Eleanor & Park (31 page)

Plus, the whole process tickled

like crazy. Eleanor didn’t know

whether Park was watching. She

hoped not.

A few minutes later, her hair

was hot-oiled and wrapped in a

towel so tight it hurt her forehead.

Park was sitting across from her,

trying to smile, but looking almost

as uncomfortable as she felt.

His mom was going through

box after box of Avon samples. ‘I

know it’s here somewhere,’ she

said.

‘Cinnamon,

cinnamon,

cinnamon … A-ha!’

She wheeled her chair over to

Eleanor. ‘Okay. Close eyes.’

Eleanor stared at her. She was

holding up a little brown pencil.

‘Close eyes,’ she said again.

‘Why?’ Eleanor said.

‘Don’t worry. This wash off.’

‘But I don’t wear makeup.’

‘Why not?’

Maybe Eleanor should say that

she wasn’t allowed to. That would

sound nicer than ‘because makeup

is a lie.’

‘I don’t know,’ Eleanor said,

‘it’s just not me.’

‘Yes, you,’ his mom said,

looking at the pencil. ‘Very good

color for you. Cinnamon.’

‘Is that lipstick?’

‘No, eyeliner.’

Eleanor especially didn’t wear

eyeliner.

‘What does it do?’

‘It’s makeup,’ his mom said,

exasperated. ‘It makes you pretty.’

Eleanor felt like she had

something in her eye. Like fire.

‘Mom …’ Park said.

‘Here,’ his mom said. ‘I’ll

show you.’ She turned to Park,

and before either of them realized

what she was planning, she had

her thumb at the corner of his eye.

‘Cinnamon too light,’ she

muttered. She picked up a

different pencil. ‘Onyx.’

‘Mom …’ Park said painfully,

but he didn’t move.

His mom sat so that Eleanor

could see, then deftly drew a line

along Park’s eyelashes. ‘Open.’ He

did. ‘Nice … close.’ She did the

other eye, too. Then she added

another line under his eye and

licked her thumb to wipe away a

smudge. ‘There, nice.’

‘See?’ she said, sitting back so

that Eleanor could see. ‘Easy.

Pretty.’

Park didn’t look pretty. He

looked dangerous. Like Ming the

Merciless. Or a member of Duran

Duran.

‘You look like Robert Smith,’

Eleanor said. But … yeah, she

thought,
prettier
.

He looked down. Eleanor

couldn’t look away.

His mom swooped in between

them. ‘Okay, now close eyes,’ she

said to Eleanor. ‘Open. Nice …

Close again …’ It felt exactly like

having someone draw on your eye

with a pencil. Then it was over,

and Park’s mom was rubbing

something cold on Eleanor’s

cheeks.

‘This very easy routine,’ his

mom said. ‘Foundation, powder,

eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, lip

liner, lipstick, blush. Eight steps,

take you fifteen minutes tops.’

Park’s

mom

was

very

businesslike, like someone with a

cooking show on PBS. Pretty

soon

she

was

unwrapping

Eleanor’s hair and standing behind

her.

Eleanor wanted to look at Park

again, now that she could, but she

didn’t want him looking back. Her

face felt so heavy and sticky, she

probably looked like one of the

Designing Women
.

Park scooted his chair closer

to hers and started bouncing his

fist on her knee. It took Eleanor a

second

to

realize

he

was

challenging her to a game of

Rock, Paper, Scissors.

She played along. God. Any

excuse to touch him. Any excuse

not to look at him directly. He’d

rubbed his eyes, so he didn’t look

painted anymore – but he still

looked like something Eleanor

didn’t have words for.

‘That’s how Park keep little

kids busy during haircuts,’ his

mom said. ‘You must look scared,

Eleanor. Don’t worry. I promise

no cutting.’

Eleanor and Park both made

scissors.

His mom rubbed half a can of

mousse into her hair, then blew it

dry with a diffuser (which Eleanor

had never heard of before but was

apparently very, very important).

According to Park’s mom,

everything Eleanor was doing with

her hair – washing it with

whatever, brushing it, tying in

beads and silk flowers – was dead

wrong.

She should be diffusing and

scrunching

and,

if

possible,

sleeping on a satin pillowcase.

‘I think you look really good

with bangs,’ his mom said.

‘Maybe next time, we try bangs.’

There will never be a next

time, Eleanor promised herself

and God.

‘Okay, all done.’ Park’s mom

was all smiles. ‘Look so pretty …

Ready to see?’ She turned Eleanor

around to the mirror. ‘Ta-daa!’

Eleanor looked at her own lap.

‘Have to look, Eleanor. Look,

mirror, so pretty.’

Eleanor couldn’t. She could

feel them both watching her. She

wanted to disappear, to drop

through a trap door. This whole

thing was a bad idea. A terrible

idea. She was going to cry, she

was going to make a scene. Park’s

mom was going to go back to

hating her.

‘Hey, Mindy.’ Park’s dad

opened the door and leaned into

the garage. ‘Phone call. Oh, hey,

look at you, Eleanor, you look like

a
Solid Gold
dancer.’

‘See?’ his mom said, ‘I told

you – pretty. Don’t look in mirror

until I come back. Looking in

mirror best part.’

She hurried into the house,

and Eleanor hid her face in her

hands, trying not to mess anything

up. She felt Park’s hands on her

wrists.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I guess I

knew you’d hate this, but I didn’t

think you’d hate it this much.’

