Park didn’t answer. His whole face was throbbing; the nurse wasn’t allowed to give out Tylenol.

‘Did you really kick him in the face?’ his dad asked.

Park nodded.

‘That had to be a jump kick.’

‘Jump reverse hook,’ Park groaned.

‘No way.’

Park tried to give his dad a dirty look, but any look at all felt like getting hit in the face with rocks.

‘He’s lucky you wear those little tennis shoes,’ his dad said, ‘even in the middle of winter

… Seriously, a jump reverse hook?’

Park nodded.

‘Huh. Well, your mom is going to hit the goddamn roof when she sees you. She was at your grandma’s house, crying, when she called me.’

His dad was right. When Park walked in, his mom was practically incoherent.

She took him by the shoulders and looked up at his face, shaking her head. ‘Fighting!’ she said, stabbing her index finger into his chest. ‘Fighting like white-trash dumb monkey …’

He’d seen her this mad at Josh before – he’d seen her throw a basket of silk flowers at Josh’s head – but never at him.

‘Waste,’ she said. ‘Waste! Fighting! Can’t trust you with own face.’

His dad tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.

‘Get the boy a steak, Harold,’ his grandma said, sitting Park at the kitchen table and inspect-ing his face.

‘I’m not wasting a steak on that,’ his grandpa said.

His dad went to the cupboard to get Park some Tylenol and a glass of water.

‘Can you breathe?’ his grandma asked.

‘Through my mouth,’ Park said.

‘Your dad broke his nose so many times, he can only breathe through one nostril. That’s why he snores like a freight train.’

‘No more taekwando,’ his mom said. ‘No more fighting.’

‘Mindy …’ his dad said. ‘It was one fight. He was sticking up for some girl the kids pick on.’

‘She’s not some girl,’ Park growled. His voice made every bone in his head vibrate with pain. ‘She’s my girlfriend.’

He hoped so, anyway.

‘Is it the redhead?’ his grandma asked.

‘Eleanor,’ he said. ‘Her name – is Eleanor.’

‘No girlfriend, no,’ his mom said, folding her arms. ‘Grounded.’

Eleanor

When Eleanor rang the doorbell, Magnum P.I.

answered.

‘Hi,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘I go to school with Park. I have his books and stuff.’

Park’s dad looked her up and down, but not like he was checking her out, thank God. More like he was sizing her up. (Which was also uncomfortable.) ‘Are you Helen?’ he asked.

‘Eleanor,’ she said.

‘Eleanor, right … Just a second.’

Before she could tell him that she just wanted to drop off Park’s stuff, he walked away. He left the door open, and Eleanor could hear him talking to someone, probably in the kitchen, probably Park’s mom. ‘Come on, Mindy …’ And, ‘Just for a few minutes …’ And then, right before he came back to the door, ‘With a nickname like Big Red, I expected her to be a lot bigger.’

‘I was just dropping this off,’ Eleanor said when he pushed the screen open.

‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘come on in.’

Eleanor held up Park’s backpack.

‘Seriously, kid,’ he said. ‘Come on in and give it to him yourself. I’m sure he wants to see you.’

Don’t be, she thought.

But she followed him through the living room, down the short hall to Park’s room. His dad knocked softly and peeked in the door.

‘Hey. Sugar Ray. Someone’s here to see you.

You want to powder your nose first?’

He opened the door for Eleanor, then walked away.

Park’s room was small, but it was packed with stuff. Stacks of books and tapes and comic books. Model airplanes. Model cars. Board games. A rotating solar system hung over his bed like one of those things you put over a crib.

Park was on his bed, trying to prop himself up on his elbows, when she walked in.

She gasped when she saw his face. It looked so much worse than it had earlier.

One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his nose was thick and purple. It made her want to cry. And to kiss him. (Because apparently everything made her want to kiss him. Park could tell her that he had lice and leprosy and parasitic worms living in his mouth, and she would still put on fresh ChapStik. God.)

