"No," she said, "it's…" She couldn't think of anything funny to say. "Yeah, it's for you."

He smiled, surprised. "This is for me?"

# Eleanor #

She didn't know what to do with his present, so when he walked over to her, she shoved it at him.

"Can I open it?"

When Eleanor walked into the living room, Park had just gotten out of the shower, which was embarrassing for some reason. His hair was wet and his T-shirt was kind of sticking to him. He was really happy to see her. That was obvious. (And nice.)

Park's mom didn't seem surprised to see Eleanor the next day. He must have warned them she was coming.

"Eleanor," his mom said extra nicely, "Merry Christmas, come in."

"You didn't have to get me anything."

"I didn't. Really."

She still couldn't think of anything funny, so she nodded. At least his family was in the kitchen, so nobody was watching them.

Park peeled off the paper carefully and looked at the book. It was The Catcher in the Rye. A really old edition. Eleanor had decided to leave the dust jacket on because it was neat-looking, even though it still had a thrift-shop price scrawled on the front with grease pencil.

The present was wrapped in stationery. Eleanor's favorite stationery, watercolor paintings of fairies and flowers.

He looked at the book, smiling. For a terrible second, she thought he was going to open the front cover. And she really didn't want him to read what she'd written. (Not while she was standing right there.)

"You're welcome," she said, looking down. "Just don't kill John Lennon or anything."

"I know it's pretentious," she said. "I was going to give you Watership Down, but that's about rabbits, and not everybody wants to read about rabbits…"

"Is this your book?" he asked.

"Come here," he said, pulling on the front of her jacket.

"Yeah, but I've already read it."

He came and stood in the doorway with her; she leaned back against the jamb.

She followed him to his room but stopped at the door like there was an invisible fence. Park set the book on his bed, then grabbed two small boxes off a shelf. They were both wrapped in Christmas paper with big red bows.

"This one is from my mom," he said, holding up a box. "It's perfume. Please don't wear it." His eyes flicked down for a second, then back up at her. "This one is from me."

"Thank you," he said, grinning at her. When he was really happy, his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. "Thank you."

"Don't be stupid."

He was watching her open it, which made her nervous. She accidentally tore the wrapping paper. He took the paper from her, and she opened a small gray box.

She shouldn't take it, but she wanted it.

Park had used most of his car stereo money to buy the necklace. He'd found it at the jewelry store in the mall where people try on engagement rings.

"I'll understand if you can't take it," Park said.

"You didn't have to get me a present," she said.

When she didn't take the present, he took her hand and pressed the box into it.

# Park #

"I tried to think of something that nobody would notice but you," he said, pushing his bangs off his face. "That you wouldn't have to explain to your mom… Like, I was going to buy you a really nice pen, but then…"

Dumb. He should have gotten the pen. Jewelry was so public… and personal, which is why he'd bought it. He couldn't buy Eleanor a pen. Or a bookmark. He didn't have bookmark-like feelings for her.

There was a necklace inside. A thin silver chain with a small pendant, a silver pansy.

# Eleanor #

Eleanor looked at him for a second, then nodded again. He took the necklace out of the box and carefully fastened it around her neck. Just like he'd imagined himself doing when he bought it. That might even be why he bought it -- so he'd have this moment, with his hands warm on the back of her neck, under her hair. He ran his fingertips along the chain and settled the pendant on her throat.

"No," Eleanor said, looking up at him. She looked anxious, but he wasn't sure what kind. "No. It's beautiful," she said, "thank you."

Park wanted to pull on the chain, to pull it into his chest and anchor her there.

He pulled his hands away self-consciously and leaned back against the doorjamb.

"I kept the receipt," he said.

He ran his hand through his hair and held onto the back of his neck, trying to rein himself in. "Now?"

She nodded.

She shivered.

"Will you wear it?" he asked.

They were sitting in the kitchen, playing cards. Speed. She'd taught Park how to play, and she could always beat him for the first few rounds. But after that, she'd get sloppy. (Maisie always started winning after a few rounds, too.)

Playing cards in Park's kitchen, even if his mom was in there, was better than just sitting in the living room, thinking about all the things they'd be doing if they were alone.

Park stopped playing to look at her. She popped her eyes at him. "What, I'm Danish, shut up," she would have said if his mom hadn't been there.

"An ass."

Park smiled at Eleanor. She rolled her eyes.

"That's where you get beautiful red hair," his mom said knowingly.

His mom asked how her Christmas was, and Eleanor said it was nice. "What do you have for holiday dinner?" his mom asked. "Turkey or ham?"

"What's your dad?"

"Yes," she said.

"Is this the kind of scintillating conversation we're going to have now that we don't have any secrets?"

He frowned.

"Yes. Is your mom Danish?"

"Turkey," Eleanor said, "with dill potatoes… My mom's Danish."

When his mom left to run something over to his grandparents, Park kicked her under the table. He wasn't wearing shoes. "I didn't know you were Danish," he said.

"What? You wanted honest and intimate. That's way more honest than "Scottish.""

What if he was wrong? What if he couldn't handle it?

Eleanor had been thinking about this new arrangement he wanted. This being totally open and honest with each other. She didn't think she could start telling Park the whole, ugly truth overnight.

