*.*.*.*.*.*

Looking like a grumpy puppy who has been abandoned on the sidewalk, I stare with wide eyes towards the gate, my chin resting on my hands as I slouch forward.

Slouching is so relaxing. Who cares if it will later hurt my spine? At least right now, I can actually look like I feel -- depressed as shit.

My eyes finally spot movement, and I shoot up, stumbling on my own overly long dress, and straightening up, pushing my hair out of my face. Heart beating fast, my breath comes rapidly.

Is it Xavier?

Please let it be Xavier.

Holy poodles! It is Xavier!

And he's wearing a tux!

May I swoon and die please?

I'm about to squeal, jump like an overly excited baby, and throw myself onto Xavier, hoping to have a dramatic movie-scene where he catches me and laughs. Thank God I don't do it, because I freeze when I see his face.

Yes, he's wearing a black tuxedo, with a nice bow-tie and all -- the boy cleans up nicely -- with his black hair looking like he had jelled them to make them stay in one place. What bothers me though, is the cut across his eyebrow and the split lip, both on the left side of his face.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp, slapping my hand onto my mouth as I hurry barefoot towards him.

He looks up when he hears me, the streetlight illuminating his face which looks like it belongs to a boxer who just got out of the ring. Minus the sweat, of course.

"What happened to you?" I exclaim, sliding in front of him and reaching out a hand to touch his face. "Who did this, Xavier?"

"Sorry I'm late," he says instead of answering my question.

"Late? Xavier, you're hurt!" I say, touching my thumb under his nose, where I can see a drop of blood trailing out of his nose. "Come here."

I grab his arm, leading him to the stairs of my porch and sitting him down. Dropping next to him, I pull up the hem of my white dress, and gently try to wipe the blood. He winces at the impact and my heart tears to shreds. My eyes sting and I bite my lower lip to prevent myself from crying.

Don't be a cry-baby tonight, Haley. Be a big girl.

Xavier notices because I see his face grow solemn.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbles, lowering his gaze. "I ruined your prom --"

"You think that's important?" I ask, shocked. "I don't care, okay? What I care about, is who did this to you."

He licks his lips, his shoulders slumped. "It's nothing, dad just ..."

"Nothing?" I cry out. "Nothing, Xavier? This is ... this is abuse. He keeps hurting you. Why the hell do you put up with this? You have to report him, we have to go to child services and --"

"Just a few more months," he mumbles. "Once I'm eighteen I can ... take mom and leave."

"That's too long," I argue, my voice breaking. "He keeps ... what if he hurts you even worse next time? Xavier, you can't put up with this anymore, please."

"He just got angry," Xavier whispers, dropping his head in his hand and closing his eyes.

"For what?" I demand.

Xavier sighs a sad, mournful sound that rips through my heart.

"What happened?" I ask him, my tone softer as my hand moves automatically towards his hair, pushing them gently back.

He opens his eyes, looking like he would rather be a mannequin than human.

"I was asking mom for the car and he heard me," he says, his voice almost inaudible. "I wanted to drive us to prom and ... he came out of his room and saw my clothes and lost it because he thought I wasted money on the suit. He didn't know I rented it."

I'm holding back my tears, suppressing my self-hatred. So, it's my fault Xavier got beaten this time. If only I hadn't asked him to wear a tux. He rented it because I insisted, and his dad hit him because of it. If I hadn't been so stubborn, Xavier would still be okay.

"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault, I --"

"N - no, it's not," he interrupts when I begin to sob. "God, Haley --" he reaches out, cupping my face and making me look at him.

"You should've worn your leather jacket instead. You look nice in that too," I say, sniffing loudly and rubbing my face, not even remembering I'm wearing mascara.

"This is the only thing you asked for," he says softly.

"Oh, God, my makeup is ruined," I whine when I see the black smeared across the back of my hand.

Xavier lets out a husky laugh. "You look nice," he adds, smiling at me.

"Like a Halloween ghost more like." I half-laugh, half-cry.

My eyes meet his, and I notice we are so close. Only a foot separates us, his hand at my neck, my fingers clutching the collar of his tuxedo coat. His eyes flicker towards my lips and I swallow hard, aware of the strangeness of the entire situation.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," I whisper, suppressing my tears.

"I'm sorry I made you miss prom," he whispers back.

"It's not over yet," I say, suddenly realizing that we could still make it if we hurried.

Xavier's brow furrows.

"If you're okay enough to go, I mean," I add quickly.

"If you're okay with me looking like this, sure," he says uncertainly.

Before I know it, I'm wiping my face and jumping to my feet, hurrying towards the door to my house. I burst through it, making my dad look up from his magazine. I'm sure he knew I'm still here because Xavier didn't come, but I'm glad he didn't bother me about it. He has gotten used to Xavier and I's crazy relationship, and doesn't even mind anymore.

