Eleanor & Park

by Rainbow Rowell

  ‘Never trust a man, Eleanor!’ they’d all shouted at her, at one point or another.

  ‘Especially if he hates to dance!’

  But when her mom told them that Richie said she was as pretty as a spring day, they’d all sighed and asked her to tell them more.

  Of course he said she’s the prettiest woman he’s ever seen, Eleanor thought. She undoubtedly is.

  Eleanor was twelve, and she couldn’t imagine a guy fucking her mom over worse than her dad had.

  She didn’t know there were things worse than selfish.

  Anyway. She always tried to leave Park’s house before dinner – just in case her mom was right about wearing out her welcome – and because, if Eleanor left early, there was a better chance that she’d beat Richie home.

  Hanging out with Park every day had really messed up her bath-taking routine. (A fact she was never ever going to tell him, no matter how sharey-carey they got.)

  The only safe time to take a bath in her house was right after school. If Eleanor went over to Park’s house right after school, she had to hope that Richie would still be at the Broken Rail when she got home that night. And then she had to take a really fast bath because the back door was right across from the bathroom, and it could open at any time.

  She could tell that all this sneaky bath-taking was making her mom nervous, but it wasn’t exactly Eleanor’s fault. She’d considered taking a shower in the locker room at school, but that might even be more dangerous: Tina et al.

  The other day at lunch, Tina had a made big point of walking by Eleanor’s table and mouthing the C-word. The c-u-n-t word. (Richie didn’t even use that word, which implied an unimaginable degree of filth.)

  ‘What is her problem?’ DeNice asked. Rhetorically.

  ‘She thinks she’s all that,’ Beebi said.

  ‘She ain’t all that,’ DeNice said. ‘Walking around here looking like a little boy in a miniskirt.’

  Beebi giggled.

  ‘That hair is just wrong,’ DeNice said, still looking at Tina. ‘She needs to wake up a little earlier and try to decide whether she wants to look like Farrah Fawcett or Rick James.’

  Beebi and Eleanor both cracked up.

  ‘I mean, pick one, girl,’ DeNice said, milking it. ‘Pick. One.’

  ‘Oh, girl!’ Beebi said, slapping Eleanor’s leg. ‘There’s your man.’ They all looked out the cafeteria’s glass wall. Park was walking by with a few other guys. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that said ‘Minor Threat.’ He looked into the cafeteria and smiled when he saw Eleanor. Beebi giggled.

  ‘He is cute,’ DeNice said. Like it was something certifiable.

  ‘I know,’ Eleanor said. ‘I want to eat his face.’

  They all three giggled until DeNice called them back to order.

  Park

  ‘So,’ Cal said.

  Park was still smiling. Even though they were long past the cafeteria.

  ‘You and Eleanor, huh?’

  ‘Uh … yeah,’ Park said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Cal said, nodding. ‘Everybody knows. I mean, I’ve known forever. I could tell by the way you stare at her in English … I was just waiting for you to tell me.’

  ‘Oh,’ Park said, looking up at Cal. ‘Sorry. I’m going out with Eleanor.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I figured you knew.’

  ‘I did know,’ Cal said. ‘But, you know, we’re friends. We’re supposed to talk about these things.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d get it …’

  ‘I don’t get it. No offense. Eleanor still scares the crap out of me. But if you’re getting it – you know, getting it – I want to know about it. I want the whole freaking report.’

  ‘This, actually,’ Park said. ‘This is why I didn’t tell you.’

  CHAPTER 35

  Eleanor

  Park’s mom asked him to set the table. That was Eleanor’s cue to leave. The sun had almost set. She rushed down the steps before Park could stop her … and almost ran into his dad standing in the driveway.

  ‘Hey, Eleanor,’ he said, startling her. He was messing around with something in the back of his truck.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, rushing past him. He really did look an awful lot like Magnum P.I. It wasn’t something you got used to.

  ‘Hey, wait, come here,’ he said.

  She felt something go slightly wrong in her stomach. She stopped and stepped toward him, but only a little.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m getting tired of asking you to stay for dinner.’

  ‘Okay …’ she said.

  ‘What I mean is, I want you to feel like you have a standing invitation. You’re just … welcome, okay?’ He seemed uncomfortable, and it was making her uncomfortable. Way more uncomfortable than she usually felt around him.

  ‘Okay …’ she said.

  ‘Look, Eleanor … I know your stepdad.’

  This could go a million different ways, she thought. All of them awful.

