*.*.*.*.*.*

Haley

Rain splatters wildly against the high, glass windows of the cafeteria which is brimming with students desperate to avoid getting their belongings wet. The warm aroma of freshly made food is drowned by the pungent smell of wet socks. The place is impossibly noisy today, ruining my attempt to cram Shakespearian drama for the classics test I have ten minutes from now. My anxiety increases with every passing minute and as it does, my foot drums faster against the leg of the wooden cafeteria table.

"Did you see his face?" Nancy whispers loudly next to me and I wonder why she even bothers to whisper when it doesn't help lower her volume even by one decibel. "He split his cheek this time."

"Nancy!" I jump, exasperated. "I don't care."

Nancy presses her lips into a thin line, giving me the most challenging glare she can muster. Her brown eyes stare into mine and her brown curls seem to crackle with electricity.

"I have a test, Nancy," I explain myself with a sigh. "I didn't get to study for it. All this noise is not helping and neither are you."

"I get it. Your test is more important than your best friend," she says. "I'll just go --"

"No, wait. Fine. What were you saying?" I give in and Nancy beams, her anger dissipating quickly.

"I was talking about Xavier." She lowers her voice to a whisper again.

"What is it with everyone being obsessed with him?" I ask but she ignores me.

"Did you see him today?"

I shake my head and she huffs in a what-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-you way.

"He's bleeding ... again," Nancy tells me and my eyes widen in disbelief. "Looks like whatever he does really got him this time."

I look towards the other end of the cafeteria, where Xavier usually sits. He's always alone, whether in the café or in the class, or just silently strolling the football field.

"He's not here," Nancy tells me, noticing my gaze trying and failing to see his table through the thickening crowd.

"Where is he?"

Nancy shrugs. "When I was coming out of my world history class, I saw him following the counselor to his office. Mr. Robinson probably wants to know what's going on with him."

I frown to myself.

"I wonder what he does," Nancy voices her thoughts and I nod, feeling the same way. "Maybe he's got that fight club type thing going on during the nights."

I almost laugh at her inference. "Yeah, he might be Tyler Durden for all we know." I roll my eyes.

Nancy gasps comically. "Oh my Lord, I love Brad Pitt," she squeals. "I mean, who doesn't, right? I would marry the man if I could."

"Pretty sure he won't feel the same way," I say and Nancy scowls at me. "Besides, the actor is older than my dad."

I glance at the silver watch at my wrist, a gift from my mom, and see it's time for class.

"I'll see you after class," I tell Nancy, quickly gathering up my books, notes, and stationary and stuffing it haphazardly into my bag. I jump to my feet and fling the bag over my shoulder as I spin around and hurry away from the table.

"Good luck! Don't flunk English," Nancy yells after me. "You already have to flunk calculus tomorrow. There's no way you're skipping tonight's get-together."

I ignore her as I hurry towards class, finally arriving just in time. The room is already filling in and I file through the door along with the rest of the students, anxious and fearful of the grand test.

"Morning, Professor Stuart." I flash a bright smile at the broad professor, hoping to soften him up.

He nods in acknowledgement, and since that's the most he ever does, I have high hopes that I succeeded in my attempt. I take my seat directly in front of the teacher's desk.

"Hey," greets Dray, who is sitting to my right. He turns all the way around in his seat to look at me full in the face. The bright smile he's giving me creeps me out, and I don't understand what girls see in him. What is it about the quarterback stereotype that everyone loves so much?

"Mr. Carter, I need you to move to that seat in the back," Professor Stuart shuts Dray up. Thankfully!

"WHAT?" Dray jumps to his feet, sending his things flying to the ground.

I roll my eyes at his dramatic reaction, unable to suppress my smile. The entire class is looking at him now, and I bet he's relishing these moments of attention.

"Keep your voice down, Mr. Carter. I don't want to give you detention," Professor Stuart warns Dray. "Wouldn't want to mess up football season."

"Exactly! I'm the school quarterback," he cries out. The day has just begun and he is already throwing the title around.

"And a terrible student," the professor reminds him and the students around him snicker, including me. "Now, I need an empty space here and I'm not sending Miss. Rosamond at the back. She actually pays attention in class."

I beam.

Dray glances my way, his face grimaced into a scowl. He snatches his things off the ground, flips his blonde hair away from his forehead, and stalks towards the back, muttering under his breath.

"Mr, Hunt," Mr. Stuart calls towards the back, indicating the now empty chair in the row to my right. "I have been instructed by the school counselor to have you sit in the front. He believes it will help your grades."

In any other circumstance, the class would be voicing their opinions on the matter, but not today. Not when it comes to this particular student. Everybody has something to say behind his back, but nobody dares say it to his face, or even in his presence for that matter.

I sit still, my eyes fixed on the surface of my desk, as the sound of heavy footsteps draws closer. Xavier Hunt takes the seat next to mine without a word. When the professor finally turns away, beginning to distribute the testing sheets, I peek at my new neighbor through the corner of my eye and nearly gasp.

Xavier is staring straight ahead, sitting as still as a statue. Being one the most good looking guys in school, girls would probably be drooling over him if he wasn't so intimidating. His black fringe flops lazily to one side of his forehead, perfectly carved cheek and jaw lines clean and shaved. He's dressed as usual, in his black jeans and a round neck T-shirt with long sleeves pulled low over his hands.

What's disturbing, however, is that open gash across his left cheek. The eye above it is blackened and the corner of his pursed lips is split. He looks like he just got out of a wrestling ring.

