Eleanor said. But … yeah, she thought, prettier.
He looked down. Eleanor couldn’t look away.
His mom swooped in between them. ‘Okay, now close eyes,’ she said to Eleanor. ‘Open. Nice …
Close again …’ It felt exactly like having someone draw on your eye with a pencil. Then it was over, and Park’s mom was rubbing something cold on Eleanor’s cheeks.
‘This very easy routine,’ his mom said. ‘Foundation, powder, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, lip liner, lipstick, blush. Eight steps, take you fifteen minutes tops.’
Park’s
mom
was
very
businesslike, like someone with a cooking show on PBS. Pretty soon
she
was
unwrapping
Eleanor’s hair and standing behind her.
Eleanor wanted to look at Park again, now that she could, but she didn’t want him looking back. Her face felt so heavy and sticky, she probably looked like one of the Designing Women.
Park scooted his chair closer to hers and started bouncing his fist on her knee. It took Eleanor a second
to
realize
he
was
challenging her to a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.
She played along. God. Any excuse to touch him. Any excuse not to look at him directly. He’d rubbed his eyes, so he didn’t look painted anymore – but he still looked like something Eleanor didn’t have words for.
‘That’s how Park keep little kids busy during haircuts,’ his mom said. ‘You must look scared, Eleanor. Don’t worry. I promise no cutting.’
Eleanor and Park both made scissors.
His mom rubbed half a can of mousse into her hair, then blew it dry with a diffuser (which Eleanor had never heard of before but was apparently very, very important).
According to Park’s mom, everything Eleanor was doing with her hair – washing it with whatever, brushing it, tying in beads and silk flowers – was dead wrong.
She should be diffusing and scrunching
and,
if
possible,
sleeping on a satin pillowcase.
‘I think you look really good with bangs,’ his mom said.
‘Maybe next time, we try bangs.’
There will never be a next time, Eleanor promised herself and God.
‘Okay, all done.’ Park’s mom was all smiles. ‘Look so pretty …
Ready to see?’ She turned Eleanor around to the mirror. ‘Ta-daa!’
Eleanor looked at her own lap.
‘Have to look, Eleanor. Look, mirror, so pretty.’
Eleanor couldn’t. She could feel them both watching her. She wanted to disappear, to drop through a trap door. This whole thing was a bad idea. A terrible idea. She was going to cry, she was going to make a scene. Park’s mom was going to go back to hating her.
‘Hey, Mindy.’ Park’s dad opened the door and leaned into the garage. ‘Phone call. Oh, hey, look at you, Eleanor, you look like a Solid Gold dancer.’
‘See?’ his mom said, ‘I told you – pretty. Don’t look in mirror until I come back. Looking in mirror best part.’
She hurried into the house, and Eleanor hid her face in her hands, trying not to mess anything up. She felt Park’s hands on her wrists.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I guess I knew you’d hate this, but I didn’t think you’d hate it this much.’
‘It’s just so embarrassing.’
‘Why?’
‘Because … you’re all looking at me.’
‘I’m always looking at you,’
he said.
‘I know, I wish you’d stop.’
‘She’s just trying to get to know you. This is her thing.’
‘Do I look like a Solid Gold dancer?’
‘No …’
‘Oh my God,’ she said, ‘I do.’
‘No, you look … just look.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Look now,’ he said, ‘before my mom gets back.’
‘Only if you close your eyes.’
‘Okay, they’re closed.’
Eleanor uncovered her face and looked in the mirror. It wasn’t as embarrassing as she thought – because it was like looking at a different person. Someone with cheekbones and giant eyes and really wet lips. Her hair was still curly, curlier than ever, but calmer somehow. Less deranged.
Eleanor hated it, she hated all of it.
‘Can I open my eyes?’ Park asked.
‘No.’
‘Are you crying?’
‘No.’ Of course she was. She was going to ruin her fake face, and Park’s mom was going to go back to hating her.
Park opened his eyes and sat in front of Eleanor on the vanity.
‘Is it so bad?’ he asked.
‘It’s not me.’
‘Of course it’s you.’
‘I just, I look like I’m in costume. Like I’m trying to be something that I’m not.’
Like she was trying to be pretty and popular. It was the trying part that was so disgusting.
‘I think your hair looks really nice,’ Park said.
‘It’s not my hair.’
‘It is …’
‘I don’t want your mom to see me like this. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.’
‘Kiss me.’
‘What?’
He kissed her. Eleanor felt her shoulders fall and her stomach untwist. Then it started twisting in the other direction. She pulled away.
‘Are you kissing me because I look like someone else?’