Eleanor & Park

by Rainbow Rowell

  She took another deep breath and started walking.

  There were no classrooms at this end of the school, so at least no one was watching her. She stuck close to the building, and when she turned the corner, she walked under a row of windows. She thought about walking right home, but that might be worse. It’d definitely be longer.

  If she could just get to the front door, the counselor’s offices were right inside. Mrs Dunne would help her. Mrs Dunne wouldn’t tell her not to cry.

  The security guard at the front door acted like girls were wandering in and out in their gym clothes all day long. He glanced at Eleanor’s pass and waved her on.

  Almost there, Eleanor thought. Don’t run, just a few more doors …

  She really should have expected Park to walk through one of them.

  Ever since the first day they’d met, Eleanor was always seeing him in unexpected places. It was like their lives were overlapping lines, like they had their own gravity. Usually, that serendipity felt like the nicest thing the universe had ever done for her.

  Park walked out of a door on the opposite side of the hallway and stopped as soon as he saw her. She tried to look away, but she didn’t do it soon enough. Park’s face turned red. He stared at her. She pulled down her shorts and stumbled forward, running the last few steps to the counselors’ offices.

  ‘You don’t have to go back there,’ her mom said after Eleanor had told her the whole story. (Almost the whole story.)

  Eleanor thought for a moment about what she’d do if she didn’t go back to school. Stay here all day? And then what?

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. Mrs Dunne had driven Eleanor home herself, and she’d promised to bring a padlock for her gym locker.

  Eleanor’s mom dumped the yellow plastic bag into the bathtub and started rinsing out the clothes, wrinkling her nose, even though they didn’t smell.

  ‘Girls are so mean …’ she said. ‘You’re lucky to have one friend you can trust.’

  Eleanor must have looked confused.

  ‘Tina,’ her mom said. ‘You’re lucky to have Tina.’

  Eleanor nodded.

  She stayed home that night. Even though it was Friday, and Park’s family always watched movies and made popcorn in the air popper on Fridays.

  She couldn’t face him.

  All she’d see was the look on his face in the hallway. She’d feel like she was still standing there in her gymsuit.

  CHAPTER 41

  Park

  Park went to bed early. His mom kept bothering him about Eleanor. ‘Where’s Eleanor tonight?’ ‘She running late?’ ‘You get in fight?’

  Every time she said Eleanor’s name, Park felt his face go hot.

  ‘I can tell that something wrong,’ his mom said at dinner. ‘Did you get in fight? Did you break up again?’

  ‘No,’ Park said. ‘I think maybe she went home sick. She wasn’t on the bus.’

  ‘I have a girlfriend now,’ Josh said, ‘can she start coming over?’

  ‘No girlfriend,’ their mom said, ‘too young.’

  ‘I’m almost thirteen!’

  ‘Sure,’ their dad said, ‘your girlfriend can come over. If you’re willing to give up your Nintendo.’

  ‘What?’ Josh was stricken. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I said so,’ his dad said. ‘Is it a deal?’

  ‘No! No way,’ Josh said. ‘Does Park have to give up Nintendo?’

  ‘Yep. Is that okay with you, Park?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I’m like Billy Jack,’ their dad said, ‘a warrior and a wise-man.’

  It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it was the most his dad had said to Park in weeks. Maybe his dad had been bracing for the entire neighborhood to swarm the house with torches and pitchforks as soon as they saw Park with eyeliner …

  But almost nobody cared. Not even his grandparents. (His grandma said he looked like Rudolph Valentino, and he heard his grandpa tell his dad, ‘You should have seen what kids looked like while you were in Korea.’)

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ Park said, standing up from the table. ‘I don’t feel well either.’

  ‘So if Park doesn’t get to play Nintendo anymore,’ Josh asked, ‘can I put it in my room?’

  ‘Park can play Nintendo whenever he wants,’ their dad said.

  ‘God,’ Josh said, ‘everything you guys do is unfair.’

