Eleanor & Park (5 page)

corner of the library. The new girl

was sitting there, staring right at

them.

‘She’s kind of big,’ Cal said,

‘but the Impala is a spacious

automobile.’

‘She’s not looking at me.

She’s just staring, she does that.

Watch.’ Park waved at the girl, but

she didn’t blink.

He’d only made eye contact

with her once since her first day

on the bus. It was last week, in

history, and she’d practically

gouged out his eyes with hers.

If you don’t want people to

look at you, Park had thought at

the time, don’t wear fishing lures

in your hair. Her jewelry box must

look like a junk drawer. Not that

everything she wore was stupid …

She had a pair of Vans he

liked, with strawberries on them.

And she had a green sharkskin

blazer that Park would wear

himself if he thought he could get

away with it.

Did she think she was getting

away with it?

Park braced himself every

morning before she got on the

bus, but you couldn’t brace

yourself enough for the sight of

her.

‘Do you know her?’ Cal

asked.

‘No,’ Park said quickly. ‘She’s

on my bus. She’s weird.’

‘Jungle fever is a thing,’ Cal

said.

‘For black people. If you like

black people. And it’s not a

compliment, I don’t think.’

‘Your people come from the

jungle,’ Cal said, pointing at Park.

‘
Apocalypse Now
, anyone?’

‘You should ask Kim out,’

Park said. ‘That’s a really good

idea.’

Eleanor

Eleanor wasn’t going to fight over

an e.e. cummings book like it was

the last Cabbage Patch Kid. She

found an empty table in the

African

American

literature

section.

That was another fucked-up

thing about this school – effed-up,

she corrected herself.

Most of the kids here were

black, but most of the kids in her

honors classes were white. They

got bussed in from west Omaha.

And the white kids from the Flats,

dishonor students, got bussed in

from the other direction.

Eleanor wished she had more

honors classes. She wished there

was honors gym …

Like they’d ever let her into

honors gym. Eleanor would get

put in remedial gym first. With all

the other fat girls who couldn’t do

sit-ups.

Anyway. Honor students –

black, white or Asia Minor –

tended to be nicer. Maybe they

were just as mean on the inside,

but they were scared of getting in

trouble. Or maybe they were just

as mean on the inside, but they’d

been trained to be polite – to give

up their seats for old people and

girls.

Eleanor had honors English,

history and geography, but she

spent the rest of her day in

Crazytown. Seriously,
Blackboard

Jungle
. She should probably try

harder in her smart classes so that

she wouldn’t get kicked out of

them.

She started copying a poem

called ‘Caged Bird’ into her

notebook … Sweet. It rhymed.

CHAPTER 8

Park

She was reading his comics.

At first Park thought he was

imagining it. He kept getting this

feeling that she was looking at

him, but whenever he looked over

at her, her face was down.

He finally realized that she was

staring at his lap. Not in a gross

way. She was looking at his

comics – he could see her eyes

moving.

Park didn’t know that anyone

with red hair could have brown

eyes. (He didn’t know that anyone

could have hair
that
red. Or skin

that white.) The new girl’s eyes

were darker than his mom’s, really

dark, almost like holes in her face.

That made it sound bad, but it

wasn’t. It might even be the best

thing about her. It kind of

reminded Park of the way artists

draw Jean Grey sometimes when

she’s using her telepathy, with her

eyes all blacked out and alien.

Today the girl was wearing a

giant men’s shirt with seashells all

over it. The collar must have been

really big, like disco-big, because

she’d cut it, and it was fraying.

She had a man’s necktie wrapped

around her ponytail like a big

polyester ribbon. She looked

ridiculous.

And she was looking at his

comics.

Park felt like he should say

something to her. He always felt

like he should say
something
to

her, even if it was just ‘hello’ or

‘excuse me.’ But he’d gone too

long without saying anything since

the first time he’d cursed at her,

and now it was all just irrevocably

weird. For
an hour
a day. Thirty

minutes on the way to school,

thirty minutes back.

Park didn’t say anything. He

just held his comics open wider

and turned the pages more slowly.

Eleanor

Her mom looked tired when

Eleanor got home. Like more tired

than usual. Hard and crumbling at

the edges.

When the little kids stormed in

after school, her mom lost her

temper over something stupid –

Ben and Mouse fighting over a toy

– and she pushed them all out the

back door, Eleanor included.

Eleanor was so startled to be

outside that she stood on the back

stoop for a second, staring down

at Richie’s Rottweiler. He’d named

the dog Tonya after his ex-wife.

She was supposed to be a real

man-eater, Tonya – Tonya the dog

– but Eleanor had never seen her

more than half awake.

Eleanor tried knocking on the

door. ‘Mom! Let me back in. I

haven’t even taken a bath yet.’

She usually took her bath right

after school, before Richie got

home. It took a lot of the stress

out of not having a bathroom

door, especially since somebody’d

torn down the sheet.

Her mom ignored her.