‘It’s just so embarrassing.’

‘Why?’

‘Because … you’re all looking

at me.’

‘I’m always looking at you,’

he said.

‘I know, I wish you’d stop.’

‘She’s just trying to get to

know you. This is her thing.’

‘Do I look like a
Solid Gold

dancer?’

‘No …’

‘Oh my God,’ she said, ‘I do.’

‘No, you look … just look.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Look now,’ he said, ‘before

my mom gets back.’

‘Only if you close your eyes.’

‘Okay, they’re closed.’

Eleanor uncovered her face

and looked in the mirror. It wasn’t

as embarrassing as she thought –

because it was like looking at a

different person. Someone with

cheekbones and giant eyes and

really wet lips. Her hair was still

curly, curlier than ever, but calmer

somehow. Less deranged.

Eleanor hated it, she hated all

of it.

‘Can I open my eyes?’ Park

asked.

‘No.’

‘Are you crying?’

‘No.’ Of course she was. She

was going to ruin her fake face,

and Park’s mom was going to go

back to hating her.

Park opened his eyes and sat

in front of Eleanor on the vanity.

‘Is it so bad?’ he asked.

‘It’s not me.’

‘Of course it’s you.’

‘I just, I look like I’m in

costume. Like I’m trying to be

something that I’m not.’

Like she was trying to be

pretty and popular. It was the

trying
part that was so disgusting.

‘I think your hair looks really

nice,’ Park said.

‘It’s not
my
hair.’

‘It is …’

‘I don’t want your mom to see

me like this. I don’t want to hurt

her feelings.’

‘Kiss me.’

‘What?’

He kissed her. Eleanor felt her

shoulders fall and her stomach

untwist. Then it started twisting in

the other direction. She pulled

away.

‘Are you kissing me because I

look like someone else?’

‘You don’t look like someone

else. Plus, that’s crazy.’

‘Do you like me better like

this?’ she asked. ‘Because I’m

never going to look like this

again.’

‘I like you the same … I kind

of miss your freckles.’ He rubbed

her cheeks with his sleeve.

‘There,’ he said.

‘
You
look like a different

person,’ she said, ‘and you’re just

wearing eyeliner.’

‘Do you like me better?’

She rolled her eyes, but she

felt the heat in her neck. ‘You

look

different.

You

look

unsettling.’

‘You look like
you
,’ he said.

‘You with the volume turned up.’

She looked in the mirror

again.

‘The thing is,’ Park said. ‘I’m

pretty sure my mom was holding

back. I think she thinks this is the

natural look.’

Eleanor laughed. The door to

the house opened.

‘Awww, I told you guys to

wait,’ his mom said. ‘Were you

surprised?’

Eleanor nodded.

‘Did you cry? Oh, I miss it!’

‘Sorry if I messed it up,’

Eleanor said.

‘No mess,’ his mom said,

‘waterproof mascara and stay-put

foundation.’

‘Thank you,’ Eleanor said

carefully. ‘I could hardly believe

the difference.’

‘I’ll make you a kit,’ his mom

said. ‘These all colors I never use

anyway. Here, sit down, Park. I

trim your hair while we here.

Looking shaggy …’

Eleanor sat in front of him and

played Rock, Paper, Scissors on

his knee.

Park

She looked like a different person,

and Park didn’t
know
if he liked it

better. Or at all.

He couldn’t figure out why it

upset her so much. Sometimes, it

seemed like she was trying to hide

everything that was pretty about

her. Like she wanted to look ugly.

That

was

something

his

mother would say. Which is why

he hadn’t said it to Eleanor. (Did

that count as holding back?) He

got why Eleanor tried so hard to

look different. Sort of. It was

because

she
was
different –

because she wasn’t afraid to be.

(Or maybe she was just more

afraid of being like everyone else.)

There

was

something

really

exciting about that. He liked being

near that, that kind of brave and

crazy.

‘Unsettling,

how?’

he’d

wanted to ask her.

The next morning, Park took

the

onyx

eyeliner

into

the

bathroom and put it on. He was

messier than his mom, but he

thought that might look better.

More masculine.

He looked in the mirror. ‘This

really make your eyes pop,’ his

mom always told her customers,

and it was true. The eyeliner did

make his eyes pop. It also made

him look even less white.

Then Park did his hair like he

usually did – flared up in the

middle, all messy and tall, like it

was reaching for something.

Usually, as soon as he did that,

Park combed his hair out and

down again.

Today he left it wild.

His dad flipped at breakfast.

Flipped
. Park tried to sneak out

without seeing him, but his mom

was

non-negotiable

about

breakfast. Park hung his head

over the cereal bowl.

‘What’s wrong with your

hair?’ his dad asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Wait a minute, look at me … I

said
look at me
.’

Park lifted his head, but

looked away.

‘What the fuck, Park?’

‘Jamie!’ his mother said.

‘Look at him, Mindy, he’s

wearing makeup! Are you fucking

kidding me, Park?’

‘No excuse to cuss,’ his mom

said. She looked nervously at

Park, like maybe this was her

fault. Maybe it was. Maybe she

shouldn’t have tried out lipstick

samples on him when he was in

kindergarten. Not that he wanted

to wear lipstick …

Probably.