  Park turned off his light and crawled onto his bed. He lay on his back because he didn’t trust his front. Or his hands, actually. Or his brain.

  After he saw Eleanor today, it hadn’t occurred to him, not for at least an hour, to wonder why she was walking down the hall in her gymsuit. And it took him another hour to realize he should have said something to her. He could have said, ‘Hey’ or ‘What’s going on?’ or ‘Are you OK?’ Instead he’d stared at her like he’d never seen her before.

  He felt like he’d never seen her before.

  It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it (a lot) – Eleanor under her clothes. But he could never fill in any of the details. The only women he could actually picture naked were the women in the magazines his dad every once in a while remembered to hide under his bed.

  Magazines like that made Eleanor freak. Just mention Hugh Hefner, and she’d be off for half an hour on prostitution and slavery and the Fall of Rome. Park hadn’t told her about his dad’s twenty-year-old Playboys, but he hadn’t touched them since he met her.

  He could fill in some of the details now. He could picture Eleanor. He couldn’t stop picturing her. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how tight those gymsuits were? And how short …

  And why hadn’t he expected her to be so grown up? To have so much negative space?

  He closed his eyes and saw her again. A stack of freckled heart shapes, a perfectly made Dairy Queen ice cream cone. Like Betty Boop drawn with a heavy hand.

  Hey, he thought. What’s going on? Are you okay?

  She must not be. She hadn’t been on the bus on the way home. She hadn’t come over after school. And tomorrow was Saturday. What if he didn’t see her all weekend?

  How could he even look at her now? He wouldn’t be able to. Not without stripping her down to her gymsuit. Without thinking about that long white zipper.

  Jesus.

  CHAPTER 42

  Park

  His family was going to the boat show the next day, then out to lunch, and maybe to the mall …

  Park took forever to eat his breakfast and take a shower.

  ‘Come on, Park,’ his dad said sharply, ‘get dressed and put your makeup on.’

  Like he’d wear makeup to the boat show.

  ‘Come on,’ his mom said, checking her lipstick in the hall mirror, ‘you know your dad hate crowds.’

  ‘Do I have to go?’

  ‘You don’t want to go?’ She scrunched and fluffed the back of her hair.

  ‘No, I do,’ Park said. He didn’t. ‘But what if Eleanor comes over? I don’t want to miss the chance to talk to her.’

  ‘Is something wrong? You sure you didn’t fight?’

  ‘No, no fight. I’m just … worried about her. And you know I can’t call her house.’

  His mom turned away from the mirror. ‘Okay …’ she said, frowning. ‘You stay. But vacuum, okay? And put away big pile of black clothes on your floor.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Park said. He hugged her.

  ‘Park! Mindy!’ His dad was standing at the front door. ‘Let’s go!’

  ‘Park staying home,’ his mom said. ‘We go.’

  His dad flashed him a look, but didn’t argue.

  Park wasn’t used to being home alone. He vacuumed. He put his clothes away. He made himself a sandwich and watched a Young Ones marathon on MTV, then fell asleep on the couch.

  When he heard the doorbell, he jerked up to answer it before he was awake. His heart was pounding, the way it does sometimes when you sleep too hard in the middle of the day, like you can’t remember how to wake up.

  He w
as sure it was Eleanor. He opened the door without checking.

  Eleanor

  Their car wasn’t in the driveway, so Eleanor figured Park’s family wasn’t home. They were probably off doing awesome family stuff. Eating lunch at Bonanza and having their portraits taken in matching sweaters.

  She’d already given up on the door when it opened. And before she could act embarrassed and uncomfortable about yesterday – or pretend that she wasn’t – Park was opening the screen door and pulling her in by her sleeve.

  He didn’t even close the door before he put his arms around her, his entire arms, all down the length of her back.

  Park usually held Eleanor with his hands on her waist, like they were slow-dancing. This wasn’t slow-dancing. This was … something else. His arms were around her, and his face was in her hair, and there was no place for the rest of her to go but against him.

