*.*.*.*.*.*

I wait outside the classroom after I have handed over my test. Xavier still hasn't come out yet as Mrs. Johnson asked him to stay over for a few words. I wonder ... does Xavier even answer teachers or does he keep his lips sealed at all times?

"Hey, let's go!" Nancy taps her foot impatiently, arms folded across the chest. "I'm starving and I have class in ten minutes."

"Yeah, just ... give me a minute." I peek through the door when it opens, but it closes before I can see anything. I frown at the back of the student who hurried out before I could see Xavier.

"What are you waiting for anyway?" Nancy asks.

Before I can answer, the door opens again, and this time Xavier steps out. I open my mouth to speak, but he glances at me, then at Nancy, and turns away like he doesn't know me at all. Standing there, I stare after him in disbelief as he walks away through the bustling corridor without looking back.

"Haley?" Nancy nearly shouts beside me, jerking me out of my trance. "Can we go, please?"

"Uh, yeah," I answer, trying not to feel so disappointed.

"Thank you!"

As Nancy leads me towards the café, I can't help but be annoyed at myself. What was I expecting? That after one study-night Xavier and I would end up as best friends and hang out together? That he would treat me differently than others because I treat him differently? What was I even thinking?

The rest of the day passes by between classes and aimless chatter of friends. At one point, Dray and his football buddies join us, flirting openly and making themselves look stupider than they already seem to me. Pretending to have fun, I put Xavier out of my mind, hoping -- not really -- that I'd just forget yesterday's interaction and life would go on as it was. That's exactly what Xavier did -- pretend like nothing changed. Or maybe nothing did change and I just assumed it did.

As for Xavier, I don't see him the rest of the day, or even the next couple of days. The chair to my right stays empty throughout calculus and literature, and after a while, I've taught myself not to glance at it every few minutes in the hope that he would somehow materialize through thin air.

What I can't resist, though, is simply reading and rereading the thank you note -- or sentence, actually -- he left for me that morning. There's not much written there, but somehow the simple words seem genuine. Or maybe I'm just perceiving them that way and in reality he was just trying to be polite.

Three days later, in an overly excited calculus class, Mrs. Johnson decides to hand out the quiz results. Students complain that she could have waited for next week to burst everyone's bubble. Today being Friday, the entire student population just wants to get to the weekend without being assigned something to do in the luxurious two days.

"Quiet!" Mrs. Johnson calls, fixing her black-rimmed spectacles as she strolls through the rows of students to hand them their results.

Suddenly someone flops down on the empty chair to my right, and I almost jump. Looking up hopefully, I'm oddly disappointed when I see Dray taking the seat, giving me a smirk and an awkward wiggle of the eyebrows which he obviously considers attractive.

"Hey," he says.

"Mr. Carter, go back to your seat," Mrs. Johnson says to him as she hands me my result.

I look down at my grade, A+ as usual.

"Oh, come on, Mrs. J.," he insists sweetly. "The seat's been empty all day and class is almost over. It's not like anyone is coming in now."

Smiling at the grade, I look up at Mrs. Johnson, who seems to be scanning the students' faces for someone.

"Xavier Hunt?" she calls. "Is he here?"

"Nah, Mrs. J." Dray stretches obnoxiously in his chair. "Not that it'd make a difference if he was here. He's probably going to be kicked out because of all the Fs he's getting."

My hand curls into a fist and my smile vanishes, and I have half a mind to tell him to mind his own business. What's his problem? What's everyone's problem? Why do people have to make things up just because someone is different? Does being different automatically warrant a free pass to be hated?

"For your information, Mr. Carter, Xavier's score has seen considerable improvement," Mrs. Johnson says coolly, making my eyes widen. "He got a C+ and let me remind you that I do not allow bullying of any kind in my class."

"I don't bully him," Dray defends himself.

"And you better not," Mrs. Johnson warns, cocking an eyebrow in a challenging manner. She turns away, walking towards her desk in front of me and placing Xavier's test on the table along with the other students who aren't here today.

My gaze follows the test, an idea suddenly coming into my head.

"Mrs. Johnson." I get to my feet. "I could keep these tests with me if you want. I have classics with some of these students after this and could give them their tests if they're there."

Mrs. Johnson looks closely at my face and I give my sweetest angelic smile. I'm quite proud of the trust I have gained in this school as well as my reputation as the nicest girl around. Nobody hates me, no student, no teacher. I'm the perfect student.

"Okay, but if you can't find them, return the tests to me, all right?" Mrs. Johnson hands me the tests and I nod obediently just as the bell rings.

Gathering up my things, I leave the class alongside all the other students, making my way towards classics. My plan is to find Xavier and use the test results as an excuse to talk to him. Am I really this lame? Apparently yes. Yes, I am.

To my dismay, I can't find him anywhere. I look around the campus and even decide to walk the long way home by passing through his creepy neighborhood. I stop outside his building, watching it from afar and feeling so much like a stalker. Finally giving up on the hope of finding Xavier and talking to him one on one, I go home.

It isn't until the next morning that the bell rings. I wipe my hands on the apron and come out of the kitchen, knowing dad would be too lazy to move. After he does everything the entire week, with his job and managing the house, I let him have the weekend off from absolutely everything, allowing him to be a lazy ass all he wants.

I pull open the door and nearly squeal. Xavier stands before me, dressed in all black with the addition of a jacket, and carrying a bag of freshly laundered clothes. His bruises seem to be becoming yellow, indicating they'll heal soon and not even leave scars.

He shakes his black bangs out of his eyes, grey orbs of mystery focusing on me as he holds the bag out for me to take. I take the bag, raising an eyebrow at him in a questioning manner.

