen – like

literally attached, without a door.

This house was designed by cave

trolls,

Eleanor

thought.

Somebody, probably her mom,

had hung a flowered sheet

between the refrigerator and the

toilet.

When she got home from

school, Eleanor let herself in with

her new key. The house was

possibly even more depressing in

daylight – dingy and bare – but at

least Eleanor had the place, and

her mom, to herself.

It was weird to come home

and see her mom, just standing in

the kitchen, like … like normal.

She was making soup, chopping

onions. Eleanor felt like crying.

‘How was school?’ her mom

asked.

‘Fine,’ Eleanor said.

‘Did you have a good first

day?’

‘Sure. I mean, yeah, it was just

school.’

‘Will you have a lot of

catching up to do?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Her mom wiped her hands on

the back of her jeans and tucked

her hair behind her ears, and

Eleanor was struck, for the ten-

thousandth time, by how beautiful

she was.

When Eleanor was a little girl,

she’d thought her mom looked

like a queen, like the star of some

fairy tale.

Not a princess – princesses are

just pretty. Eleanor’s mother was

beautiful. She was tall and stately,

with broad shoulders and an

elegant waist. All of her bones

seemed more purposeful than

other people’s. Like they weren’t

just there to hold her up, they

were there to make a point.

She had a strong nose and a

sharp chin, and her cheekbones

were high and thick. You’d look

at Eleanor’s mom and think she

must be carved into the prow of a

Viking ship somewhere or maybe

painted on the side of a plane …

Eleanor looked a lot like her.

But not enough.

Eleanor looked like her mother

through a fish tank. Rounder and

softer. Slurred. Where her mother

was statuesque, Eleanor was

heavy. Where her mother was

finely

drawn,

Eleanor

was

smudged.

After five kids, her mother had

breasts and hips like a woman in a

cigarette ad. At sixteen, Eleanor

was already built like she ran a

medieval pub.

She

had

too

much

of

everything and too little height to

hide it. Her breasts started just

below her chin, her hips were … a

parody. Even her mom’s hair,

long and wavy and auburn, was a

more

legitimate

version

of

Eleanor’s bright red curls.

Eleanor put her hand to her

head self-consciously.

‘I have something to show

you,’ her mom said, covering the

soup, ‘but I didn’t want to do it in

front of the little kids. Here, come

on.’

Eleanor followed her into the

kids’ bedroom. Her mom opened

the closet and took out a stack of

towels and a laundry basket full of

socks.

‘I couldn’t bring all your

things when we moved,’ she said.

‘Obviously we don’t have as

much room here as we had in the

old house …’ She reached into the

closet and pulled out a black

plastic garbage bag. ‘But I packed

as much as I could.’

She handed Eleanor the bag

and said, ‘I’m sorry about the

rest.’

Eleanor had assumed that

Richie threw all her stuff in the

trash a year ago, ten seconds after

he’d kicked her out. She took the

bag in her arms. ‘It’s okay,’ she

said. ‘Thanks.’

Her mom reached out and

touched Eleanor’s shoulder, just

for a second. ‘The little kids will

be home in twenty minutes or so,’

she said, ‘and we’ll eat dinner

around 4:30. I like to have

everything settled before Richie

comes home.’

Eleanor nodded. She opened

the bag as soon as her mom left

the room. She wanted to see what

was still hers …

The first thing she recognized

were the paper dolls. They were

loose in the bag and wrinkled; a

few were marked with crayons. It

had been years since Eleanor had

played with them, but she was still

happy to see them there. She

pressed them flat and laid them in

a pile.

Under the dolls were books, a

dozen or so that her mother must

have grabbed at random; she

wouldn’t have known which were

Eleanor’s favorites. Eleanor was

glad to see
Garp
and
Watership

Down
. It sucked that
Oliver’s

Story
had made the cut, but
Love

Story
hadn’t. And
Little Men
was

there, but not
Little Women
or

Jo’s Boys
.

There was a bunch more

papers in the bag. She’d had a file

cabinet in her old room, and it

looked like her mom had grabbed

most of the folders. Eleanor tried

to get everything into a neat stack,

all the report cards and school

pictures and letters from pen pals.

She wondered where the rest

of the stuff from the old house

had ended up. Not just her stuff,

but

everybody’s.

Like

the

furniture and the toys, and all of

her mom’s plants and paintings.

Her grandma’s Danish wedding

plates … The little red ‘Uff da!’

horse that always used to hang

above the sink.

Maybe it was packed away

somewhere. Maybe her mom was

hoping the cave-troll house was

just temporary.