  He was warm … Like really warm and fuzzy-soft. Like a sleeping baby, she thought. (Sort of. Not exactly.)

  She tried to feel embarrassed again.

  Park kicked the door closed and fell back on it, pulling her even tighter. His hair was clean and straight and flopping into his eyes, and his eyes were nearly closed. Fuzzy. Soft.

  ‘Were you sleeping?’ she whispered. Like he still might be.

  He didn’t answer, but his mouth fell on hers, open, and her head fell back into his hand. He was holding her so close, there was nowhere to hide. She couldn’t sit up or suck in or keep any secrets.

  Park made a noise, and it hummed in her throat. She could feel all ten of his fingers. On her neck, on her back … Her own hands hung stupidly at her side. Like they weren’t even in the same scene as his. Like she wasn’t even in the same scene.

  Park must have noticed, because he pulled his mouth back. He tried to wipe it on the shoulder of his T-shirt, and he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time since she got there.

  ‘Hey …’ he said, taking a breath, focusing. ‘What’s going on? Are you okay?’

  Eleanor looked at Park’s face, so full of something she couldn’t quite place. His chin hung forward, like his mouth didn’t want to pull away from her, and his eyes were so green they could turn carbon dioxide into oxygen.

  He was touching her all the places she was afraid to be touched …

  Eleanor tried one last time to be embarrassed.

  Park

  For a second, he thought he’d gone too far.

  He hadn’t even meant to, he was practically sleepwalking. And he’d been thinking about Eleanor, dreaming about her, for so many hours; wanting her made him stupid.

  She was so still in his arms. He thought for a second that he’d gone too far, that he’d tripped a wire.

  And then Eleanor touched him. She touched his neck.

  It’s hard to say why this was different from all the other times she’d touched him. She was different. She was still and then she wasn’t.

  She touched his neck, then drew a line down his chest. Park wished that he was taller and broader; he hoped she wouldn’t stop.

  She was so gentle compared to him. Maybe she didn’t want him like he wanted her. But even if she wanted him half as much …

  Eleanor

  This is how she touched him in her head.

  From jaw to neck to shoulder.

  He was so much warmer than she expected, and harder. Like all of his muscles and bones were right on the surface, like his heart was beating just under his T-shirt.

  She touched Park softly, gingerly, just in case she touched him wrong.

  Park

  He relaxed against the door.

  He felt Eleanor’s hand on his throat, on his chest, then took her other hand and pressed it to his face. He made a noise like he was hurt and decided to feel self-conscious about it later.

  If he was shy now, he wouldn’t get anything that he wanted.

  Eleanor

  Park was alive, and she was awake, and this was allowed.

  He was hers.

  To have and hold. Not forever, maybe – not forever, for sure – and not figuratively. But literally. And now. Now, he was hers. And he wanted her to touch him. He was like a cat who pushes its head under your hands.

  Eleanor brought her hands down Park’s chest with her fingertips apart, then brought them up again under his shirt.

  She did it because she wanted to. And because once she started touching him the way she did in her head, it was hard to stop. And because … what if she never had the chance to touch him like this again?

  Park

  When he felt her fingers on his stomach, he made the noise again. He held her to him and pushed forward, pushing Eleanor backward – stumbling around the coffee table to the couch.

  In movies, this happens smoothly or comically. In Park’s living room, it was just awkward. They wouldn’t let go of each other, so Eleanor fell back, and Park fell against her in the corner of the couch.

  He wanted to look in her eyes, but it was hard when they were this close. ‘Eleanor …’ he whispered.

  She nodded.

  ‘I love you,’ he said.

  She looked up at him, her eyes shiny and black, then looked away. ‘I know,’ she said.

  He pulled one of his arms out from under her and traced her outline against the couch. He could spend all day like this, running his hand down her ribs, into her waist, out to her hips and back again … If he had all day, he would. If she weren’t made of so many other miracles.

