‘I’d rather talk about you,’ he said. His voice dropped a little. It was nice to hear just his voice and nothing else. (Nothing besides Fraggle Rock in the next room.) His voice was deeper than she’d ever realized, but sort of warm in the middle. He kind of reminded her of Peter Gabri-el. 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 Tshirt.
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.