‘You go where you want,’ his mom said. ‘I’m not even very hungry. You go. Eat dinner. See movie or something.’
He and Eleanor both stared at her.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, go,’ she said, ‘I never get house to myself.’
She was home all day, every day by herself, but Park decided not to mention it. He and Eleanor stood up cautiously from the couch. Like they were expecting his mom to say ‘April fools!’ two weeks late.
‘Keys on hook,’ she said. ‘Hand me my purse.’ She gave him twenty dollars from her wallet, and then ten more.
‘Thanks …’ Park said, still hesitant. ‘I guess we’ll go now?’
‘Not yet …’ His mom looked at Eleanor’s clothes and frowned. ‘Eleanor can’t go out like that.’ If they wore the same size, she’d be forcing Eleanor into a stonewashed miniskirt about now.
‘But I’ve looked like this all day,’ Eleanor said. She was wearing army surplus pants and a short-sleeved men’s shirt over some kind of long-sleeved purple T-shirt. Park thought she looked cool. (He actually thought she looked adorable, but that word would make Eleanor gag.)
‘Just let me fix your hair,’ his mom said. She pulled Eleanor into the bathroom and started pulling bobby pins out of her hair. ‘Down, down, down,’ she said.
Park leaned against the doorway and watched.
‘It’s weird that you’re watching this,’ Eleanor said.
‘It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,’ he said.
‘Park probably help me do your hair on wedding day,’ his mom said.
He and Eleanor both looked at the floor. ‘I’ll wait for you in the living room,’ he said.
In a few minutes, she was ready. Her hair looked perfect, every curl shiny and on purpose, and her lips were a glossy pink. He could tell from here that she’d taste like strawberries.
‘Okay,’ his mom said, ‘go. Have fun.’
They walked out to the Impala, and Park opened the door for Eleanor. ‘I can open my own door,’ she said. And by the time he got to his side, she’d leaned over the seat and pushed his door open.
‘Where should we go?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, sinking down in her seat. ‘Can we just get out of the neighborhood? I feel like I’m sneaking across the Berlin Wall.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘yeah.’ He started the car and looked over at her. ‘Get down more. Your hair glows in the dark.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You know what I mean.’
He started driving west. There was nothing east of the Flats but the river.
‘Don’t drive by the Rail,’ she said.
‘The what?’
‘Turn right here.’
‘Okay …’
He looked down at her – she was crouching on the floor – and laughed.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘It’s kind of funny,’ he said. ‘You’re on the floor, and I’m only getting to drive because my dad’s out of town.’
‘Your dad wants you to drive. All you have to do is learn how to drive a stick.’
‘I already know how to drive a stick.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is me,’ he said, feeling irritated.
‘Hey, we’re out of the neighborhood, can you sit up now?’
‘I’ll sit up when we get to Twenty-fourth Street.’
She sat up at 24th Street, but they didn’t talk again until 42nd.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. He really didn’t. He knew how to get to school and how to get downtown, and that was it. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
Eleanor
She wanted to go to Inspiration Point. Which, as far as she knew, only existed on Happy Days.
And she didn’t want to say to Park, ‘Hey, where do you kids go when you want to fog up the windows?’ Because, what would he think of her? And what if he had an answer?
Eleanor was trying really hard not be over-awed by Park’s driving skills, but every time he changed lanes or checked the rearview mirror, she caught herself swooning. He might as well be lighting a cigarette or ordering a Scotch on the rocks, it made him seem so much older …
Eleanor didn’t have her learner’s permit. Her mom wasn’t even allowed to drive, so getting Eleanor’s license wasn’t a priority.
‘Do we have to go somewhere?’ she asked.
‘Well, we have to go some where …’ Park said.
‘But do we have to do something?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Can’t we just go somewhere and be together? Where do people go to be together? I don’t even care if we get out of the car …’
He looked over at her, then looked back, nervously, at the road. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Yeah.
Yeah, just let me …’
He pulled into a parking lot and turned around.
‘We’ll go downtown.’
Park
They did get out of the car. Once they were downtown, Park wanted to show Eleanor Drastic Plastic and the Antiquarium and all the other record stores. She’d never even been to the Old Market, which was practically the only place to go in Omaha.
There were a bunch of other kids hanging out downtown, a lot of them looking much weirder than Eleanor. Park took her to his favorite pizza place. And then his favorite ice cream place. And his third favorite comic book shop.
He kept pretending that they were on a real date, and then he’d remember that they were.
