Eleanor & Park (7 page)

… It’s Shakespeare making fun of

love,’ she said.

‘Then why has it survived?’

‘I

don’t

know,

because

Shakespeare is a really good

writer?’

‘No!’

Mr

Stessman

said.

‘Someone else, someone with a

heart. Mr Sheridan, what beats in

your chest? Tell us, why has

Romeo and Juliet
survived four

hundred years?’

Park hated talking in class.

Eleanor frowned at him, then

looked away. He felt himself

blush.

‘Because …’ he said quietly,

looking at his desk, ‘because

people want to remember what it’s

like to be young? And in love?’

Mr Stessman leaned back

against the blackboard and rubbed

his beard.

‘Is that right?’ Park asked.

‘Oh, it’s definitely right,’ Mr

Stessman said. ‘I don’t know if

that’s why
Romeo and Juliet
has

become the most beloved play of

all time. But, yes, Mr Sheridan.

Truer words never spoken.’

She didn’t acknowledge Park

in history class, but she never did.

When he got on the bus that

afternoon, she was already there.

She got up to let him have his

place by the window, and then she

surprised him by talking. Quietly.

Almost under her breath. But

talking.

‘It’s more like a wish list,’ she

said.

‘What?’

‘They’re songs I’d like to hear.

Or bands I’d like to hear. Stuff

that looks interesting.’

‘If you’ve never heard the

Smiths, how do you even know

about them?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said

defensively. ‘My friends, my old

friends … magazines. I don’t

know. Around.’

‘Why don’t you just listen to

them?’

She looked at him like he was

officially an idiot. ‘It’s not like

they play the Smiths on Sweet 98.’

And then, when Park didn’t

say anything, she rolled her inky

brown eyes into the back of her

head. ‘
God
,’ she said.

They didn’t talk anymore all

the way home.

That night, while he did his

homework, Park made a tape with

all of his favorite Smiths songs,

plus a few songs by Echo and the

Bunnymen, and Joy Division.

He put the tape and five more

X-Men
comics into his backpack

before he went to bed.

CHAPTER 11

Eleanor

‘Why are you so quiet?’ Eleanor’s

mother asked. Eleanor was taking

a bath, and her mom was making

fifteen-bean soup. ‘That leaves

three beans for each us,’ Ben had

cracked to Eleanor earlier.

‘I’m not quiet. I’m taking a

bath.’

‘Usually you sing in the

bathtub.’

‘I do
not
,’ Eleanor said.

‘You do. Usually you sing

“Rocky Raccoon.”’

‘
God
. Well, thanks for telling

me, I won’t anymore. God.’

Eleanor got dressed quickly

and tried to squeeze past her

mother. Her mom grabbed her by

the wrists. ‘I like to hear you

sing,’ she said. She reached for a

bottle on the counter behind

Eleanor and rubbed a drop of

vanilla behind each of the girl’s

ears. Eleanor raised her shoulders

like it tickled.

‘Why do you always do that? I

smell like a Strawberry Shortcake

doll.’

‘I do it,’ her mom said,

‘because

it’s

cheaper

than

perfume, but it smells just as

good.’ Then she rubbed some

vanilla behind her own ears and

laughed.

Eleanor laughed with her, and

stood there for a few seconds

smiling. Her mom was wearing

soft old jeans and a T-shirt, and

her hair was pulled back in a

smooth ponytail. She looked

almost like she used to. There was

a picture of her – at one of

Maisie’s birthday parties, scooping

ice cream cones – with a ponytail

just like that.

‘Are you okay?’ her mom

asked.

‘Yeah …’ Eleanor said, ‘yeah,

I’m just tired. I’m going to do my

homework and go to bed.’ Her

mom seemed to know that

something was off, but she didn’t

push. She used to make Eleanor

tell her everything. ‘What’s going

on up there?’ she’d say, knocking

on the top of Eleanor’s head. ‘Are

you making yourself crazy?’ Her

mom hadn’t said anything like that

since Eleanor had moved home.

She seemed to realize that she’d

lost her right to knock.

Eleanor climbed up onto her

bunk and pushed the cat to the

end. She didn’t have anything to

read. Nothing new, anyway. Was

he done bringing her comics?

Why had he even started? She ran

her fingers over the embarrassing

song titles – ‘This Charming Man’

and ‘How Soon Is Now?’ – on her

math book. She wanted to scribble

them out, but he’d probably notice

and lord it over her.

Eleanor really was tired, that

wasn’t a lie. She’d been staying

up, reading, almost every night.

She fell asleep that night right

after dinner.

She woke up to shouting. Richie

shouting. Eleanor couldn’t tell

what he was saying.

Underneath the shouting, her

mother was crying. She sounded

like she’d been crying for a long

time – she must be completely out

of her head if she was letting them

hear her cry like that.

