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Study. Sleep. Go for an exam. Study. Sleep.

Can life be any more crappy?

By my last exam on Friday, I would gladly set all my books on fire and never look at them again. I probably won't even have to, considering as I just appeared in my final exam for my final year in high school. Does this make me a big girl? A grown-up?

Hell, yes, it does. And that's why I tell my dad -- instead of asking him -- that I'm going to the prom with Xavier tomorrow.

He's happy.

Honestly, sometimes I think my dad has a crush on Xavier too. Lucky my crush isn't gay, though, or I might have been attending his wedding to my dad.

Talk about creepy.

"Haley!" dad calls from outside my door on Friday evening.

I slip on my own feet, stifling a loud squeal and landing on the floor. It's not that dad's voice freaked me out. It's just that I'm locked in my room, trying on different dresses, and right now, I'm wearing nothing but my undies.

"Just a minute!" I pant, hurriedly pulling on random clothes. And by 'random', I mean a pink tank-top, blue yoga pants, a yellow skirt, and white jacket to cover up my multi-colored fiasco, before pulling open the door to show my dad my red face.

Thankfully, he doesn't comment, raising his eyebrows and holding a phone out towards me.

"Your mom wants to talk to you," he says, resisting a smile.

Mom has been trying to reach me for the past few days and I have ignored both her calls and her messages in the hope that she would realize I don't want to talk to her. She didn't give up though, persistently calling me and leaving messages saying I should call her back.

I take the phone from dad, and he gives me a nod before descending the stairs. Reluctantly, I return to my bed and put the phone to my ear.

Is it strange that I don't want to hear what my mom has to say? How can I, knowing she left me for her own selfish desires? My dad has always told me she loved me, but I know that's not the truth. Dad says she wanted to take me along and he didn't let me go, but I know what really happened. She never thought about me, not once.

"Hello?" I finally speak into the silence, tossing the clutter of clothes off my bed so I have space to sit.

"Haley, I've been calling you all week. Where have you been?" she exclaims into the phone.

I purse my lips, not wanting to answer.

"Been busy," I answer begrudgingly, inwardly glaring at my dad who is forcing me to talk to her.

"Yes, your father told me you were having your finals. How did they go? Will you be going to Stanford?"

'What do you care?' I want to ask.

"Fine," I actually grumble.

"You know, I've been thinking, if you actually move to California, so will I," she says. "George has a house near Stanford, and then we'll be able to spend every weekend together. Shopping!" she squeals like a creep.

"I don't want that," I say before I can stop myself.

"Wh ... what did you say, Haley?" mom asks.

"Nothing," I mumble, remembering all my dad's sermons about how silence is better than bad words. Maybe that's why Xavier is always quiet, because he doesn't want to end up cussing everyone out.

"Well, I know your exams are over now," mom goes on, returning to her overly-sweet voice that makes me want to gag. "Your father told me you're going to prom tomorrow."

Why did dad have to tell her? It's not like prom is a big deal.

"Prom is a big deal, dear, and I want my daughter's special night to be perfect," mom coos.

My eyebrows have flown into my hair or maybe even all the way to the top of my head. I wouldn't be surprised if I found them floating in the air above my head.

"I was planning to fly over to help you pick out the perfect dress and find the perfect date, but since you didn't answer my call, I couldn't do that."

Her voice is calm and sweet, but the accusation in her words is clear. Even now she's blaming me for being the reason she can't do something.

"But we can still shop online, right?" mom asks excitedly. "How about I skype you and we can find the perfect dress and matching heels and --"

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"I asked, why?" I repeat, my tone icy.

"Why what?"

"Why do you suddenly want to act like we're best friends or something?" I ask.

"I don't see what you --"

"You think this is what I need? After ten years without you, you think all I need from you is advice picking out a prom dress? You think you can be a good mother by doing that when you have never been here for me?"

Silence follows my words, and I know mom is just shocked. I have never spoken to her this way, mostly because dad never allowed it. But I have so much to say to my 'mother' that I don't think any amount of words can ever be enough.

"You think this can make me forget everything you have done to us?" I go on, letting words flow with emotion. "All these years, when you have thought about no one but yourself, you think a prom-dress can bribe me into forgiving that? And I find it ... so funny, that you think I would want to spend 'every weekend' with you in Stanford. I would rather eat paper."

"Haley --"

"Where were you when I needed you?" I exclaim, tears stinging my eyes. "Where were you when I cried myself to sleep because everyone bullied me that my mom had left my dad because he was lame? Where were you when I needed a bra or tampons, or when a boy told me I was dumb not to know what sex is? You weren't here, mom, and that's all that matters."

"Haley, dear --" my mom begins in a low voice.