"Daddy, can I borrow your car?" I ask him, hurriedly wiping my face again.

He looks surprised, and I wonder if he's just worried about my messed-up state. His eyes shift to something behind me, and I know Xavier has followed me here. Dad's eyes widen and his mouth drops open. Thankfully, he doesn't comment, looking back at my pleading face.

His hand moves towards his pocket and he pulls out his keys, tossing them towards me.

"Do either of you know how to drive?" he asks, sounding unsure.

I glance at Xavier over my shoulder, who nods.

Dad purses his lips, looking close to panic. "Be safe," he finally says.

I nearly jump, turning towards Xavier, grabbing his arm and running out of the house. My heels fly two feet when I accidentally kick them with my bare feet. I scoop them up indifferently. We get into the car, Xavier into the driver's seat, and me beside him into the passenger seat. The car roars to life, and Xavier reverses out of the garage.

It's 9:20 p.m. and no matter how much we hurry, we'll make it to the school around 9:45. I mentally calculate the amount of time we'll have.

The ride is silent, while I quickly attempt to make myself look less like a monster and more like a girl going to prom. I put on my heels, wipe my face clean, and pull my mop of hair into a braid at the back of my head. Nothing can be done about the bloodied hem of my dress, but I still look more normal than Xavier, so I'm okay.

Thankfully, we arrive at our high school in one piece and before they shut the dance down. Xavier parks into an empty spot and we turn to each other at the same time.

Xavier looks unsure of himself, and I reach towards him, tucking his hair back and fixing his bow-tie.

"Good as new," I lie. "How do I look?"

"Perfect," he mumbles, but he looks almost lost.

"Xavier --"

"You sure you want people to see you with me?" he asks.

I stare at him, blinking in confusion.

"What do you ... mean?" I ask.

Xavier sighs. "There are things people say about me, Haley," he says. "Things that I do not want to be associated with you. I know what people like ... Dray Carter say. And that's okay. But you ... I don't want you to --"

Without thinking about it, I throw my arms around Xavier's neck, leaning over the gear and hugging him. Yes, I'm a hugger. When I run out of words to express myself, I let my hugs do that. And my hug right now can be translated into 'I don't care what anyone says'.

Xavier probably understands, because when I pull back, I see a sad yet relieved look on his face. I smile encouragingly, and he inhales deeply.

We open our doors at the same time, and close them in synch. Xavier locks the car and holds the keys out towards me. I ignore the keys, taking his other hand instead. I lead him towards the entrance of the gym, where the prom is in full swing. My feet stop walking, and Xavier comes to a halt beside me. We glance at each other, taking deep breaths as if preparing for war, and enter our battleground together.

The gym is unrecognizable, looking beautiful in pink and blue decorations, balloons, streamers, and the loud, booming music. Even in the dim lights, I recognize several faces, all of them laughing, dancing wherever they are, carrying disposable cups of soda and eating donuts.

Xavier's hand in mine is clammy, and my impatient heart's jumping is drowned out by the loud music played by the DJ.

It takes a while for the reaction to come.

The first people to look our way are those closest to the exit, freezing in their dancing and not even attempting to hide their disbelief. Soon, the contagious wave of shock spreads, and several wide-eyed, open-mouthed faces spin around to stare shamelessly at us. Two faces stand out of the rest for me. Nancy, with her widened eyes and dumb-founded expression. Dray Carter, with his round face red and jaw set.

I don't know what bothers them more, that Xavier looks he got out of fight-club, and I look like a homeless runaway, or that we're holding hands and entering together.

"You want to dance?" I ask him, sounding like I just run a mile.

Xavier nods wordlessly, looking like he would rather be anywhere but here.

When I steer him towards the dance floor, it bothers me to see people moving out of our way. What is their problem? What are they afraid of? Why can't people just leave others alone? It's sad how people can be so judgmental, assuming things about others when they don't know a thing. So what if Xavier is different? Why can't they just accept that and move on with their lives?

I stop and turn towards Xavier. His hands come to rest on either side of my waist, and I put my hands on his shoulders. The next song begins to play, and we stare into each other's eyes. We don't dance. We don't speak. We don't move.

Right now, in this moment I realize ... it doesn't matter that Xavier's lip is split or his nose broken. It doesn't matter that my eyes puffy and my face blackened by my running mascara. It doesn't matter that he's wearing a rental tuxedo, or that I'm wearing a dress that's too big for me. It doesn't matter that we came here after more than half the dance is over, or that we drove at double speed on my dad's car. It doesn't even matter that half an hour ago, we were sitting on my porch, wiping each others tears.

All that matters is, we're here together.

And we can face anything. We just have to find out how.

*.*.*.*.*.*