Eleanor
Park held her hand the whole night, like he was her boyfriend. Because he is your boyfriend, dummy, she kept telling herself.
Much to the dismay of the girl working at the record store. She had eight holes in each ear, and she clearly thought Park was a whole closet full of cat’s pajamas. The girl looked at Eleanor like, are you kidding me? And Eleanor looked back like, I know, right?
They walked down every street of the Market area, and then across the street, into a park.
Eleanor didn’t even know all this existed. She hadn’t realized Omaha could be such a nice place to live. (In her head, this was Park’s doing, too.
The world rebuilt itself into a better place around him.)
Park
They ended up at Central Park. Omaha’s version.
Eleanor had never been here before either, and even though it was wet and muddy and still kind of cold, she kept saying how nice it was.
‘Oh, look,’ she said. ‘Swans.’
‘I think those are geese,’ he said.
‘Well, they’re the best-looking geese I’ve ever seen.’
They sat on one of the park benches and watched the geese settle in on the bank of the manmade lake. Park put his arm around Eleanor and felt her lean against him.
‘Let’s keep doing this,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Going out.’
‘Okay,’ she said. She didn’t say anything about him learning how to drive a manual transmission. Which he appreciated.
‘We should go to prom,’ he said.
‘What?’ She lifted up her head.
‘Prom. You know, prom.’
‘I know what it is, but why would we go there?’
Because he wanted to see Eleanor in a pretty dress. Because he wanted to help his mom do her hair.
‘Because it’s prom,’ he said.
‘And it’s lame,’ she said.
‘How do you know?’
‘Because the theme is “I Want to Know What Love Is.”
‘That’s not such a bad song,’ he said.
‘Are you drunk, it’s Foreigner.’
Park shrugged and pulled one of her curls straight. ‘I know that prom is lame,’ he said. ‘But it’s not something you can go back and do. You only get one chance.’
‘Actually, you get three chances …’
‘Okay, will you go to prom with me next year?’
She started laughing. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘sure.
We can go next year. That will give my mouse and bird friends plenty of time to make me a dress. Totally. Yes. Let’s go to prom.’
‘You think it’s never going to happen,’ he said. ‘You’ll see. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Not until you learn how to drive a stick.’
She was relentless.
Eleanor
Prom. Right. That was going to happen.
The amount of chicanery it would take to slip prom past her mother … it boggled the mind.
Though now that Park had suggested it, Eleanor could almost see it working. She could tell her mom that she was going to prom with Tina. (Good old Tina.) And she could get ready at Park’s house, his mom would love that. The only thing Eleanor would have to figure out was the dress …
Did they even make prom dresses in her size?
She’d have to shop in the mother-of-the-bride section. And she’d have to rob a bank. Seriously.
Even if a hundred-dollar bill fell right out of the sky, Eleanor could never spend it on something as stupid as a prom dress.
She’d spend it on new Vans. Or a decent bra.
Or a boom box …
Actually, she’d probably just give it to her mom.
Prom. As if.
Park
After she’d agreed to go to next year’s prom with him, Eleanor also agreed to accompany Park to his first cotillion, the Academy Awards after-party, and any and all ‘balls’ to which he received invitations.
She giggled so much, the geese complained.
‘Go on and honk,’ Eleanor said. ‘You think you can intimidate me with your swanlike good looks, but I’m not that kind of girl.’
‘Lucky for me,’ Park said.
‘Why is that lucky for you?’
‘Never mind.’ He wished he hadn’t said it.
He’d meant to be funny and self-deprecating, but he didn’t actually want to talk about how she managed to be attracted to him.
Eleanor was studying him coolly.
‘You’re the reason that goose thinks I’m shallow,’ she said.
‘I think it’s a gander, right?’ Park said. ‘The males are ganders?’
‘Oh, right, gander. That suits him. Pretty boy
… So, why is that lucky for you?’
‘Because,’ he said, like both syllables hurt.
‘Because, why?’ she asked.
‘Isn’t that my line?’
‘I thought I could you ask you anything …’
she said. ‘Because, why?’
‘Because of my all-American good looks.’
He ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the mud.
‘Are you saying that you’re not good-looking?’ she asked.
‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ Park said, hanging onto the back of his neck. ‘Can we go back to talking about prom?
‘Are you saying it just so that I’ll tell you how cute you are?’
‘ No,’ he said. ‘I’m saying it because it’s kind of obvious.’
‘It’s not obvious,’ Eleanor said. She turned on the bench so she was facing him, and pulled his hand down.