‘Are you okay?’ she asked. Park nodded and sat up against his headboard. She set down his bag and his coat, and walked over to the bed. He made room for her, so she sat down.

‘Whoa,’ she said, falling backwards, tipping Park on his side. He groaned and grabbed her arm.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘oh my God, sorry, are you okay? I wasn’t expecting a waterbed.’ Just saying that word made her giggle. Park laughed a little, too. It sounded like snorting.

‘My mom bought it,’ he said. ‘She thinks they’re good for your back.’

He was keeping both of his eyes mostly shut, even the good one, and he didn’t open his mouth when he talked.

‘Does it hurt to talk?’ she asked.

He nodded. He hadn’t let go of her arm, even though she’d recovered her balance. If anything, he was holding it tighter.

She reached up with her other hand and lightly touched his hair. Brushed it out of his face. It felt smooth and sharp at the same time, like she could feel each strand under her fingertips.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She didn’t ask why.

There were tears pooling in the slit of his left eye and slipping down his right cheek. She started to wipe them away, but she didn’t want to touch him.

‘It’s okay …’ she said. She let her hand settle in her own lap.

She wondered if he was still trying to break up with her. If he was, she wouldn’t hold it against him.

‘Did I ruin everything?’ he asked.

‘Every-what?’ she whispered, as if listening might hurt him, too.

‘Every-us.’

She shook her head, even though he probably couldn’t see her. ‘Not. Possible,’ she said.

He ran his palm down her arm and squeezed her hand. She could see the muscles flex in his forearm and just under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

‘I think you might have ruined your face,’ she said.

He groaned.

‘Which is okay,’ she said, ‘because you were way too cute for me, anyway.’

‘You think I’m cute?’ he said thickly, pulling on her hand.

She was glad he couldn’t see her face. ‘I think you’re …’

Beautiful. Breathtaking. Like the person in a Greek myth who makes one of the gods stop caring about being a god.

Somehow the bruises and swelling made Park even more beautiful. His face looked ready to break out of its chrysalis.

‘They’re still going to make fun of me,’ she blurted. ‘This fight doesn’t change that. You can’t start kicking people every time someone thinks I’m weird or ugly … Promise me you won’t try. Promise me that you’ll try not to care.’

He pulled on her hand again, and shook his head, gingerly.

‘Because it doesn’t matter to me, Park. If you like me,’ she said, ‘I swear to God, nothing else matters.’

He leaned back into his headboard, and pulled her hand to his chest.

‘Eleanor, how many times do I have to tell you,’ he said, through his teeth, ‘that I don’t like you …’

Park was grounded, and he wouldn’t be back at school until Friday.

But nobody bothered Eleanor the next day on the bus. Nothing bothered her all day long.

After gym class, she found more pervy stuff written on her chemistry book – ‘pop that cherry,’ written in globby purple ink. Instead of scribbling it out, Eleanor tore off the cover and threw it away. She might be broke and pathetic, but she could still scrounge up another brown paper bag.

When Eleanor got home after school, her mom followed her into the kids’ room. There were two new pairs of Goodwill jeans folded on the top bunk.

‘I found some money when I was doing laundry,’ her mom said. Which meant that Richie had accidentally left money in his pants. If he came home drunk, he’d never ask about it – he’d just assume he spent it at the bar.

Whenever her mom found money, she tried to spend it on things Richie would never notice.

Clothes for Eleanor. New underwear for Ben.

Cans of tuna fish and bags of flour. Things that could be hidden in drawers and cupboards.

Her mom had become some sort of genius double agent since she hooked up with Richie. It was like she was keeping them all alive behind his back.

Eleanor tried the jeans on before anybody else got home. They were a little big, but much nicer than anything else she had. All her other pants had something wrong with them – a broken zipper or a tear in the crotch – some flaw she had to hide by constantly pulling down her shirt. It would be nice to have jeans that didn’t do anything worse than sag.