Eleanor was still hoping that

Richie was just temporary.

At the bottom of the black

trash bag was a box. Her heart

jumped a little when she saw it.

Her uncle in Minnesota used to

send her family a Fruit of the

Month Club membership every

Christmas, and Eleanor and her

brothers and sister would always

fight over the boxes that the fruit

came in. It was stupid, but they

were good boxes – solid, with

nice lids. This one was a

grapefruit box, soft from wear at

the edges.

Eleanor opened it carefully.

Nothing inside had been touched.

There was her stationery, her

colored

pencils

and

her

Prismacolor

markers

(another

Christmas

present

from

her

uncle). There was a stack of

promotional cards from the mall

that still smelled like expensive

perfumes. And there was her

Walkman.

Untouched.

Un-

batteried, too, but nevertheless,

there. And where there was a

Walkman,

there

was

the

possibility of music.

Eleanor let her head fall over

the box. It smelled like Chanel No.

5 and pencil shavings. She sighed.

There wasn’t anything to do

with her recovered belongings

once she’d sorted through them –

there wasn’t even room in the

dresser for Eleanor’s clothes. So

she set aside the box and the

books,

and

carefully

put

everything else back in the

garbage bag. Then she pushed the

bag back as far as she could on

the highest shelf in the closet,

behind

the

towels

and

a

humidifier.

She climbed onto her bunk

and found a scraggly old cat

napping there. ‘Shoo,’ Eleanor

said, shoving him. The cat leaped

to the floor and out the bedroom

door.

CHAPTER 5

Park

Mr Stessman was making them all

memorize a poem, whatever poem

they wanted. Well, whatever poem

they picked.

‘You’re

going

to

forget

everything else I teach you,’ Mr

Stessman

said,

petting

his

mustache. ‘Everything. Maybe

you’ll remember that Beowulf

fought a monster. Maybe you’ll

remember that “To be or not to

be” is
Hamlet
, not
Macbeth
…

‘But everything else? Forget

about it.’

He was slowly walking up and

down each aisle. Mr Stessman

loved this kind of stuff – theater

in the round. He stopped next to

Park’s desk and leaned in casually

with his hand on the back of

Park’s

chair.

Park

stopped

drawing and sat up straight. He

couldn’t draw anyway.

‘So, you’re going to memorize

a poem,’ Mr Stessman continued,

pausing a moment to smile down

at Park like Gene Wilder in the

chocolate factory.

‘Brains love poetry. It’s sticky

stuff. You’re going to memorize

this poem, and five years from

now, we’re going to see each

other at the Village Inn, and you’ll

say,

“Mr

Stessman,

I

still

remember ‘The Road Not Taken!’

Listen … ‘
Two roads diverged in

a yellow wood
…’”’

He moved on to the next desk.

Park relaxed.

‘Nobody gets to pick “The

Road Not Taken,” by the way, I’m

sick to death of it. And no Shel

Silverstein. He’s grand, but you’ve

graduated. We’re all adults here.

Choose an adult poem …

‘Choose

a
romantic
poem,

that’s my advice. You’ll get the

most use out of it.’

He walked by the new girl’s

desk, but she didn’t turn away

from the window.

‘Of course, it’s up to you. You

may choose “A Dream Deferred”

– Eleanor?’ She turned blankly.

Mr Stessman leaned in. ‘You may

choose it, Eleanor. It’s poignant

and it’s truth. But how often will

you get to roll that one out?

‘No. Choose a poem that

speaks to you. Choose a poem that

will help you speak to someone

else.’

Park planned to choose a

poem that rhymed, so it would be

easier to memorize. He liked Mr

Stessman, he really did – but he

wished he’d dial it back a few

notches. Whenever he worked the

room

like

this,

Park

got

embarrassed for him.

‘We meet tomorrow in the

library,’ Mr Stessman said, back at

his desk. ‘Tomorrow, we’re

gathering rosebuds.’

The bell rang. On cue.

CHAPTER 6

Eleanor

‘Watch it, raghead.’

Tina pushed roughly past

Eleanor and climbed onto the bus.

She had everybody else in

their gym class calling Eleanor

Bozo, but Tina had already moved

on to Raghead and Bloody Mary.

‘Cuz it looks like your whole head

is on the rag,’ she’d explained

today in the locker room.

It made sense that Tina was in

Eleanor’s gym class – because

gym was an extension of hell, and

Tina was definitely a demon. A

weird, miniature demon. Like a

toy demon. Or a teacup. And she

had a whole gang of lesser

demons, all dressed in matching

gymsuits.

Actually,

everyone

wore

matching gymsuits.