  Park’s dad kept talking, one hand on his truck, the other on the back of his neck, like he was in pain. ‘We grew up together. I’m older than Richie, but this is a small neighborhood, and I’ve put in my time at the Rail …’

  The sun was too far gone to see his face. Eleanor still wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

  ‘I know that your stepdad isn’t an easy man to be around,’ Park’s dad said finally, stepping toward her. ‘And I’m just saying, you know, that if it’s easier to be over here, then you should just be here. That would make Mindy and I feel a lot better, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘So this is the last time I’m going to ask you to stay for dinner.’

  Eleanor smiled, and he smiled back, and for a second he looked a lot more like Park than Tom Selleck.

  Park

  Eleanor on the couch, holding his hand. Across from him at the kitchen table with her homework …

  Helping him carry in groceries for his grandmother. Politely eating everything his mom made for dinner, even if it was something completely disgusting like liver and onions …

  They were always together, and it still wasn’t enough.

  He still hadn’t found a way to put his arms all the way around her. And he still didn’t have enough opportunities to kiss her. She wouldn’t go to his room with him …

  ‘We can listen to music,’ he’d say.

  ‘Your mom …’

  ‘Doesn’t care. We’ll leave the door open.’

  ‘Where will we sit?’

  ‘On my bed.’

  ‘God. No.’

  ‘On the floor.’

  ‘I don’t want her to think I’m slutty.’

  He wasn’t sure his mother even thought of Eleanor as a girl.

  She liked Eleanor though. More than she used to. Just the other day, his mom had said that Eleanor had excellent manners.

  ‘She’s very quiet,’ his mom said, like that was a good thing.

  ‘She’s just nervous,’ Park said.

  ‘Why nervous?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Park said. ‘She just is.’

  He could tell that his mom still hated Eleanor’s clothes. She was always looking her up and down and shaking her head when she thought Eleanor wasn’t looking.

  Eleanor was unfailingly polite with his mom. She even tried to make small talk. One Saturday night after dinner, Park’s mom was sorting her Avon shipment on the dining room table while Park and Eleanor played cards. ‘How long have you been a beautician?’ Eleanor asked, looking over at all the bottles.

  His mom loved that word.

  ‘Since Josh start school. I get my GED, I go to beauty school, get license, get permit …’

  ‘Wow,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I always do hair,’ his mom said, ‘even before.’ She opened a pink bottle of lotion and smelled it. ‘Little girl … cut doll’s hair, paint on makeup.’

  ‘That sounds like my sister,’ Eleanor said. ‘I could never do any of that.
’

  ‘Not so hard …’ his mom said, looking up at her. His mom’s eyes lit up. ‘Hey, I have good idea,’ she said. ‘I do your hair. We have makeover night.’

  Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. She was probably picturing herself with feathered hair and fake eyelashes.

  ‘Oh, no …’ she said. ‘I couldn’t …’

  ‘Yes,’ his mom said, ‘so much fun!’

  ‘Mom, no,’ Park said, ‘Eleanor doesn’t want a makeover … She doesn’t need a makeover,’ he added, as soon as he thought of it.

  ‘Not big makeover,’ his mom said. She was already reaching for Eleanor’s hair. ‘No cutting. Nothing we can’t wash off.’

  Park looked at Eleanor, pleading. Hopefully, she’d know that he was pleading because it would make his mom happy, not because he thought there was anything wrong with her.

  ‘No cutting?’ Eleanor said.

  His mom was fingering a curl. ‘Better light in the garage,’ she said, ‘come on.’

  Eleanor

  Park’s mom put Eleanor in the shampoo chair and snapped her fingers at Park. To Eleanor’s horror – to her ongoing horror – Park came over and started filling the sink with water. He took a pink towel down from a big stack, and expertly Velcroed it around Eleanor’s neck, carefully lifting out her hair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  ‘No,’ she mouthed, grabbing his shirt. Yes, she thought. She was already starting to dissolve with embarrassment. She couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers.

  But if Park left, there’d be no one to stop his mom if she decided to give Eleanor giant, claw-shaped bangs or a spiral perm. Or both.

  Eleanor wouldn’t try to stop her, no matter what; she was a guest in this garage. She’d eaten this woman’s food and manhandled her son – she was in no position to argue.

  Park’s mom pushed him aside and laid Eleanor’s head firmly back into the sink. ‘What kind of shampoo you use?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘How you not know?’ his mom asked, feeling her hair. ‘Feels too dry. Curly hair is dry, you know?’

  Eleanor shook her head.

  ‘Hmmm …’ Park’s mom said. She tipped Eleanor’s head back into the water and told Park to go stick a hot-oil pack in the microwave.

  It was really, really strange having Park’s mom wash her hair. She was practically standing in Eleanor’s lap; her angel necklace hung right over Eleanor’s mouth. 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.’
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br />   ‘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.