Authors: Rainbow Rowell
Please.’
Her mother sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll
talk to Richie.’
‘No. Don’t talk to Richie. He’ll
just say no. And, anyway, he can’t
tell me that I can’t see my father.’
‘Richie is the head of this
household,’ her mom said. ‘Richie
is the one who puts food on our
table.’
What food? Eleanor wanted to
ask. And, for that matter, what
table? They ate on the couch or on
the floor or sitting on the back
steps
holding
paper
plates.
Besides, Richie would say no just
for the pleasure of saying it. It
would make him feel like the King
of Spain. Which was probably
why her mom wanted to give him
the chance.
‘Mom.’ Eleanor put her face in
her hand and leaned against the
refrigerator. ‘
Please
.’
‘ O h ,
fine
,’ her mother said
bitterly. ‘Fine. But if he gives you
any money, you can split it with
your brothers and sister. That’s
the least you can do.’
They could have it all. All
Eleanor wanted was the chance to
talk to Park on the phone. To be
able to talk to him without every
inbred hellspawn in the Flats
listening.
The next morning on the bus,
while Park ran his finger along the
inside of her bracelet, Eleanor
asked him for his phone number.
He started laughing.
‘Why is that funny?’ she
asked.
‘Because,’ he said quietly.
They said everything quietly, even
though everyone else on the bus
roared, even though you’d have to
shout into a megaphone to be
heard over all the cursing and
idiocy. ‘I feel like you’re hitting
on me,’ he said.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t ask for
your number,’ she said. ‘You’ve
never asked for mine.’
He looked up at her through
his bangs.
‘I figured you weren’t allowed
to talk on the phone … after that
time with your stepdad.’
‘I probably wouldn’t be, if I
had a phone.’ She usually tried
not to tell Park things like that.
Like, all the things she didn’t
have. She waited for him to react,
but he didn’t. He just ran his
thumb along the veins in her
wrist.
‘Then why do you want my
number?’
God, she thought, never mind.
‘You don’t have to give it to me.’
He rolled his eyes and got a
pen out of his backpack, then
reached over and took one of her
books.
‘No,’ she whispered, ‘don’t. I
don’t want my mom to see it.’
He frowned at her book. ‘I’d
think you’d be more worried
about her seeing
this
.’
Eleanor looked down. Crap.
Whoever wrote that gross thing on
her geography book had written
on her history book, too.
‘suck me off,’ it said, in ugly
blue letters.
She grabbed Park’s pen and
started scribbling it out.
‘Why would you write that?’
he asked. ‘Is that a song?’
‘I didn’t write it,’ she said. She
could feel patches of red creep up
her neck.
‘Then who did?’
She gave him the meanest look
she was capable of. (It was hard to
look at him with anything other
than gooey eyes.) ‘I don’t know,’
she said.
‘Why
would
anyone
write
that?’
‘I don’t
know
.’ She pulled her
books against her chest and
wrapped her arms around them.
‘Hey,’ he said.
Eleanor ignored him and
looked out the window. She
couldn’t believe she’d let him see
that on her book. It was one thing
to let him see her crazy life a little
bit at a time …
So, yeah, I have a
terrible stepdad, and I don’t have
a phone, and sometimes when
we’re out of dish soap I wash my
hair with flea and tick shampoo
…
It was another thing to remind
him that she was
that
girl. She
may as well invite him to gym
class. She might as well give him
an alphabetical list of all the
names they called her.
A – Ass, Fat
B – Bitch, Red-Headed
He’d probably try to ask her
why
she was that girl.
‘Hey,’ he said.
She shook her head.
It wouldn’t do any good to tell
him that she hadn’t been
that
girl
at her old school. Yeah, she’d
been made fun of before. There
were always mean boys – and
there were always, always mean
girls – but she’d had friends at her
old school. She’d had people to
eat lunch with and pass notes to.
People used to pick her to be on
their team in gym class just
because they thought she was nice
and funny.
‘Eleanor …’ he said.
But there was no one like Park
at her old school.
There was no one like Park
anywhere.
‘What,’ she said to the
window.
‘How’re you going to call me
if you don’t have my number?’
‘Who said I was going to call
you?’ She hugged her books.
He leaned against her, pressing
his shoulder into hers.
‘Don’t be mad at me,’ he said,
sighing. ‘It makes me crazy.’
‘I’m never mad at you,’ she
said.
‘Right.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You must just be mad
near
me a lot.’
She pushed her shoulder
against his and smiled despite
herself.
‘I’m babysitting at my dad’s
house Friday night,’ she said, ‘and
he said I could use the phone.’
Park turned his face eagerly. It
was painfully close to hers. She
could kiss him – or head-butt him
– before he’d ever have a chance
to pull away. ‘Yeah?’ he asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘
Yeah
,’ he said, smiling. ‘But
you won’t let me write down my
number?’
‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘I’ll
memorize it.’