"Just came by to return these," he says, his husky voice low and even.

"Well, good morning to you too," I say pointedly.

Xavier averts his gaze as I turn mine to the bag in my hands.

"Oh my God, Xavier, did you get these dry-cleaned?" I demand, unable to believe how sparkly clean my dad's old trousers and sweater are. "Why would you do this?"

"I have a friend who works there," Xavier says. "He owed me some money so I got these done instead."

"Dude." I stare at him. "Thank you, but you didn't have to."

He doesn't answer, shrugging one shoulder.

"My God, Xavier, you're such a weirdo."

"Who's a weirdo?" Dad appears over my shoulder, peeking at the visitor. "Oh, Xavier, how are you?"

"He got your clothes dry-cleaned," I tell dad, holding up the bag so he can see.

"Oh, Xavier, you didn't have to do that," my dad says, looking at the clothes before smiling at Xavier so that his eyes crinkle at the edges.

"It's no problem, sir," Xavier mumbles almost inaudibly. "I should ... get going."

"What? No," I blurt out, blushing at the panicked tone of my voice.

"Not so fast, Xavier," my dad covers up for my blunder. "You can't leave without having a cup of tea. Or coffee if Haley makes some."

"I will," I say, much too enthusiastically.

Ignoring the amused look on my dad's face and the confused one on Xavier's, I turn away from the two of them, hurrying to dad's room to place his clothes there before making my way back towards the kitchen.

Dad leads Xavier into the living room as I switch on the coffee-maker, shuffling through the fridge to find something to serve alongside it. The cakes I'm baking still need another fifteen minutes in the oven and I don't want to leave Xavier alone with dad that long. Who knows what stories will be told and what embarrassing secrets revealed.

I strain my ears to try and hear what the boys are talking about, failing pathetically due to the loud noise of the TV dad still has on. Haphazardly placing cookies and coffee, and a couple of under-baked cakes into a dish, I hurry out of the kitchen to find my dad laughing uproariously. His mouth is open in the most comical way while his eyes are squeezed shut, hands on his abdomen.

Shaking my head and smiling how absolutely insane my father is, I glance towards Xavier and almost drop the tray I'm holding.

Xavier is ... smiling?

Wide-eyed and dumb-founded, I place the snacks and coffee on the table between dad and Xavier, staring at Xavier like I'm only seeing him for the first time. Well, technically. I am seeing him smile for the first time so it makes sense.

"Haley, have you given Xavier his test back?" dad breaks me out of my trance.

I glance his way before looking back at Xavier. His grey eyes are focused on me but his fake yet adorable smile is gone.

Thanks a lot, dad. You made me miss it.

"I'll bring it now." I hurry out of the living room, up the stairs and into my room. As I snatch the test off the table next to my bed, I glance at myself in the mirror. Smoothing my hair and quickly fixing the collar of my shirt, I run back out of the room, down the stairs, and into the living room. I'm always running when he comes over. And by always I mean the two times including today.

"You got a C+," I tell Xavier breathlessly, holding the test out to him.

Xavier looks taken aback, taking the test form me and looking down at it.

I sit down to dad's right, keeping my eyes fixed on Xavier. Something about being in the same room as him makes me so anxious, and although he seems totally relaxed, I am always on edge. Maybe it's his intimidating demeanor that makes me so fidgety, or perhaps his cool disposition, I just can't be sure.

Xavier doesn't comment about the test, and I don't say anything. Dad automatically resumes charge of the conversation, talking to Xavier about politics, employment, and the government stance about the upcoming elections. Xavier isn't very responsive -- shocker, right? -- but he does give a 'hmm' and 'yes, sir' at the appropriate places, showing dad he's completely in agreement with him about things that I don't even understand.

Ten minutes later when Xavier rises to his feet, he has finished his coffee and touched nothing else. Dad insists that Xavier stay for lunch, but he politely declines.

I walk him to the door, finally speaking when he's already outside.

"Xavier, I was wondering ..." I clear my throat. "Would you like ... I mean, how about we ... begin studying together?"

Real smooth, Haley.

"I mean ..." I swallow under Xavier's gaze. "We studied together that night and I got an A+ and you got a C+ so ... that's better than we usually get alone, right?"

"Than I usually get alone," he corrects me, seeing past my lie of not always scoring an A+.

"Yeah, but, I understand better when I teach someone," I insist, trying to save the last amount of dignity I have. "So, what do you say? Tutoring after school?"

"I have work," he says.

My heart falls lower into my stomach. "Wh -- umm ... till when?"

"Past eight," Xavier answers, watching me closely.

I don't speak, saying a simple 'oh' because I don't want to seem too desperate. He must already be wondering why I turn into a bumbling buffoon in front of him and why I'm clearly trying to find ways to talk to him.

"How about after eight?" He asks, shocking me.

Is he really agreeing?

"Um-- yeah, yeah, I mean ... after eight is fine."

With curfew at ten and Xavier coming over after work which ends at eight, we'll have some time to study. Or spend together as far as I'm concerned.

"Should I come over from Monday?" he asks.

Why not tonight?

"Uh, yeah, Monday seems fine." I smile awkwardly, resisting an urge to jump up and down in joy.

Xavier nods, holding his test in one hand and burying the other hand in his jacket pocket.

"See you on Monday then, tutor," Xavier says, and I have a vague idea he knows what's going on in my head.

He walks away without another word, and I stand there, already counting down the seconds to when I'll see him again.

Talk about a desperate tutor.

*.*.*.*.*.*