  ‘You know?’ he repeated. She smiled, so he kissed her. ‘You’re not the Han Solo in this relationship, you know.’

  ‘I’m totally the Han Solo,’ she whispered. It was good to hear her. It was good to remember it was Eleanor under all this new flesh.

  ‘Well, I’m not the Princess Leia,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t get so hung up on gender roles,’ Eleanor said. Park ran his hand out to her hip and back again, catching his thumb under her sweater. She swallowed and lifted her chin.

  He pulled her sweater up farther and, then, without thinking about why, he pulled up his shirt, too, and laid his bare stomach against hers.

  Eleanor’s face crumpled, and it made him come unhinged.

  ‘You can be Han Solo,’ he said, kissing her throat. ‘And I’ll be Boba Fett. I’ll cross the sky for you.’

  Eleanor

  Things she knew now, that she hadn’t known two hours ago:

  Park was covered with skin. Everywhere. And it was all just as smooth and honey-beautiful as the skin on his hands. It felt thick and richer in some places, more like crushed velvet than silk. But it was all his. And all wonderful.

  She was also covered with skin. And her skin was apparently covered with super-powered nerve endings that hadn’t done a damn thing her whole life, but came alive like ice and fire and bee stings as soon as Park touched her. Wherever Park touched her.

  As embarrassed as she was of her stomach and her freckles and the fact that her bra was held together with two safety pins, she wanted Park to touch her more than she could ever feel embarrassed. And when he touched her, he didn’t seem to care about any of those things. Some of them he even liked. Like her freckles. He said she was candy-sprinkled.

  She wanted him to touch her everywhere.

  He’d stopped at the edge of her bra and only dipped his fingers into the back of her jeans – but it wasn’t Eleanor who stopped him. She never would. When Park touched her, it felt better than anything she’d ever felt in her whole life. Ever. And she wanted to feel that way as much she could. She wanted to stock up on him.

  Nothing was dirty. With Park.

  Nothing could be shameful.

  Because Park was the sun, and that was the only way Eleanor could think to explain it.

  Park

  Once it started to get dark, he felt like his parents could walk in at any minute, like they should have been home a long time ago – and he didn’t want them to find him like this, with his knee between Eleanor’s legs and his hand o
n her hip and his mouth as far as it could reach down the neck of her sweater.

  He pulled away from her and tried to think clearly again. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Nowhere … My parents should be home soon, we should get it together.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, and sat up. But she looked so bewildered and beautiful that he climbed back on top of her and pushed her all the way down.

  A half-hour later, he tried again. He stood up this time.

  ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ he said.

  ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Don’t look back.’

  He took a step, then looked back.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said a few minutes later.

  While she was gone, Park turned up the volume on the TV. He got them both Cokes and looked at the couch to see if it looked illicit. It didn’t seem to.

  When Eleanor came back, her face was wet.

  ‘Did you wash your face?’

  ‘Yeah …’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I looked weird.’

  ‘And you thought you could wash it off?’

  He gave her the same once-over he’d given the couch. Her lips were swollen, and her eyes seemed wilder than usual. But Eleanor’s sweaters were always stretched out, and her hair always looked tangled.

  ‘You look fine,’ he said. ‘What about me?’

  She looked at him, and then smiled. ‘Good …’ she said. ‘Just really, really good.’

  He held out his hand to her, and pulled her onto the couch. Smoothly, this time.

  She sat next to him and looked down at her lap.

  Park leaned against her. ‘It’s not going to be weird now,’ he said, softly, ‘is it?’

  She shook her head and laughed. ‘No,’ she said, and then, ‘only for a minute, only a little.’ He’d never seen her face so open. Her brows weren’t pulled together, her nose wasn’t scrunched. He put his arm around her, and she laid her head on his chest without any prompting.

  ‘Oh, look,’ she said, ‘The Young Ones.’

  ‘Yeah … Hey. You still haven’t told me – what was going on yesterday? When I saw you? What was wrong?’