"Eyes on your own test, Miss. Rosamond," Professor Stuart calls my attention to himself and I jump when I notice he's standing right over me.

I look down at the sheet of paper the professor hands me, but can't seem to concentrate. My mind is preoccupied with questions completely unrelated to Shakespeare's Hamlet.

I don't remember Xavier as he used to be when I began high school, but I do recall seeing him sometimes. I remember being freshmen when he was sophomore. It's only when he repeated senior year that we landed in the same class, that is now. I've heard that Xavier wasn't always bad. There was a time when he would occasionally interact with people, despite always being kind of aloof. He was never a genius as far as people know, but his grades began slipping in junior year and he was never able to pull them back up. That's when the bruises started appearing. He became secluded and after his friends graduated, he didn't try making new ones.

Now, Xavier sometimes disappears without warning. Everybody seems to know everything about him, but nobody ever knows where he goes or when he'll come back. He doesn't come to school for days at a time, and when he does after that, he usually looks a mess, his handsome face marred by scars, and his gray eyes void.

Professor Stuart strolls towards the back of the class, and I look up from my test. Unable to resist the urge to look at Xavier, I succumb to it.

He's sitting with a blank expression, staring down at his own test. I see him reach into his pocket, but the hand comes out empty. I quickly grab one of the extra pens I always carry with me.

"Psst, Xavier?" I whisper.

His eyes revolve towards me, a frown appearing on his face when he sees me. I hold the pen up towards him, silently offering him to take it. He looks at the pen, then at my face, turns the paper upside down and rises to his feet.

The entire class, including the frowning professor, watches Xavier walk out of the room. I sit frozen, the pen still stretched out towards the now empty seat next to me. He didn't even answer.

*.*.*.*.*.*

Usually, I would ride back home with my dad. Not today, though, because I'm not going home. Odette and Nancy are in the front of Odette's car. The two of them continue to giggle while I roll my eyes and sit quietly in the back seat, staring out of the rain-splattered window.

I've never been in this part of the city before, but Odette decided to take this shortcut. There are no houses, only old, dirty apartment buildings. The street is cluttered with litter and garbage dumps appear to be overflowing, stray dogs eating out of them. Here and there, I see groups of young boys, standing around and sharing cigarettes.

"What's up with you, Haley?" Odette asks me over her shoulder.

After about two weeks, all of my friends are getting together. And why am I not as happy as I should be? Because I have an advanced calculus test tomorrow. But since they don't have calculus, they don't have to worry.

Just six more months. Just six more months before I graduate senior year and head off to Stanford. Now, wouldn't that be a dream come true?

"How's your dad doing, Haley?" Odette asks through the back view mirror of her car and I flash her the middle finger, sending her into a fit of laughter.

"You guys really need to stop hitting on my dad," I warn them, smiling nonetheless.

"We're not hitting on him. This is merely fantasizing," says Nancy and Odette nods in agreement.

"In case you ever start looking for a stepmom, just remember how much I love you." Odette winks at me.

"What's the opposite of pedophilia again?" I ask and the girls continue laughing. "You guys are creepy."

"You still love us," Nancy counters as the car rolls to a stop. "Oh, now what?"

"It's just the traffic signal, Nance, relax," Odette explains the reason for stopping and Nancy huffs. I roll my eyes again, turning to look out of the window.

My smile vanishes and eyes widen of their own accord when I see the scene in front of one of the crummy buildings we're passing. The building is run-down and looks like it would collapse at the slightest push. Rickety metal stairs zigzag upwards along the side that I'm facing. On the first landing, two people seem to be having an argument. One of them I see clearly -- a middle-aged, balding man with a scraggy black mustache and pot belly. He's dressed in a gray vest which looks like it used to be white once, now covered in grease and oil stains. He's wearing loose trousers and holding a half-empty bottle of vodka, spit flying from his mouth as he yells at the guy in front of him, dressed in all black. He swings the bottle towards the guy he is arguing with but the guy ducks out of the way. Clearly enraged, the balding man slaps the guy slimmer and younger than himself.

I nearly jump, my friends not noticing because they are too busy planning what to do with their hair tonight.

The hand hits the second man squarely in the face, making him stumble backward. He regains his balance and puts his hands together, looking like he's pleading. Being as far away as I am, I can't clearly hear what he's saying until I roll my window down to be able to make out the words of the heated exchange. The sounds are jumbled together and I can hear broken sentences.

"Get out!" the elder man spits.

"Dad, please! I just need to see mom," I make out from the younger man's incessant pleading. His voice is lower and more desperate.

"Not until you get the cash," the aggravated father yells.

"But --"

The older man goes back inside and slams the door shut, leaving the younger man banging on the door.

"Let me get a jacket, at least," he shouts helplessly. He finally spins around, running both hands through his black hair.

My mouth drops open just as the traffic light turns green and Odette begins to drive again. I turn my neck all the way back to stare in disbelief at the man standing there, looking broken and defeated. I know that man.

It's Xavier.

And that's when it all makes sense. Xavier isn't the participant of a fight club. He isn't the member of an underground gang. He isn't a drug junkie or a masochist. He doesn't go around picking fights and he isn't the bad boy everyone says he is. He is not what they think he is, and what he is, nobody knows. But now, I do.

Not like I know everything about him but I know one thing. And that is that ...

Xavier Hunt is an unreported victim of domestic violence.

*.*.*.*.*.*