Authors: Rainbow Rowell
… It’s Shakespeare making fun of
love,’ she said.
‘Then why has it survived?’
‘I
don’t
know,
because
Shakespeare is a really good
writer?’
‘No!’
Mr
Stessman
said.
‘Someone else, someone with a
heart. Mr Sheridan, what beats in
your chest? Tell us, why has
Romeo and Juliet
survived four
hundred years?’
Park hated talking in class.
Eleanor frowned at him, then
looked away. He felt himself
blush.
‘Because …’ he said quietly,
looking at his desk, ‘because
people want to remember what it’s
like to be young? And in love?’
Mr Stessman leaned back
against the blackboard and rubbed
his beard.
‘Is that right?’ Park asked.
‘Oh, it’s definitely right,’ Mr
Stessman said. ‘I don’t know if
that’s why
Romeo and Juliet
has
become the most beloved play of
all time. But, yes, Mr Sheridan.
Truer words never spoken.’
She didn’t acknowledge Park
in history class, but she never did.
When he got on the bus that
afternoon, she was already there.
She got up to let him have his
place by the window, and then she
surprised him by talking. Quietly.
Almost under her breath. But
talking.
‘It’s more like a wish list,’ she
said.
‘What?’
‘They’re songs I’d like to hear.
Or bands I’d like to hear. Stuff
that looks interesting.’
‘If you’ve never heard the
Smiths, how do you even know
about them?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said
defensively. ‘My friends, my old
friends … magazines. I don’t
know. Around.’
‘Why don’t you just listen to
them?’
She looked at him like he was
officially an idiot. ‘It’s not like
they play the Smiths on Sweet 98.’
And then, when Park didn’t
say anything, she rolled her inky
brown eyes into the back of her
head. ‘
God
,’ she said.
They didn’t talk anymore all
the way home.
That night, while he did his
homework, Park made a tape with
all of his favorite Smiths songs,
plus a few songs by Echo and the
Bunnymen, and Joy Division.
He put the tape and five more
X-Men
comics into his backpack
before he went to bed.
CHAPTER 11
Eleanor
‘Why are you so quiet?’ Eleanor’s
mother asked. Eleanor was taking
a bath, and her mom was making
fifteen-bean soup. ‘That leaves
three beans for each us,’ Ben had
cracked to Eleanor earlier.
‘I’m not quiet. I’m taking a
bath.’
‘Usually you sing in the
bathtub.’
‘I do
not
,’ Eleanor said.
‘You do. Usually you sing
“Rocky Raccoon.”’
‘
God
. Well, thanks for telling
me, I won’t anymore. God.’
Eleanor got dressed quickly
and tried to squeeze past her
mother. Her mom grabbed her by
the wrists. ‘I like to hear you
sing,’ she said. She reached for a
bottle on the counter behind
Eleanor and rubbed a drop of
vanilla behind each of the girl’s
ears. Eleanor raised her shoulders
like it tickled.
‘Why do you always do that? I
smell like a Strawberry Shortcake
doll.’
‘I do it,’ her mom said,
‘because
it’s
cheaper
than
perfume, but it smells just as
good.’ Then she rubbed some
vanilla behind her own ears and
laughed.
Eleanor laughed with her, and
stood there for a few seconds
smiling. Her mom was wearing
soft old jeans and a T-shirt, and
her hair was pulled back in a
smooth ponytail. She looked
almost like she used to. There was
a picture of her – at one of
Maisie’s birthday parties, scooping
ice cream cones – with a ponytail
just like that.
‘Are you okay?’ her mom
asked.
‘Yeah …’ Eleanor said, ‘yeah,
I’m just tired. I’m going to do my
homework and go to bed.’ Her
mom seemed to know that
something was off, but she didn’t
push. She used to make Eleanor
tell her everything. ‘What’s going
on up there?’ she’d say, knocking
on the top of Eleanor’s head. ‘Are
you making yourself crazy?’ Her
mom hadn’t said anything like that
since Eleanor had moved home.
She seemed to realize that she’d
lost her right to knock.
Eleanor climbed up onto her
bunk and pushed the cat to the
end. She didn’t have anything to
read. Nothing new, anyway. Was
he done bringing her comics?
Why had he even started? She ran
her fingers over the embarrassing
song titles – ‘This Charming Man’
and ‘How Soon Is Now?’ – on her
math book. She wanted to scribble
them out, but he’d probably notice
and lord it over her.
Eleanor really was tired, that
wasn’t a lie. She’d been staying
up, reading, almost every night.
She fell asleep that night right
after dinner.
She woke up to shouting. Richie
shouting. Eleanor couldn’t tell
what he was saying.
Underneath the shouting, her
mother was crying. She sounded
like she’d been crying for a long
time – she must be completely out
of her head if she was letting them
hear her cry like that.
