They started at the same place, and then Eleanor pulled ahead and Park stayed behind.
Eleanor knew she’d be asking Park to make her look pretty in front of Park’s ex-girlfriend. She felt stupid and vain, but she wanted it. She wanted it so much.
Park felt like these were actually his memories. Like he was looking into his own past instead of someone else’s.
He recognized Eleanor from the tight explosion in his chest – kept going.
He tried to find that part of himself. The ten-year-old who painted watercolors in his basement – the part that thought and felt out loud.
Eleanor was right; she never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.
Eleanor was right; she was never going to look like a poster. But she was going to look like herself.
Park was a board couple turning over a thin dropping rose, and Eleanor was the ghost that blew out the candle.
He bought her jewelry because she was the only person he could really see.
He remembered that when his dad bought him comic books in the airport, he used to save the receipt because he couldn’t believe how much they cost. And now he was going to spend eighty dollars on a girl he barely knew.
Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like a book thief. Her hair was raw from headbands and frizzy with a lack of saliva
She snored sometimes, and she drooled when she slept, and she had no idea that he loved her so much he might die.
He’d never wanted anyone like that before. But there was something about Eleanor
He caught himself hugging his pillow – thinking of Eleanor.
He thought of Eleanor, with her beautiful hair and her-Eleanor wasn’t like other girls
I want everyone to meet you. You’re my favorite person of all time.
I just want to break that song into pieces and love them all to death.
He was glad to be calm now. At least on the outside.
Holding Eleanor’s hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something alive.
Nothing before you counts, he said. And I can’t even imagine an after.
I love you, he said. She didn’t say anything.
Don’t stop, he said. Tell me how much I wanted this.NO, she said, laughing. I’m not going to tell you that you wanted to blow-dry my hair.
He swallowed. She tasted like truth and just a little bit like something he couldn’t name.
He woke her up, shocking her loudly. She reached for her chest. Oh, my God. What? What?He smiled at her finger, where it touched her neck. You’re my Eleanor now.
I think I need you to be my friend. He cleared his throat. And my girlfriend.
No, she told herself. Don’t run.
If there’s any music playing, you can’t really see people dancing in front of you.
I’m so sorry, he said, and then pressed his hand to his stomach, rocking like he was in pain.
He couldn’t remember growing up around someone so small.
He was the one who’d been hitting on her, and it was stupid to feel jealous now. It meant nothing to him, and Park meant everything.
She sank down next to him on the couch. I think I just fell in love with you.
I think I did too, he said.
They’d gotten through everything together. He’d even stopped hating Kelsey. If anything, Eleanor had opened his eyes to the idea that people who were awful could still be worth saving.
He leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. Trying desperately to remember how to hate her.
He smiled then – a smile he probably thought was devastating. And then he took off his glasses, like he needed her to see him better.
Do you think that’s true? That I’m going to leave you behind?How can I know that? I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow. How can I promise you anything?
Eleanor’s heart was a furnace. Park couldn’t breathe around it.
Screw you, then, she said. Betcha thought I’d never kiss anybody again. Bet you thought I was a virgin. Well, guess what? I’ve been with loads of boys. Like prick Boy and dick Boy. And Spanish Boy and Korean Boy. I’ve been with Isaac, and Gabriel, and even Sluggo. And I can tell you right now, nobody kisses like anybody else. And especially not like you. Intelligent Boy.
He couldn’t smile. Not in front of all these people. He couldn’t even lift his finger. Eleanor took his hand between hers.
Why would I want the Windex version of you?
But one of the things she loved about him —loved almost to pain— was how well he knew her.
And what’s the third thing?The third thing is that I wish you were mine.I am yours, she said.
He loved her, and she loved him, and that’s how they made up.
They fit together. It was like they were gone to battle and made comrades instead of friends.
Nothing was more embarrassing than seeing your dad crying over your guitar. Or maybe it was the only thing more embarrassing.
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