"You know who was here? Dad. He was here. He was my father, my mother, and my best friend. He was everything I ever needed, and he still is. He would buy me tampons and panties and put them under my sheets so I would find them but not feel embarrassed. He would sit next to my pillow and hum lullabies when I cried. He would go to all my parents-teachers-conferences and tell my counselor to watch out for me because I was being bullied. He did that, mom, when you should have."

"I'm sorry --" she sobs.

"I don't need your weekend shopping trips, your stupid skype calls, or your perfect prom-gowns. I need love, and kindness, and the feeling that somebody in my life actually cares about me and wants me to be happy. I already have that person, mom, and it's dad. Not you."

"Haley, I'm your mother," she says, almost pleading.

"I don't need a mother anymore," I say, finally speaking my mind. "I have my father, and he's enough for me."

I hang up, not even waiting for what she says after this. My mind and heart are not prepared to hear my mom's excuses or justifications. People might find me heartless, but how am I expected to actually be nice to my mother who left me. When did she ever think of me when I needed her?

After dwelling in my misery and mingling anger for a few minutes, I decide to get back to deciding my dress for prom. Who cares if I'm not going to have a thousand dollar prom dress? At least I'm going with Xavier.

The thought of Xavier cheers me up and lifts my mood instantly. To be honest, I kind of miss him. It's not that I haven't seen him this week. I have. But Xavier and I only take calculus and classics together. The only times I saw him were during these exams, and even then his seat was far away from mine. We didn't get to talk, or even make eye contact.

As far as texting Xavier is concerned, I finally plucked up the courage to do so. After typing three hundred versions of 'good luck' and deleting them without sending them, I finally sent a plain 'see you on Saturday' to him this morning. Guess what he replied. That's right ... nothing.

Well, at least he'll be wearing a tux. That thought alone is enough to make me smile. And it's only a few minutes later that I'm standing in front of my mirror, trying on every single dress I own to figure out which ones look better.

I realize I have the same problem as every other girl in the world; I have nothing to wear!

"Daddy, I'm shopping for a dress online!" I tell him when I sit with him for dinner.

He smiles and nods, and I refuse to make eye contact with him, a blush creeping up my cheeks. Suddenly, the steak with mushroom sauce seems like a piece of art, and I enjoy staring at it more than I consider eating it.

And when dad has gone to sleep and I've returned to my bed with my trusty laptop, I'm finding dresses that would look good on me. Turns out the world has an entire array of prom dressed. There are like a bazillion different styles, colors, necklines, hem designs, sleeve lengths, and flair widths. Like who the hell even pays attention to all this stuff?

I take the easy route, which is simply browsing through my wardrobe till I find something that looks even close to the ridiculously expensive crap on the illusion that is the internet.

My dad doesn't take pictures of me when I leave my room Saturday evening. I don't know why I was expecting a cliché appreciation with my dad looking at me with a wide, creepy smile, and teary eyes, holding an old fashioned camera, and saying 'my daughter looks so beautiful, he better not break her heart'. Just once, can't I have anything cliché happen to me?

"Be home by ten, Haley," my dad says from the kitchen table where he is sitting, reading a magazine.

I glower at the back of his head, wanting to be a baby like the one he treats me and throw a tantrum.

"Twelve," I try.

"Ten fifteen," he says without looking at me.

"Eleven," I bargain.

"Ten thirty it is. Have a nice dance, sweetie."

Well, at least thirty minutes extra isn't bad, especially since I had promised to follow the curfew for the next seventy-three years. Even though I don't regret the wager, I kind of wish my dad would hit his head and forget this promise somehow. Maybe. Or maybe not.

I sit on my couch, my legs together and my heels on. I rest my hands on my knees, smiling to myself. It's almost eight, and Xavier should be here any minute.

Eight fifteen, and my legs have parted in my typical way. My elbows are on my knees, my face squished against my palms as I stare at the clock.

Eight-thirty and I'm pacing around my living room in my heels, mumbling to myself and cursing under my breath. How dare he be late for our prom-night?

Eight forty-five, and I open the door of my house and step onto my porch. My mascara-coated eyes scan my street as far as I can see. I don't see anyone in a tux, or even in black.

Nine, and I'm on the stairs, my head against the cold pillar. My heels lie on the step below the one my feet are on. My hair, which I had curled loosely, falls limp around my face, loose strands tickling my face but not even getting noticed.

I close my eyes, fighting back the tears. Of all the times Xavier has stood me up, this hurts the most. Not because I was looking forward to dancing at prom, but more because I actually thought he wanted to go with me. I had imagined seeing Xavier wearing a black tux and his hair slicked back. I had visualized wooing everyone by making a grand entrance with the guy no girl talks to. I had fooled myself into believing Xavier liked me too.

Even if there was a problem, he could have called me. He could have taken the time to send a text, as simple as 'can't make it', and I wouldn't have been mad. I would have been satisfied, knowing at least that he cared enough to save me the worry.

That's just it ...

Maybe he doesn't care enough.

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