Eleanor
could
tell
that
everyone else in the room was
already awake. She hung off the
bunk until she could see the little
kids take shape in the dark. All
four of them were sitting together
in a clump of blankets on the
floor. Maisie was holding the
baby,
rocking
him
almost
frantically. Eleanor slid off the bed
soundlessly and huddled with
them. Mouse immediately climbed
into her lap. He was shaking and
wet, and he wrapped his arms and
legs around Eleanor like a
monkey. Their mother shrieked,
two rooms away, and they all five
jumped together.
If this had happened two
summers ago, Eleanor would have
run and banged on the door
herself. She would have yelled at
Richie to stop. She would have
called 911 at the very, very, very
least. But now that seemed like
something a child would do, or a
fool. Now, all she could think
about was what they were going to
do if the baby actually started to
cry. Thank God he didn’t. Even he
seemed to realize that trying to
make this stop would only ever
make it worse.
When her alarm went off the next
morning,
Eleanor
couldn’t
remember having fallen to sleep.
She couldn’t remember when the
crying had stopped.
A horrible thought came to
her, and she got up, stumbling
over the kids and the blankets.
She opened the bedroom door and
smelled bacon.
Which meant that her mother
was alive.
And that her stepdad was
probably still eating breakfast.
Eleanor took a deep breath.
She smelled like pee.
God
. The
cleanest clothes she had were the
ones she wore yesterday, which
Tina would surely point out,
because it was a goddamn gym
day on top of everything else.
She grabbed her clothes and
stepped purposely out into the
living room, determined not to
make eye contact with Richie if he
was there. He was. (
That demon.
That bastard
.) Her mother was
standing at the stove, standing
more still than usual. You couldn’t
not notice the bruise on the side of
her face. Or the hickey under her
chin. (
That fuck, that fuck, that
fuck
.)
‘Mom,’ Eleanor whispered
urgently, ‘I have to clean off.’ Her
mother’s eyes slowly focused on
her.
‘What?’
Eleanor
gestured
at
her
clothes, which probably just
looked wrinkled. ‘I slept on the
floor with Mouse.’
Her mother glanced nervously
into the living room; Richie would
punish Mouse if he knew. ‘Okay,
okay,’ she said, pushing Eleanor
into the bathroom. ‘Give me your
clothes, I’ll watch the door. And
don’t let him smell it. I don’t need
this this morning.’
As if Eleanor was the one
who’d peed all over everything.
She washed off the top half of
her body, then the bottom, so that
she wouldn’t ever be totally
naked. Then she walked back
through the living room, wearing
yesterday’s clothes, trying really
hard not to smell like pee.
Her books were in her
bedroom, but Eleanor didn’t want
to open the door and let out any
more acrid air – so she just left.
She got to the bus stop fifteen
minutes early. She still felt
rumpled and panicked, and,
thanks to the bacon, her stomach
was growling.
CHAPTER 12
Park
When Park got on the bus, he set
the comics and Smiths tape on the
seat next to him, so they’d just be
waiting for her. So he wouldn’t
have to say anything.
When she got on the bus a few
minutes later, Park could tell that
something was wrong. She got on
like she was lost and ended up
there. She was wearing the same
thing she’d worn yesterday –
which wasn’t
that
weird, she was
always wearing a different version
of the same thing – but today was
different. Her neck and wrists
were bare, and her hair was a
mess – a pile, an all-over glob, of
red curls.
She stopped at their seat and
looked down at the pile of stuff
he’d left for her. (Where were her
schoolbooks? He wondered) Then
she picked everything up, careful
as ever, and sat down.
Park wanted to look at her
face, but he couldn’t. He stared at
her wrists instead. She picked up
the cassette. He’d written ‘How
Soon is Now and More’ on the
thin white sticker.
She held it out to him.
‘Thank you …’ she said. Now
that
was something he’d never
heard her say before. ‘But I can’t.’
He didn’t take it.
‘It’s for you, take it,’ he
whispered. He looked up from her
hands to her dropped chin.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I mean, thank
you, but … I can’t.’ She tried to
give him the tape, but he didn’t
take it. Why did she have to make
every little thing so hard?
‘I don’t want it,’ he said.
She clenched her teeth and
glared. She really must hate him.
‘No,’ she said, practically loud
enough for other people to hear. ‘I
mean, I
can’t
. I don’t have any
way to listen to it.
God
, just take it
back.’
He took it. She covered her
face. The kid in the seat across
from them, a twerpy senior who
was actually named Junior, was
watching.
Park frowned at Junior until
he turned away. Then Park turned
back to the girl …
He took his Walkman out of
the pocket of his trench coat and
popped out his Dead Kennedys
tape. He slid the new tape in,
pressed play, then – carefully –
put the headphones over her hair.
He was so careful, he didn’t even
touch her.
He could hear the swampy
guitar start and then the first line
of the song. ‘I am the son … and
the heir …’
She lifted her head a little but
didn’t look at him. She didn’t
move her hands away from her
face.
When they got to school, she
took the headphones off and gave
them back to him.
They got off the bus together
and stayed together. Which was
weird. Usually, they broke away
from each other as soon as they