‘Let me write it down.’
‘I’ll memorize it to the tune of
a song, so that I don’t forget.’
He started singing his number
to the tune of ‘867-5309,’ which
cracked her right up.
Park
Park tried to remember the first
time he saw her.
Because he could remember,
on
that
day,
seeing
what
everybody else saw. He could
remember thinking that she was
asking for it …
That it was bad enough to
have curly red hair. That it was
bad enough to have a face shaped
like a box of chocolates.
No, he hadn’t thought exactly
that. He’d thought …
That it was bad enough to
have a million freckles and
chubby baby cheeks.
God, she had adorable cheeks.
Dimples on top of freckles, which
shouldn’t even be allowed, and
round as crabapples. It was kind
of amazing that more people
didn’t try to pinch her cheeks. His
grandma was definitely going to
pinch her when they met.
But Park hadn’t thought that
either, the first time he saw
Eleanor
on
the
bus.
He
remembered thinking that it was
bad enough that she looked the
way she did …
Did she have to dress like that?
And act like that? Did she have to
try so hard to be different?
He
remembered
feeling
embarrassed for her.
And now …
Now, he felt the fight rising up
in his throat whenever he thought
of people making fun of her.
When he thought of someone
writing that ugly thing on her
book … it made him feel like Bill
Bixby just before he turned into
the Hulk.
It had been so hard, on the
bus, to pretend that it didn’t
bother him. He didn’t want to
make anything worse for her –
he’d put his hands in his pockets
and pressed them into fists, and
held them that way all morning
long.
All morning long, he’d wanted
to punch something. Or kick
something. Park had gym class
right after lunch, and he ran so
hard during drills, he’d started to
retch up his fish sandwich.
Mr Koenig, his gym teacher,
made him leave class early and
take a shower. ‘Hit the bricks,
Sheridan.
Now.
This
isn’t
Chariots of
Fuckin’
Fire
.’
Park
wished
it
was
only
righteous anger that he felt. He
wished
that
he
could
feel
defensive
and
protective
of
Eleanor
without
feeling
…
everything else.
Without feeling like they were
making fun of him, too.
There were moments – not just
today, moments every day since
they’d met – when Eleanor made
him self-conscious, when he saw
people talking and he was sure
they were talking about them.
Raucous moments on the bus
when he was sure that everyone
was laughing at them.
And in those moments, Park
thought about pulling back from
her.
Not breaking up with her. That
phrase didn’t even seem to apply
here. Just … easing away.
Recovering the six inches between
them.
He’d roll the thought over in
his head until the next time he saw
her.
In class, at her desk. On the
bus, waiting for him. Reading
alone in the cafeteria.
Whenever he saw Eleanor, he
couldn’t think about pulling away.
He couldn’t think about anything
at all.
Except touching her.
Except doing whatever he
could or had to, to make her
happy.
‘What do you mean you’re not
coming tonight?’ Cal said.
They were in study hall, and
Cal was eating a Snack Pack
butterscotch pudding. Park tried to
keep his voice down. ‘Something
came up.’
‘Something?’
Cal
said,
slamming his spoon into his
pudding.
‘Like
you
being
completely lame – is that what
came up? Because that comes up a
lot lately.’
‘No .
Something
. Like, a girl
something.’
Cal leaned in. ‘You’ve got a
girl something?’
Park felt himself blush. ‘Sort
of. Yeah. I can’t really talk about
it.’
‘But we had a plan,’ Cal said.
‘You had a plan,’ Park said,
‘and it was terrible.’
‘Worst friend in the world,’
Cal said.
Eleanor
She was so nervous, she couldn’t
even touch her lunch. She gave
DeNice her creamed turkey and
Beebi her fruit cocktail.
Park made her practice his
phone number all the way home.
And then he wrote it on her
book anyway. He hid it in song
titles.
‘Forever Young.’
‘That’s a four,’ he said. ‘Will
you remember?’
‘I won’t have to,’ she said, ‘I
already know your number by
heart.’
‘And this is just a five,’ he
said, ‘because I can’t think of any
five songs, and this one’ –
‘Summer of ’69’ – ‘With this one,
remember the six, but forget the
nine.’
‘I hate that song.’
‘God, I know … Hey, I can’t
think of any two songs.’
“‘Two of Us,”’ she said.
‘Two of us?’
‘It’s a Beatles song.’
‘Oh … that’s why I don’t
know it.’ He wrote it down.
‘I know your number by
heart,’ she said.
‘I’m just afraid you’re going to
forget it,’ he said quietly. He
pushed her hair out of her eyes
with his pen.
‘I’m not going to forget it,’ she
said. Ever. She’d probably scream
out Park’s number on her
deathbed. Or have it tattooed over
her heart when he finally got sick
of her. ‘I’m good with numbers.’
‘If you don’t call me Friday
night,’ he said, ‘because you can’t
remember my number …’
‘How about this, I’ll give you