Authors: Rainbow Rowell
His voice was deeper than she’d
ever realized, but sort of warm in
the middle. He kind of reminded
her of Peter Gabriel. Not singing,
obviously. And not with a British
accent.
‘Where did
you
come from?’
he asked.
‘The future.’
Park
Eleanor had an answer for
everything – but she still managed
to evade most of Park’s questions.
She wouldn’t talk about her
family or her house. She wouldn’t
talk about anything that happened
before
she
moved
to
the
neighborhood or anything that
happened after she got off the bus.
When her sort-of stepbrother
fell asleep around nine, she asked
Park to call her back in fifteen
minutes, so she could put the kid
to bed.
Park hurried to the bathroom
and hoped that he wouldn’t run
into either of his parents. So far
they were leaving him alone.
He got back to his room. He
checked the clock … eight more
minutes. He put a tape in his
stereo. He changed into pajama
pants and a T-shirt.
He called her back.
‘It so hasn’t been fifteen
minutes,’ she said.
‘I couldn’t wait. Do you want
me to call you back?’
‘No.’ Her voice was even
softer now.
‘Did he stay asleep?’
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘Where are you now?’
‘Like, where in the house?’
‘Yeah, where.’
‘Why?’
she
asked,
with
something
just
gentler
than
disdain.
‘Because I’m thinking about
you,’ he said, exasperated.
‘So?’
‘Because I want to feel like
I’m with you,’ he said. ‘Why do
you make everything so hard?’
‘Probably because I’m so cool
…’ she said.
‘Ha.’
‘I’m lying on the floor in the
living room,’ she said faintly. ‘In
front of the stereo.’
‘In the dark? It sounds dark.’
‘In the dark, yeah.’
He lay back on his bed again
and covered his eyes with his arm.
He could see her. In his head. He
imagined green lights on a stereo.
Street lights through a window. He
imagined her face glowing, the
coolest light in the room.
‘Is that U2?’ he asked. He
could
hear
‘Bad’
in
the
background.
‘Yeah, I think it’s my favorite
song right now. I keep rewinding
it, and playing it over and over
again. It’s nice not to have to
worry about batteries.’
‘What’s your favorite part?’
‘Of the song?’
‘Yeah.’
‘All of it,’ she said, ‘especially
the chorus – I mean, I guess it’s
the chorus.’
‘I’m wide awake,’ he half
sang.
‘Yeah …’ she said, softly.
He kept singing then. Because
he wasn’t sure what to say next.
Eleanor
‘Eleanor?’ Park said.
She didn’t answer.
‘Are you there?’
She was so out of it, she
actually nodded her head. ‘Yes,’
she said out loud, catching herself.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking – I’m – I’m not
thinking.’
‘Not thinking in a good way?
Or a bad way?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. She
rolled over onto her stomach, and
pressed her face into the carpet.
‘Both.’
He was quiet. She listened to
him breathe. She wanted to ask
him to hold the phone closer to
his mouth.
‘I miss you,’ she said.
‘I’m right here.’
‘I wish you were here. Or that
I was there. I wish that there was
some chance of talking like this
after tonight, or seeing each other.
Like,
really
seeing each other. Of
being alone, together.’
‘Why can’t there be?’ he
asked.
She laughed. That’s when she
realized she was crying.
‘Eleanor …’
‘Stop. Don’t say my name like
that. It only makes it worse.’
‘Makes what worse?’
‘Everything,’ she said.
He was quiet.
She sat up and wiped her nose
on her sleeve.
‘Do you have a nickname?’ he
asked. That was one of his tricks,
whenever she was put off or
irritated – changing the subject in
the sweetest way possible.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘Eleanor.’
‘Not Nora? Or Ella? Or …
Lena, you could be Lena. Or
Lenny or Elle …’
‘Are you trying to give me a
nickname?’
‘No, I love your name. I don’t
want to cheat myself out of a
single syllable.’
‘You’re such a dork.’ She
wiped her eyes.
‘Eleanor …’ he said, ‘why
can’t we see each other?’
‘God,’ she said, ‘don’t. I’d
almost stopped crying.’
‘Tell me. Talk to me.’
‘
Because
,’ she said, ‘because
my stepdad would kill me.’
‘Why does he care?’
‘He doesn’t care. He just wants
to kill me.’
‘Why?’
‘Stop asking that,’ she said
angrily. There was no stopping the
tears now. ‘You always ask that.
Why
. Like there’s an answer for
everything. Not everybody has
your life, you know, or your
family. In your life, things happen
for reasons. People make sense.
But that’s not
my
life. Nobody in
my life makes sense …’
‘Not even me?’ he asked.
‘Ha. Especially not you.’
‘Why would you say that?’ He
sounded hurt. What did he have to
be hurt about?
‘Why, why, why …’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘
why
. Why are
you always so mad at me?’
‘I’m never mad at you.’ It
came out a sob. He was so stupid.
‘You are,’ he said. ‘You’re
mad at me right now. You always
turn on me, just when we start to
get somewhere.’
‘Get where?’
