Eleanor & Park (45 page)

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Authors: Rainbow Rowell

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what she thought Dr Manhattan

meant when he said, ‘Nothing

ever ends’ at the end. Park still

wondered what Eleanor thought

about everything.

Her stepdad didn’t see Park at

first. Richie was moving slowly,

uncertainly. When he did notice

Park, he looked at him like he

wasn’t sure he was really there.

‘Who are you?’ Richie shouted.

Park didn’t answer. Richie

turned jaggedly, jerking toward

him. ‘What do you want?’ Even

from a few feet away, he smelled

sour. Like beer, like basements.

Park stood his ground.

I want to kill you
, he thought.

And I can
, he realized.
I should
.

Richie wasn’t much bigger

than Park, and he was drunk and

disoriented. Plus, he could never

want to hurt Park as much as Park

wanted to hurt him.

Unless Richie was armed,

unless he got lucky – Park could

do this.

Richie shuffled closer. ‘What

do you want?’ he shouted again.

The force of his own voice

knocked him off balance and he

tipped forward, falling thickly to

the ground. Park had to step back

not to catch him.

‘Fuck,’ Richie said, raising

himself up on his knees and

holding himself not quite steady.

I want to kill you
, Park

thought.

And I can
.

Someone should
.

Park looked down at his steel-

toe Docs. He’d just bought them at

work. (On sale, with his employee

discount.) He looked at Richie’s

head, hanging from his neck like a

leather bag.

Park hated him more than he

thought it was possible to hate

someone. More than he’d ever

thought it was possible to feel

anything …

Almost.

He lifted his boot and kicked

the ground in front of Richie’s

face. Ice and mud and driveway

slopped into the older man’s open

mouth. Richie coughed violently

and banked into the ground.

Park waited for him to get up,

but Richie just lay there spitting

curses, and rubbing salt and gravel

into his eyes.

He wasn’t dead. But he wasn’t

getting up.

Park waited.

And then he walked home.

Eleanor

Letters, postcards, yellow padded

packages that rattled in her hands.

None of them opened, none of

them read.

It was bad when the letters

came every day. It was worse

when they stopped.

Sometimes she laid them out

on the carpet like tarot cards, like

Wonka

bars,

and

wondered

whether it was too late.

CHAPTER 58

Park

Eleanor didn’t go to prom with

him.

Cat did.

Cat from work. She was thin

and dark, and her eyes were as

blue and flat as breath mints.

When Park held Cat’s hand, it was

like

holding

hands

with

a

mannequin, and it was such a

relief that he kissed her. He fell

asleep on prom night in his tuxedo

pants and a Fugazi T-shirt.

He woke up the next morning

when something light fell on his

shirt – he opened his eyes. His dad

was standing over him.

‘Mail call,’ his dad said, almost

gently. Park put his hand to his

heart.

Eleanor hadn’t written him a

letter.

It was a postcard. ‘Greetings

from the Land of 10,000 Lakes,’ it

said on the front. Park turned it

over and recognized her scratchy

handwriting. It filled his head with

song lyrics.

He

sat

up.

He

smiled.

Something heavy and winged took

off from his chest.

Eleanor hadn’t written him a

letter, it was a postcard.

Just three words long.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank some of the

people who made this book

possible for me – and who made

me possible for this book: First, to

Colleen Eickelman, who insisted

that I pass the eighth grade.

And to the Bent and Huntley

families, who kept me alive with

kindness.

To my brother Forest, who

promises that he isn’t just saying

things because I’m his sister.

To Nicola Barr, Sara O’Keeffe and

Natalie Braine for being so fierce

and so certain, for making the

Atlantic Ocean disappear and,

most of all, for looking out for

Eleanor.

Thank you, while I’m at it, to

everyone at Orion and St Martin’s

Press.

Especially to the lovely and

insightful Sara Goodman, whom I

trusted implicitly as soon as she

sat down next to me on the bus.

To my dear friend Christopher

Schelling, the best-case scenario.

And finally, I would like to thank

Kai, Laddie and Rosey for their

love and their patience. (You’re

my all-time favorites.)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rainbow Rowell is a newspaper

columnist in Omaha, Nebraska,

where she lives with her husband

and two sons.

Copyright

AN ORION EBOOK

First published in Great Britain in

2012 by Orion Books.

This eBook first published in 2012

by Orion Books.

Copyright © Rainbow Rowell

2012

The moral right of Rainbow

Rowell to be identified as the

author of this work has been

asserted by her in accordance with

the Copyright, Designs and

Patents Act 1988.

All characters and events in this

publication are fictitious and any

resemblance to real persons, living

or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this

publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system or

transmitted in any form or by any

means without the prior

permission in writing of the

publisher, nor be otherwise

circulated in any form of binding

or cover other than that in which it

is published without a similar

condition, including this

condition, being imposed on the

subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this

book is available from the British

Library.

ISBN: 978 1 4091 1633 2

Orion Books

The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

Orion House

5 Upper St Martin’s Lane

London WC2H 9EA An Hachette

UK Company

www.orionbooks.co.uk

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