When he asked about her Christmas, Eleanor told him about her mom's cookies and the movies, and how Mouse thought The Grinch was about "all the Hoots down in Hootville."

She half expected him to say, "Yeah, but now tell me all the terrible parts…" Instead he laughed.

What if Park realized that all the things he thought were so mysterious and intriguing about her were actually just… bleak?

"Do you think your mom would be okay with me," he asked, "you know, if it wasn't for your stepdad?"

"Scottish," Park said, and smiled.

Eleanor spent the rest of Christmas vacation at Park's house. His mom didn't seem to mind, and his dad was always inviting her to stay for dinner.

"I don't know…" Eleanor said. She realized that she was holding on to the silver pansy.

Eleanor's mom thought she was spending all that time with Tina. Once she'd said, "I hope you're not overstaying your welcome over there, Eleanor."

Nobody brought friends into their house. Not the little kids. Not even Richie. And her mom didn't have friends anymore.

She used to.

Her mom used to walk to the grocery store early in the morning while the kids were still asleep. They didn't have a car back then either. (Her mom hadn't had a car of her own since high school.) Well, Richie would see her mom out walking every morning on his drive to work. One day he stopped and asked for her number. He said she was the prettiest woman he'd ever seen.

And once she'd said, "Tina could come over here sometimes, too, you know," which they both knew was a joke.

When Eleanor's parents were still together, there were always people around. There were always parties. Men with long hair. Women in long dresses. Glasses of red wine everywhere.

Richie had started as one of those stories. It went like this:

And even after her dad left, there were still women. Single moms who brought over their kids, plus all the ingredients for banana daiquiris. They'd sit up late talking in hushed voices about their ex-husbands and speculating about new boyfriends, while the kids played Trouble and Sorry in the next room.

When Eleanor first heard about Richie, she was leaning against their old couch, reading a Life magazine, and drinking a virgin banana daiquiri. She wasn't exactly eavesdropping -- all her mom's friends liked having Eleanor around. They liked that she watched their kids without complaining, they said she was wise beyond her years. If Eleanor was quiet, they sort of forgot she was in the room. And if they drank too much, they didn't care.

"Especially if he hates to dance!"

But when her mom told them that Richie said she was as pretty as a spring day, they'd all sighed and asked her to tell them more.

"Never trust a man, Eleanor!" they'd all shouted at her, at one point or another.

Of course he said she's the prettiest woman he's ever seen, Eleanor thought. She undoubtedly is.

She didn't know there were things worse than selfish.

Anyway. She always tried to leave Park's house before dinner -- just in case her mom was right about wearing out her welcome -- and because, if Eleanor left early, there was a better chance that she'd beat Richie home.

Eleanor was twelve, and she couldn't imagine a guy fucking her mom over worse than her dad had.

"What is her problem?" DeNice asked. Rhetorically.

Hanging out with Park every day had really messed up her bath-taking routine. (A fact she was never ever going to tell him, no matter how sharey-carey they got.)

The other day at lunch, Tina had a made big point of walking by Eleanor's table and mouthing the C-word. The c-u-n-t word. (Richie didn't even use that word, which implied an unimaginable degree of filth.)

She could tell that all this sneaky bath-taking was making her mom nervous, but it wasn't exactly Eleanor's fault. She'd considered taking a shower in the locker room at school, but that might even be more dangerous: Tina et al.

The only safe time to take a bath in her house was right after school. If Eleanor went over to Park's house right after school, she had to hope that Richie would still be at the Broken Rail when she got home that night. And then she had to take a really fast bath because the back door was right across from the bathroom, and it could open at any time.

"She thinks she's all that," Beebi said.

"That hair is just wrong," DeNice said, still looking at Tina. "She needs to wake up a little earlier and try to decide whether she wants to look like Farrah Fawcett or Rick James."

"I know," Eleanor said. "I want to eat his face."

Beebi and Eleanor both cracked up.

"He is cute," DeNice said. Like it was something certifiable.

"You and Eleanor, huh?"

They all three giggled until DeNice called them back to order.

"Oh, girl!" Beebi said, slapping Eleanor's leg. "There's your man." They all looked out the cafeteria's glass wall.

# Park #

"She ain't all that," DeNice said. "Walking around here looking like a little boy in a miniskirt."

Park was walking by with a few other guys. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that said "Minor Threat." He looked into the cafeteria and smiled when he saw Eleanor. Beebi giggled.

"I mean, pick one, girl," DeNice said, milking it. "Pick. One."

Beebi giggled.

"So," Cal said.

Park was still smiling. Even though they were long past the cafeteria.

"Uh… yeah," Park said.

"Oh," Park said, looking up at Cal. "Sorry. I'm going out with Eleanor."

"Yeah," Cal said, nodding. "Everybody knows. I mean, I've known forever. I could tell by the way you stare at her in English… I was just waiting for you to tell me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't get it. No offense. Eleanor still scares the crap out of me. But if you're getting it -- you know, getting it -- I want to know about it. I want the whole freaking report."

"I didn't think you'd get it…"

"I figured you knew."

"I did know," Cal said. "But, you know, we're friends. We're supposed to talk about these things."

"This, actually," Park said. "This is why I didn't tell you."