‘Somewhere,’ he said. ‘With
each other. Like, a few minutes
ago, you said you missed me. And
for maybe the first time ever, you
didn’t sound sarcastic or defensive
or like you think I’m an idiot. And
now you’re yelling at me.’
‘I’m not yelling.’
‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘Why
are you mad?’
She didn’t want him to hear
her cry. She held her breath. That
made it worse.
‘Eleanor …’ he said.
Even worse.
‘Stop
saying
that.’
‘What
can
I say then? You can
ask me why, you know. I promise
I’ll have answers.’
He sounded frustrated with
her, but not angry. She could
remember him sounding angry
with her only once. The first day
she got on the bus.
‘You can ask
me
why,’ he said
again.
‘Yeah?’ She sniffed.
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay.’ She looked down at
the turntable, at her own reflection
in the tinted acrylic lid. She
looked like a fat-faced ghost. She
closed her eyes.
‘Why do you even like me?’
Park
He opened his eyes.
He sat up, stood up, started
pacing around his small room. He
went to stand by the window – the
one that faced her house, even
though it was a block away and
she wasn’t home – holding the
base of the car phone against his
stomach.
She’d asked him to explain
something
he
couldn’t
even
explain to himself.
‘I don’t like you,’ he said. ‘I
need you.’
He waited for her to cut him
down. To say ‘Ha’ or ‘God’ or
‘You sound like a Bread song.’
But she was quiet.
He crawled back onto the bed,
not caring whether she heard it
swish. ‘You can ask me why I
need you,’ he whispered. He
didn’t even have to whisper. On
the phone, in the dark, he just had
to move his lips and breathe. ‘But
I don’t know. I just know that I
do …
‘I miss you, Eleanor. I want to
be with you all the time. You’re
the smartest girl I’ve ever met, and
the funniest, and everything you
do surprises me. And I wish I
could say that those are the
reasons I like you, because that
would make me sound like a
really evolved human being …
‘But I think it’s got as much to
do with your hair being red and
your hands being soft … and the
fact that you smell like homemade
birthday cake.’
He waited for her to say
something. She didn’t.
Someone knocked softly on
his door.
‘Just a second,’ he whispered
into the phone. ‘Yeah?’ he said.
His mom opened his door, just
enough to push her head through.
‘Not too late,’ she said.
‘Not too late,’ he said. She
smiled and shut the door.
‘I’m back,’ he said. ‘Are you
there?’
‘I’m here,’ Eleanor said.
‘Say something.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say something, so that I don’t
feel so stupid.’
‘Don’t feel stupid, Park,’ she
said.
‘Nice.’
They were both quiet.
‘Ask me why I like you,’ she
finally said.
He felt himself smile. He felt
like something warm had spilled
in his chest.
‘Eleanor,’ he said, just because
he liked saying it, ‘why do you
like me?’
‘I don’t like you.’
He waited. And waited …
Then he started to laugh.
‘You’re kind of mean,’ he said.
‘Don’t
laugh.
It
just
encourages me.’
He could hear that she was
smiling, too. He could picture her.
Smiling.
‘I don’t like you, Park,’ she
said again. ‘I …’ She stopped. ‘I
can’t do this.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s embarrassing.’
‘So far, just for me.’
‘I’m afraid I’ll say too much,’
she said.
‘You can’t.’
‘I’m afraid I’ll tell you the
truth.’
‘Eleanor …’
‘Park.’
‘You don’t like me …’ he said,
leading her, pressing the base of
the phone into his lowest rib.
‘I don’t like you, Park,’ she
said, sounding for a second like
she actually meant it. ‘I …’ – her
voice
nearly
disappeared
–
‘sometimes I think I live for you.’
He closed his eyes and arched
his head back into his pillow.
‘I don’t think I even breathe
when we’re not together,’ she
whispered. ‘Which means, when I
see you on Monday morning, it’s
been like sixty hours since I’ve
taken a breath. That’s probably
why I’m so crabby, and why I
snap at you. All I do when we’re
apart is think about you, and all I
do when we’re together is panic.
Because every second feels so
important. And because I’m so out
of control, I can’t help myself. I’m
not even mine anymore, I’m
yours, and what if you decide that
you don’t want me? How
could
you want me like I want you?’
He was quiet. He wanted
everything she’d just said to be the
last thing he heard. He wanted to
fall asleep with ‘I want you’ in his
ears.
‘God,’ she said. ‘I told you I
shouldn’t talk. I didn’t even
answer your question.’
Eleanor
She hadn’t even said anything nice
about him. She hadn’t told him
that he was prettier than any girl,
and that his skin was like sunshine
with a suntan.
And that’s exactly why she
hadn’t said it. Because all her
feelings for him – hot and
beautiful in her heart – turned to
gobbledygook in her mouth.
She flipped the tape and
pressed play, and waited for
Robert Smith to start singing
before she climbed up onto her
dad’s brown leather couch.
‘Why can’t I see you?’ Park
asked. His voice sounded raw and
pure. Like something just hatched.
‘Because my stepfather is
crazy.’
‘Does he have to know?’
‘My mom will tell him.’
‘Does she have to know?’
‘Eleanor ran her fingers along
the edge of the glass coffee table.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know what I mean. I