‘I’m always whispering in your ear,’ he said, lying back on his pillows.
‘Yeah, but it’s usually about, like, Magneto or something.’ Her voice was higher on the phone, and richer, like he was listening to it on headphones.
‘I’m not going to say anything tonight that I could say on the bus or during English class,’ he said.
‘And I’m not going to say anything that I can’t say in front of a three-year-old.’
‘Nice.’
‘I’m just kidding. He’s in the other room, and he’s totally ignoring me.’
‘So …’ Park said.
‘So …’ she said, ‘… things we can’t say on the bus.’
‘Things we can’t say on the bus – go.’
‘I hate those people,’ she said.
He laughed, then thought of Tina and was glad that Eleanor couldn’t see his face. ‘Me, too, sometimes. I mean, I guess I’m used to them. I’ve known most of them my whole life. Steve’s my next-door neighbor.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I mean, you don’t seem like you’re from there …’
‘Because I’m Korean?’
‘You’re Korean?’
‘Half.’
‘I guess I don’t really know what that means.’
‘Me neither,’ he said.
‘What do you mean? Are you adopted?’
‘No. My mom’s from Korea.
She just doesn’t talk about it very much.’
‘How did she end up in the Flats?’
‘My dad. He served in Korea, they fell in love, and he brought her back.’
‘Wow, really?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s pretty romantic.’
Eleanor didn’t know the half of it; his parents were probably making out right now. ‘I guess so,’ he said.
‘That’s not what I meant though. I meant … that you’re different from the other people in the neighborhood, you know?’
Of course he knew. They’d all been telling him so his whole life.
When Tina liked Park instead of Steve in grade school, Steve had said, ‘I think she feels safe with you because you’re like half girl.’
Park hated football. He cried when his dad took him pheasant hunting.
Nobody
in
the
neighborhood could ever tell who he was dressed as on Halloween.
(‘I’m Doctor Who.’ ‘I’m Harpo Marx.’ ‘I’m Count Floyd.’) And he kind of wanted his mom to give him blond highlights. Park knew he was different.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You …’ she said, ‘you’re so … cool.’
Eleanor ‘Cool?’ he said.
God. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. Talk about uncool.
Like the opposite of cool. Like, if you looked up ‘cool’ in the dictionary, there’d be a photo of some cool person there saying, ‘What the eff is wrong with you, Eleanor?’
‘I’m not cool,’ he said.
‘You’re cool.’
‘Ha,’ she said. ‘I wish I were drinking milk, and I wish you were here, so that you could watch it shoot out my nose in response to that.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ he said.
‘You’re Dirty Harry.’
‘I’m dirty hairy?’
‘Like Clint Eastwood, you know?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t care what anyone thinks about you,’ he said.
‘That’s crazy,’ she said. ‘I care what everyone thinks about me.’
‘I can’t tell,’ he said. ‘You just seem like yourself, no matter what’s happening around you. My grandmother would say you’re comfortable in your own skin.’
‘Why would she say that?’
‘Because that’s how she talks.’
‘I ’m stuck in my own skin,’
Eleanor said. ‘And why are we even talking about me? We were talking about you.’
‘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 Gabriel. 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 T-shirt.
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