Maisie’s present was a bag of half-dressed Barbies. When Maisie got home, she laid all the dolls out on the bottom bunk, trying to put together one or two complete outfits for them.

Eleanor climbed onto the bed with her and helped comb and braid their frayed hair.

‘I wish there’d been a Ken in there,’ Maisie said.

On Friday morning, when Eleanor got to her bus stop, Park was already there waiting for her.

CHAPTER 23

Park

His eye went from purple to blue to green to yellow.

‘How long am I grounded?’ he asked his mother.

‘Long enough to make you sorry about fight,’

she said.

‘I am sorry,’ he said.

But he wasn’t really. The fight had changed something on the bus. Park felt less anxious now

– more relaxed. Maybe it was because he’d stood up to Steve. Maybe it was because he had nothing left to hide …

Plus nobody on the bus had ever seen anybody kick like that in real life.

‘It was pretty fantastic,’ Eleanor said on the way to school, a few days after he came back.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’

‘My dad’s been making me go to taekwando since kindergarten … It was actually kind of a stupid, show-offy kick. If Steve had been thinking, he could have grabbed my leg or pushed me.’

‘If Steve had been thinking …’ she said.

‘I thought you’d think it was lame,’ he said.

‘I did.’

‘Lame and fantastic?’

‘Those are both your middle names …’

‘I want to try again.’

‘Try what again? Your Karate Kid thing? I think that would be less fantastic. You’ve got to know when to walk away …’

‘No, I want you to come over again. Would you?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘You’re grounded.’

‘Yeah …’

Eleanor

Everybody at school knew that Eleanor was the reason Park Sheridan kicked Steve Dixon in the mouth.

There was a new kind of whispering when she walked down the halls.

Somebody in geography asked her if it was true that they were fighting over her. ‘No!’

Eleanor said. ‘For Christ’s sake.’

Later she wished that she would have said

‘Yes!’ – because if that had gotten back to Tina, oh my God, it would have made her furious.

On the day of the fight, DeNice and Beebi wanted Eleanor to tell them every gory detail.

Especially the gory details. DeNice even bought Eleanor an ice cream cone to celebrate.

‘Anyone who whups Steve Dixon’s sorry ass deserves a medal,’ DeNice said.

‘I didn’t go near Steve’s ass,’ Eleanor said.

‘But you were the cause of the ass-whup-ping,’ DeNice said. ‘I heard your boy kicked him so hard, Steve cried blood.’

‘That’s not true,’ Eleanor said.

‘Girl, you need to learn a lesson about standing in your own light,’ DeNice said. ‘If my Jonesy kicked Steve’s ass, I’d be walking around this place singing that song from Rocky. Nuh-nuh, nuhhh, nuh-nuh, nuhhh …’

That made Beebi giggle. Everything DeNice said made Beebi giggle. They’d been best friends since grade school, and the better she got to know them, the more Eleanor felt like it was an honor that they’d let her into their club.

Granted, it was a weird club.

DeNice was wearing her overalls today with a pink T-shirt, pink and yellow hair ribbons and a pink bandana tied around her leg. When they were standing in line for ice cream, some boy walked by and told DeNice that she looked like a black Punky Brewster.

DeNice didn’t even flinch. ‘I don’t need to worry about that riffraff,’ she said to Eleanor. ‘I got a man.’

Jonesy and DeNice were engaged. He’d already graduated and was working as an assistant manager at ShopKo. They were getting married as soon as DeNice was legal.

‘And your man’s fine,’ Beebi said, giggling.

When Beebi giggled, Eleanor giggled, too.

Beebi’s laugh was that contagious. And she always had a manic, surprised look in her eyes –

that look people get when they can’t keep a straight face.

‘Eleanor wouldn’t think he’s fine,’ DeNice teased. ‘She’s only interested in stone-cold killers.’