ELEANOR AND PARK by Rainbow Rowell
A stranger on the bus watched me trying not to cry. First he watched me trying not to cry and then he watched me crying, crying barely and then barely more. Somewhere under eyelid flickers and mascara stripes on my wrist I could see him watching, but there were fifty more pages in my book so I had nothing to say. A pothole, a lurch, we banged elbows so we bared teeth weakly and then he was fishing for something in the pocket of an army coat. This boy I didn’t know shifted and made a mouth sound, not quite a word, and he held out a tissue folded neat, and when I took it our fingers touched. I am watercolor edges and too many romantic comedies, I’m all nerve-endings, our fingers touched and I noticed. Our fingers touched and I noticed. In my lap was Eleanor & Park.
Reposted from http://ift.tt/19uKxzS.
