"I am sorry," he said.

"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."

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

"I did."

"Long enough to make you sorry about fight," she said.

"If Steve had been thinking…" she said.

# Park #

"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?"

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

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…

"I thought you'd think it was lame," he said.

"Lame and fantastic?"

"Those are both your middle names…"

"How long am I grounded?" he asked his mother.

"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…"

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

"Yeah…"

# Eleanor #

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.

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

"Anyone who whups Steve Dixon's sorry ass deserves a medal," DeNice said.

"That's not true," Eleanor said.

"I didn't go near Steve's ass," Eleanor said.

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.

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

"But you were the cause of the ass-whupping," DeNice said. "I heard your boy kicked him so hard, Steve cried blood."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "You're grounded."

"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…"

Somebody in geography asked her if it was true that they were fighting over her. "No!" Eleanor said. "For Christ's sake."

Granted, it was a weird club.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

"And your man's fine," Beebi said, giggling.

"I told Park I'd unground him if he learned how to drive."

"Dad…"

"Learning how to drive an automatic is like learning how to do a girl pushup," his dad said.

"I guess it's forever then."

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

"She says forever," Park said.

# Park #

"I've got an idea," his dad said, setting down the magazine. "You can be ungrounded as soon as you learn to drive a stick. Then you can drive your girlfriend around…"

It was almost Christmas break. If Park was grounded during Christmas break, he'd have to go three weeks without seeing Eleanor.

"What girlfriend?" his mother said. She came in the front door, carrying groceries. Park got up to help her. His dad got up to give her a welcome-home tongue kiss.

"That's not up to me, that's up to your mother." His dad was sitting on the couch, reading Soldier of Fortune.

"How long am I grounded?" Park asked his father.

"No girl," his mother said. "Grounded."

"I know how to drive," Park shouted from the kitchen.

"Big Red?" his dad asked.

"Why?" Park asked.

Park and his dad both broke character to look at her.

"Mindy…" his dad said, holding a wait-a-minute hand up to Park.

His mother looked agitated. "You're grounded until you stop thinking about that trouble girl."

"But for how long?" Park asked, walking back into the living room. His parents were sitting on the couch. "You can't ground me forever."

"I don't like her," his mother said, adamantly. "She comes to my house and cries, very weird girl, and then next thing I know, you're kicking friends and school is calling, face broken… And everybody, everybody, tell me that family is trouble. Just trouble. I don't want it."

Park took a breath and held it. Everything inside of him felt too hot to let out.

"Sure we can," his dad said.

"What trouble girl?" Park asked.

"No," she said, "no. No weird white girl in my house."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but weird white girls are my only option," Park said as loudly as he could. Even this angry, he couldn't yell at his mother.

"I'm just cold," Park said.

"Yeah," he said.

"Park!" she said. "I must have known you were coming. I made way too many Tater Tots."

"She is a good girl," Park said. "You don't even know her."

"Hush, Harold, you can't be grounded from your own grandparents… Are you feeling okay, honey? You look flushed."

Park didn't feel like playing basketball, and it was too cold outside without his coat. He stood in front of his house for a few minutes, then stomped over to his grandparents' house. He knocked, then opened the door; they never locked it.

"I thought you were grounded," his grandpa said.

They were both in the kitchen, watching Family Feud. His grandmother was making Polish sausage.

After dinner, they watched Matlock. His grandmother crocheted. She was working on a blanket for somebody's baby shower. Park stared at the TV, but didn't take anything in.

"Good girls don't dress like boys," his mother said.

"Are you staying for dinner?"

"There are other girls," his mother said. "Good girls."

His dad was standing, pushing Park toward the door. "Go," he said sternly. "Go play basketball or something."

"Go," his dad said.

Everybody had thought she must be pregnant, his dad had told him. But she wasn't. "Practically pregnant," his dad said, "but that's a different thing… We were just in love."

His grandparents sent him home after Hill Street Blues.

His grandmother had filled the wall behind the TV with framed eight-by-ten photographs. There were pictures of his dad and his dad's older brother who died in Vietnam, and pictures of Park and Josh from every school year. There was a smaller photo of his parents, on their wedding day. His dad was in his dress uniform, and his mom was wearing a pink miniskirt. Somebody had written "Seoul, 1970" in the corner. His dad was twenty-three. His mom was eighteen, only two years older than Park.

Park hadn't expected his mom to like Eleanor, not right away -- but he hadn't expected her to reject her, either. His mom was so nice to everybody. "Your mother's an angel," his grandma always said. It's what everyone always said.

His mom had gone to bed, but his dad was sitting on the couch, waiting for him. Park tried to walk past.

"Well, she is kind of weird, isn't she?"

"So she's just worried about you. She thinks she can help you pick out a girlfriend the same way she helps you pick out your classes and your clothes…"

"So that she can make her feel bad and weird?"

"This is new to us, you know? Your mother's sorry. She's sorry that she hurt your feelings, and she wants you to invite your girlfriend over to dinner."

Park sat down.

His dad sighed. "Well, maybe I am. But that doesn't matter either. Your mother wants what's best for you, right? Hasn't she always wanted what's best for you?"

"I guess…"

Park didn't have the energy to be angry. He sighed and let his head fall back on the chair.

"She doesn't pick out my clothes."

"You're just saying that," Park said.

"It doesn't matter why not. You're not grounded, and your mother is sorry, you know, for everything she said."

"Sit down," his dad said.

Park sat quietly in the blue easy chair.

"Jesus, Park, could you just shut up and listen?"

"Why not?"

"You're not grounded anymore."

His dad kept talking. "Isn't that why you like her?"

Park knew he should still be mad. He knew there were big chunks of this situation that were completely uncool and out of order.

But he wasn't grounded anymore, he was going to get to spend more time with Eleanor… Maybe they'd even find a way to be alone. Park couldn't wait to tell her. He couldn't wait for morning.