Eleanor & Park

by Rainbow Rowell

His dad barreled into the kitchen and scooped his mom into his arms. They did this every night, too. Full-on make-out sessions, no matter who was around. It was like watching Paul Bunyan make out with one of those It’s a Small World dolls.

Park didn’t look pretty. He looked dangerous. Like Ming the Merciless. Or a member of Duran Duran.

Park wasn’t used to being home alone. He vacuumed. He put his clothes away. He made himself a sandwich and watched a Young Ones marathon on MTV, then fell asleep on the couch.

She shook her head and laughed. “No,” she said, and then, “only for a minute, only a little.” He’d never seen her face so open. Her brows weren’t pulled together, her nose wasn’t scrunched. He put his arm around her, and she laid her head on his chest without any prompting. “Oh, look,” she said. “The Young Ones.” “Yeah … Hey. You still haven’t told me—what was going on yesterday? When I saw you? What was wrong?”

“Come help us, Ben,” Eleanor said, “it’s easier with four.” Down, down, baby Down by the roller coaster Sweet, sweet baby I’ll never let you go Shimmy, shimmy, cocoa puff, Shimmy …

She and Park had been sitting in the alley for a while, in the front seat, just holding hands and feeling whiplashed. At least, that’s how Eleanor felt. It wasn’t that she and Park had gone too far, necessarily—but they’d gone a whole lot farther than she’d been prepared for. She’d never expected to have a love scene straight out of a Judy Blume book.