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Monday arrives much too slowly for my liking, and after seeing his empty seat next to mine the entire day, I wait for eight at night; that's the time he said he'd be here.

A bath and quick blow-dry later, I pull my hair into a braid.

No, that's too elaborate.

Opening the braid, I leave them open.

High ponytail?

No no no!

Fizz destroys my hair and I throw them open again. Huffing in exasperation, I finally tie them into a neat bun. It seems too neat for one at home, so I pull out a couple of loose strands, and ruffle up at the top. I finally survey my reflection in the mirror and nod in approval.

Throwing open my wardrobe, I try to decide what to wear. I know this isn't a date, but I still want to make a good impression. A dress won't do, and the weather doesn't permit skirts or shorts. Ripped jeans and button-up? Seems just right.

Changed and ready, I return to the mirror, practicing my smile. Formal and reserved -- too cold. Wide and dimpled -- too much. Battering eye-lashes looks cheap, and leaning one hand on my hips just seems plain slutty.

I stomp a foot on the ground, wanting to cry out. I end up changing into slacks and leave my hair down, deciding not to put effort into it. It makes me anxious and self-conscious and I apply light makeup and promise myself I won't look in the mirror again. The more I look at myself, the more unprepared for this I feel.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"Haley, dinner!" Dad calls from downstairs.

I sigh. Well, this is as good as I'm looking, and let's face it -- I'm not bad. I make my way downstairs, help dad set the table, and end up telling him about my usual day as we eat. I narrate in no particular order:

School was fine.

Classes good.

Grades perfect.

No disciplinary issues.

No drama.

No problems.

"Xavier's coming over tonight," I tell him without looking up from my plate of food.

"Mhm ... he's a good kid," dad comments softly. "Doesn't seem like it at first glance but ... he's a nice boy."

"He is." I smile, swirling my fork through the noodles.

"Did you talk to him about his father?"

I hesitate, biting the inside of my lip. "Do you think that's a good idea? What if he doesn't want to talk about it and feels uncomfortable ... he doesn't talk to anyone at school, and he's talking to me so ..."

"You don't want to ruin it, I can see that," dad says evenly.

I blush. "Should I tell him what I saw?" I ask, knowing dad would always give me the best advice.

"Only if you consider it best," dad assures me.

I consider it, and have been doing so for the past couple of days. One of two reactions can be expected; either Xavier will open up to me if he thinks I know, or he may never see me again, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Judging by how aloof he usually is, the second option seems more likely.

"I'm going to be tutoring him if that's okay," I tell dad.

"Of course, it's okay," dad answers. "As long as you stay here in the lounge." He gives me a meaningful smile.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, and he'll leave before ten too. You gotta trust me, Dad."

"Being the father of a beautiful teenage daughter would make anyone paranoid," dad points out, smiling shyly.

"Yes, dad."

Dad nods appreciatively and I smile proudly; I'm the good daughter my dad always wanted, and I'm happy I can be the only source of happiness in his life.

The dishes go into the washer, spare food in the refrigerator, table cleaned and chairs pushed back into place. Ten minutes to eight and I'm already on the living room couch with all my study material, waiting.

Tik tok, the clock goes way too slowly, every second increasing my anxiety. By the time it's eight, I'm ready to jump at the door as soon as I hear the first knock.

Eight arrives and passes, nervousness, anxiety, and fear battling off inside my mind.

Xavier said he gets free at eight; he must be on the way, I tell myself, nodding in agreement with my inner tumultuous thoughts.

Half an hour extra passes with me fidgeting on the couch. By now I've almost given up hope of seeing him. A scowl plasters itself across my face.

Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he just doesn't care that he said he'd be here. Maybe he only agreed not to hurt my feelings. Maybe he didn't plan to come at all --

The bell rings and I shoot off the couch, racing to the door at the speed of lightning. My first instinct is to pull the door open, forgetting that I should probably check who it is through the peephole.

My heart jumps into my throat when I see Xavier standing uncertainly in front of me. His hands are dug deep in the pockets of his jacket, perfect black hair matching the sky above his head. Ghostly pale in the black attire, he looks like an angel in devil's disguise.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to blink.

"I thought you weren't coming," I say, hoping he won't notice how much I clearly stare at him. He must think I'm such a creep.

"I went home," he answers in a concluding tone.

"Oh, to get your books?" I guess, feeling suddenly like an idiot when I realize his arms are empty.

Xavier doesn't answer, assuming I will automatically know his answer when I see he isn't carrying a single pencil.

I open my mouth, close it again, nod, bite my lip, and finally step aside when I realize I'm blocking his way.

As Xavier steps over the threshold, he glances at his shoes. I look down at them too, seeing that they're caked in mud. I quickly pick the spare slippers up off the shoe stand by the door, the same ones my dad had offered him the first time he had come here. Placing the shoes in front of him, I step aside to allow him space to enter my house. He does so, as silent as ever.

"Why didn't you come to school today?" I ask, taking a seat on the couch.

As Xavier sits next to me, he glances my way. "I had work."

"I thought you said you had that in the evening," I say before I can stop myself.

"Double shift pays extra," is the simple, formal response.

I don't know how to answer that, remembering how his father had been demanding money. That might be why Xavier has to work all day to earn enough. Why doesn't his dad work though?

Shaking my head to rid myself of the thoughts that I don't wish to voice, I turn towards the books laying between us.

"So, should we start with Calculus or Classics?" I ask.

Xavier simply shrugs, looking like he couldn't care less about anything in the whole God-forsaken world.