The little kids were already out

on the playground. The new

house was right next door to an

elementary school – the school

where Ben and Mouse and Maisie

went – and the playground was

just beyond their backyard.

Eleanor didn’t know what else

to do, so she walked out to where

she could see Ben, by the swing

set, and sat on one of the swings.

It was finally jacket weather.

Eleanor wished she had a jacket.

‘What are you supposed to do

when it gets too cold to play

outside?’ she asked Ben. He was

taking Matchbox cars out of his

pockets and lining them up in the

dirt. ‘Last year,’ he said, ‘Dad

made us go to bed at 7:30.’

‘God. You too? Why do you

guys call him that?’ She tried not

to sound angry.

Ben

shrugged.

‘I

guess

because he’s married to Mom.’

‘Yeah, but’ – Eleanor ran her

hands up and down the swing

chains, then smelled them – ‘we

never used to call him that. Do

you feel like he’s your dad?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ben said flatly.

‘What’s that supposed to feel

like?’

She didn’t answer him, so he

went back to setting up his cars.

He

needed

a

haircut,

his

strawberry-blond hair was curling

almost to his collar. He was

wearing

an

old

T-shirt

of

Eleanor’s and a pair of corduroy

pants that their mom had cut off

into shorts. He was almost too old

for all this, for cars and parks –

eleven. The other boys his age

played basketball all night or hung

out in groups at the edge of the

playground. Eleanor hoped that

Ben was a late bloomer. There

was no room in that house to be a

teenager.

‘He likes it when we call him

Dad,’ Ben said, still lining up the

cars.

Eleanor looked out at the

playground. Mouse was playing

with a bunch of kids who had a

soccer ball. Maisie must have

taken the baby somewhere with

her friends …

It used to be Eleanor who was

stuck with the baby all the time.

She wouldn’t even mind watching

him now, it would give her

something to do – but Maisie

didn’t want Eleanor’s help.

‘What was it like?’ Ben asked.

‘What was what like?’

‘Living with those people.’

The sun was a few inches

above the horizon, and Eleanor

looked hard at it.

‘Okay,’ she said. Terrible.

Lonely. Better than here.

‘Were there other kids?’

‘Yeah. Really little kids. Three

of them.’

‘Did you have your own

room?’

‘Sort of.’ Technically, she

hadn’t had to share the Hickmans’

living room with anyone else.

‘Were they nice?’ he asked.

‘Yeah … yeah. They were

nice. Not as nice as you.’

The Hickmans had started out

nice. But then they got tired.

Eleanor was only supposed to

stay with them for a few days,

maybe a week. Just until Richie

cooled down and let her come

home.

‘It’ll be like a slumber party,’

Mrs Hickman said to Eleanor the

first night she made up the couch.

Mrs Hickman – Tammy – knew

Eleanor’s mom from high school.

There was a photo over the TV of

the Hickmans’ wedding. Eleanor’s

mom was the maid of honor – in a

dark green dress, with a white

flower in her hair.

At first, her mom would call

Eleanor at the Hickmans’ almost

every day after school. After a few

months, the calls stopped. It

turned out that Richie hadn’t paid

the phone bill, and it got

disconnected. But Eleanor didn’t

know that for a while.

‘We should call the state,’ Mr

Hickman kept telling his wife.

They thought Eleanor couldn’t

hear them, but their bedroom was

right over the living room. ‘This

can’t go on, Tammy.’

‘Andy, it’s not her fault.’

‘I’m not saying it’s her fault,

I’m just saying we didn’t sign on

for this.’

‘She’s no trouble.’

‘She’s not ours.’

Eleanor tried to be even less

trouble. She practiced being in a

room without leaving any clues

that she’d been there. She never

turned on the TV or asked to use

the phone. She never asked for

seconds at dinner. She never

asked Tammy and Mr Hickman

for anything – and they’d never

had a teenager, so it didn’t occur

to them that there might be

anything she might need. She was

glad that they didn’t know her

birthday.

‘We thought you were gone,’

Ben said, pushing a car into the

dirt. He looked like somebody

who didn’t want to cry.

‘Oh ye of little faith,’ Eleanor

said, kicking her swing into

action.

She looked around again for

Maisie and found her sitting over

where the older boys were playing

basketball. Eleanor recognized

most of the boys from the bus.

That stupid Asian kid was there,

jumping higher than she would

have guessed he could. He was

wearing long black shorts and a T-

shirt that said ‘Madness.’

‘I’m out of here,’ Eleanor told

Ben, stepping off the swing and

pushing down the top of his head.

‘But not gone or anything. Don’t

get your panties in a bunch.’

She walked back into the

house and rushed through the

kitchen before her mom could say

anything. Richie was in the living

room. Eleanor walked between

him and the TV, eyes straight

ahead. She wished she had a

jacket.

CHAPTER 9

Park

He was going to tell her that she

did a good job on her poem.

That

would

be

a

giant