Eleanor

could

tell

that

everyone else in the room was

already awake. She hung off the

bunk until she could see the little

kids take shape in the dark. All

four of them were sitting together

in a clump of blankets on the

floor. Maisie was holding the

baby,

rocking

him

almost

frantically. Eleanor slid off the bed

soundlessly and huddled with

them. Mouse immediately climbed

into her lap. He was shaking and

wet, and he wrapped his arms and

legs around Eleanor like a

monkey. Their mother shrieked,

two rooms away, and they all five

jumped together.

If this had happened two

summers ago, Eleanor would have

run and banged on the door

herself. She would have yelled at

Richie to stop. She would have

called 911 at the very, very, very

least. But now that seemed like

something a child would do, or a

fool. Now, all she could think

about was what they were going to

do if the baby actually started to

cry. Thank God he didn’t. Even he

seemed to realize that trying to

make this stop would only ever

make it worse.

When her alarm went off the next

morning,

Eleanor

couldn’t

remember having fallen to sleep.

She couldn’t remember when the

crying had stopped.

A horrible thought came to

her, and she got up, stumbling

over the kids and the blankets.

She opened the bedroom door and

smelled bacon.

Which meant that her mother

was alive.

And that her stepdad was

probably still eating breakfast.

Eleanor took a deep breath.

She smelled like pee.
God
. The

cleanest clothes she had were the

ones she wore yesterday, which

Tina would surely point out,

because it was a goddamn gym

day on top of everything else.

She grabbed her clothes and

stepped purposely out into the

living room, determined not to

make eye contact with Richie if he

was there. He was. (
That demon.

That bastard
.) Her mother was

standing at the stove, standing

more still than usual. You couldn’t

not notice the bruise on the side of

her face. Or the hickey under her

chin. (
That fuck, that fuck, that

fuck
.)

‘Mom,’ Eleanor whispered

urgently, ‘I have to clean off.’ Her

mother’s eyes slowly focused on

her.

‘What?’

Eleanor

gestured

at

her

clothes, which probably just

looked wrinkled. ‘I slept on the

floor with Mouse.’

Her mother glanced nervously

into the living room; Richie would

punish Mouse if he knew. ‘Okay,

okay,’ she said, pushing Eleanor

into the bathroom. ‘Give me your

clothes, I’ll watch the door. And

don’t let him smell it. I don’t need

this this morning.’

As if Eleanor was the one

who’d peed all over everything.

She washed off the top half of

her body, then the bottom, so that

she wouldn’t ever be totally

naked. Then she walked back

through the living room, wearing

yesterday’s clothes, trying really

hard not to smell like pee.

Her books were in her

bedroom, but Eleanor didn’t want

to open the door and let out any

more acrid air – so she just left.

She got to the bus stop fifteen

minutes early. She still felt

rumpled and panicked, and,

thanks to the bacon, her stomach

was growling.

CHAPTER 12

Park

When Park got on the bus, he set

the comics and Smiths tape on the

seat next to him, so they’d just be

waiting for her. So he wouldn’t

have to say anything.

When she got on the bus a few

minutes later, Park could tell that

something was wrong. She got on

like she was lost and ended up

there. She was wearing the same

thing she’d worn yesterday –

which wasn’t
that
weird, she was

always wearing a different version

of the same thing – but today was

different. Her neck and wrists

were bare, and her hair was a

mess – a pile, an all-over glob, of

red curls.

She stopped at their seat and

looked down at the pile of stuff

he’d left for her. (Where were her

schoolbooks? He wondered) Then

she picked everything up, careful

as ever, and sat down.

Park wanted to look at her

face, but he couldn’t. He stared at

her wrists instead. She picked up

the cassette. He’d written ‘How

Soon is Now and More’ on the

thin white sticker.

She held it out to him.

‘Thank you …’ she said. Now

that
was something he’d never

heard her say before. ‘But I can’t.’

He didn’t take it.

‘It’s for you, take it,’ he

whispered. He looked up from her

hands to her dropped chin.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I mean, thank

you, but … I can’t.’ She tried to

give him the tape, but he didn’t

take it. Why did she have to make

every little thing so hard?

‘I don’t want it,’ he said.

She clenched her teeth and

glared. She really must hate him.

‘No,’ she said, practically loud

enough for other people to hear. ‘I

mean, I
can’t
. I don’t have any

way to listen to it.
God
, just take it

back.’

He took it. She covered her

face. The kid in the seat across

from them, a twerpy senior who

was actually named Junior, was

watching.

Park frowned at Junior until

he turned away. Then Park turned

back to the girl …

He took his Walkman out of

the pocket of his trench coat and

popped out his Dead Kennedys

tape. He slid the new tape in,

pressed play, then – carefully –

put the headphones over her hair.

He was so careful, he didn’t even

touch her.

He could hear the swampy

guitar start and then the first line

of the song. ‘I am the son … and

the heir …’

She lifted her head a little but

didn’t look at him. She didn’t

move her hands away from her

face.

When they got to school, she

took the headphones off and gave

them back to him.

They got off the bus together

and stayed together. Which was

weird. Usually, they broke away

from each other as soon as they