"Um ... Classics it is, then," I conclude by myself, opening the book and beginning to talk about Oedipus Rex. Not a particularly good story for a conversation starter, I soon realize, wishing I had had gone with calculus instead. The story of a crazy boy who develops romantic feelings towards his mother and kills his father to marry her -- yeah, not something you want to talk about with your crush.

Did I just admit to crushing on Xavier?

My student however, seems unconcerned about the topic of our tutoring session, listening to me with the most discouraging poker-face I have seen in my entire life. He looks like he can barely hear a word I say, and would jump off a twenty-story building rather than be here.

That's what I think until I finally ask him a question regarding the theme of the obnoxiously inappropriate play. Xavier discusses its themes like a professional literary critic, making my eyes widen and mouth drop open in surprise. This side of Xavier threatens my inner nerd, making me feel dumb. That's something nobody does. I'm a straight-A student and Xavier ... he's an F student. Right?

I have to say I'm kind of impressed. Regardless of how he's doing in school, he knows what he's talking about. He isn't the most eloquent but he seems smart. Or maybe I'm just blind because I kinda sorta maybe like him.

Dad comes out of his room just around ten. Xavier answer politely, rising to his feet when he realizes it's my curfew time.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask, unsure of how our first ... tutoring session went.

Xavier gives a single nod before changing back into his muddy shoes -- dried up now, though -- and leaving my house without a backward glance. I stand in the doorway until he's out of my sight, wondering if I should be happy Xavier showed up at least, even if he didn't say more than a few phrases.

"Good kid," dad speaks behind me, making me jump.

I turn around and close the door, scowling as I try to hide the fact that I'm blushing. Dad, however, makes no attempt to conceal his mischievous grin.

"I'm going to bed," I say, unable to figure out anything not-embarrassing to say.

As I hastily gather up my study material and nearly run up the stairs, skipping them two at a time, I hear my dad chuckle knowingly behind me. I have half a mind to call him out for that, but don't. What do I say? That he shouldn't mock me for liking a guy?

I fall asleep wishing I wasn't so transparent, and wake up the next morning vowing not to let my feelings get the best of me again.

"I do not like him," I tell my own reflection in the mirror, forcing myself to be unconcerned about my looks. "And I will not let myself like him."

The pep-talk goes to waste as soon as I take my seat in Calculus, my gaze going automatically to the empty seat beside me every few minutes. A frustrated sigh leaves my lips and I resist the urge to slam my fist against the wall, hating how silly I am.

'I am not pathetic,' is the line I chant in my head all through the day as I approach Classics.

Again, no use. This time, because he's sitting in his place next to mine.

Oh, crap, I wasn't prepared for this.

Stumbling over my own feet and catching onto the edge of a table to avoid myself falling face-down at his feet, I regain my balance, only to lose it again when I sit in the chair and drop my books to the ground. Bending over and gathering them up with fumbling fingers, I screw up again by hitting my head against the desk.

Head spinning and eyes watering, I look up to see Xavier watching me like I just landed next to him right out of a circus. I force a goofy smile, acting like this is exactly what I planned to do.

"Hey!" I greet with a wide grin.

'Yeah, I meant to drop my things and give myself a concussion. I'm not drooling over you. I just love being ... an idiot?' This is what I hope to convey by my smile, something that ends up looking creepy -- I guess -- because Xavier turns away without an answer.

And here I was hoping we were past that.

Turning back to face the front, I find myself unable to focus on the long, boring lecture by the droning-on Professor Stuart. His bushy mustache and small beady eyes are distractions enough, but trying to study with Xavier in the seat next to me is near to impossible. I just don't know what to do; I can't focus in class when he's not here, and I can't focus in class when he is. I'm hopeless.

My eyes have grown a mind of their own, glancing his way every few minutes. He keeps his face blank, gaze rooted at an invisible spot on the board. His face has nearly regained its former glory, healed from the bruises an unknown force inflicted. Magnificent black hair flop lazily over his forehead, falling into the grey orbs of perfection that are his eyes.

"Miss Rosemond!"

The call acts as my wake-up, making me jerk upwards and straighten up as if hit by a bolt of lightning. The broad, red face of my angry professor is inches from mine, black beads staring at me with venom.

"If you're done gawking as your classmate, maybe you can answer my question," he hisses, the low whisper carrying over the still and silent students. I wouldn't be surprised if I pushed one of them over and found them to be made of cement.

"I ... uh ..." I stammer, caught off guard by the fact that I was caught red-handed while staring at Xavier.

At least Professor Stuart had the decency to not utter his name.

Swallowing hard and failing to resist the blush that sneaks up my cheeks, I sit up straighter.

"Uh ... Sigmund Freud's concept of Oedipus Complex was based on this story, sir," I say, vaguely recalling the question my unconscious heard even when my conscious didn't.

Subconscious, but I'm too embarrassed to get facts straight right now.

Professor Stuart glares into my eyes, finally giving a curt nod.

"Pay attention now," he commands, spinning around and walking back towards his desk.

Letting out the breath I had been holding, I glance towards Xavier one last time. Although this is exactly what I almost got in trouble for, it's something I just can't resist.

Before I can face forward again, his grey-eyed gaze flicks in my direction. Our eyes meet, and even though his face reveals nothing, I see a newly recognized glint in his eyes. The silver is a brief moment, and barely noticeable before Xavier looks ahead again, but I recognize it nonetheless. It's not something meaningless.

The handsome distraction is mocking me.

*.*.*.*.*.*