Maybe inviting a guy over was a horrible idea. But at least it doesn't break my father's rules, since he'll be right here. Or maybe it was a genius idea, considering that, for some odd reason, my father actually seems excited to meet Xavier once he realizes it was him who dropped me off. He's even in a good mood. "Celaine, hurry up! You said he'd be here in an hour—make sure you're all set!" His enthusiasm is kind of unsettling. The sound of our doorbell nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I check my reflection quickly before running downstairs.
"Oh, hi, come in," I hear him say as I reach the bottom step, watching Xavier step inside. I give a slight wave as my father starts gushing, rambling about some kind of match.
Xavier gives him a bored look as I take the supply bags from his hands—or at least, I try to, before he shifts them out of reach raising an eyebrow at me, making me feel awkward.
"Celaine, get our guest some snacks and a drink," my father says. I turn to head to the kitchen, but Xavier stops me.
"I'm good," he says, making me pause.
"Alright, well, have a seat in the dining room." My father turns to Xavier, clearly still in awe. "The Xavier Midnight," he says, leading him into the living room. He's making it seem like the guy is a celebrity.
"When's your next match?" he asks, excitement evident in his voice. I've literally never seen my father like this; it's kind of amusing.
"I've taken a short break for school," Xavier replies, sitting beside me. I'm definitely missing something here.
"We should really get started," I sign to him. My father's smile drops before he forces it back on.
"She's right, we should start," Xavier agrees.
"Oh, of course," my dad says, coming over to put a hand on my shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything," he adds, squeezing my shoulder a bit too tight. I smile, trying to mask the pain. It's a warning. He kisses the top of my head and walks off.
"Your dad must be a real fan," Xavier mutters.
*I can't see why*, I sign with genuine curiosity.
"What do you mean?" he asks, looking at me like I've offended him.
*A fan of you?* I tilt my head.
"Yeah. Does my name not ring a bell?" he asks.
I shake my head with a slight shrug. "I'm a professional boxer," he says.
Oh. Cool.
I just nod, pulling the supplies out of the bag.
"How does your dad know this and not you?" he asks.
*I'm not much of a TV person.*
It makes sense now though. Even though I've only been in school for a short time, I've watched the way girls and guys alike watch him with admiration. I'd thought it was because he looks good. I take a moment to actually look at him while he's reading the project instructions. His hair is curly, he has thick eyebrows, and his skin is a smooth, medium brown. The only flaw is a scar through his eyebrow. He has full lips, and I think he might have his ears pierced. I never get why guys do that. Not that I'm judging, it's just—
"What?" He catches me staring, and I look at him with wide eyes, realizing how obvious I'd been.
*Nothing.* I quickly get up and take the beakers to fill them with water.
"Hm." That's all he says, but when I turn around, I almost drop the four beakers I'm holding because he's right behind me.
"Didn't mean to scare you," he says, taking the beakers from me and giving me the empty ones. He glances at my hands for a moment before returning to the dining table. I walk back, silently hoping he won't ask.
But to my better judgment.
"What happened to your hands?" he asks. Panic sets in, and I hope my father didn't hear him.
*Extremely clumsy*, I sign quickly. "Yeah, I caught that," he replies, squinting at me as I get the food coloring out of the pack.
*Careful, it's hot* I warn as he brings the pot of sugar water to the table. "I got it," he says, pouring it into the beakers.
"Where'd you learn sign language?" I ask.
"My grandmother", He responds. touching my neck as memories of the accident flash through my mind.
Huh.
"You?"
I touch my neck as memories of the accident flash through my mind.
*I learned at my old school before I moved here.*
"And the scar?" he asks.
*Car accident.* I avert my gaze, stirring the color into the cups. My face warms under his steady gaze, and I can't help the blush rising to my cheeks.
"So you'll never talk again?" he asks quietly.
*Maybe. Surgery just costs too much.* I pull my hood up, suddenly feeling self-conscious. From the look of our house, people would think that's hard to believe.
He nods in understanding. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment of silence. I just shrug, though I can't help but feel a pang of anger towards my dad. It's not about the cost; he just doesn't care enough to make it happen.
"Okay, what's next?"
I point to the sticks that we need to coat in sugar.
*Why sugar?*I ask.
He shrugs. "What's the fun in having regular crystals?"
I give him a questioning look, but he has a point. I sugar the sticks as he arranges the water and sugar jars. When I wince slightly while picking up the tray, he notices and quickly takes it from me.
"Wouldn't want to hurt your hands more," he says, offering me a small, understanding smile.
As we work, the conversation flows easily, despite the quietness of our communication. Xavier seems genuinely curious about me, asking questions that feel oddly personal yet unintrusive.
I learn he's been boxing since he was young, finding it an outlet that brought him a sense of control. He talks about his family a bit, sharing just enough for me to sense that, like me, he's got his own scars that run deep.
"Do you think you'll go back to it after this school break?" I ask, my fingers signing the question almost automatically. I'm surprised at my own interest; it's rare for me to want to know this much about someone.
"Yeah, it's all I've ever known. Hard to step away from it completely," he replies, watching me closely as I look down, focusing on the sugar sticks.
I nod in understanding, feeling a strange kinship with him. There's a quiet strength in him, one I don't often see in others. As I shift to reach something on the counter, my hoodie slips slightly, and I instinctively tilt my head up, exposing more of my neck than I intended. The moment feels frozen when I notice his gaze shift. His eyes lock on the faint purple bruise peeking out just above my collarbone.
"Celaine...?" His voice is soft, hesitant.
I quickly pull my hood tighter, hoping to hide the evidence, but I can tell he's already seen it. Panic bubbles up in my chest as I struggle to come up with an explanation, to deflect, to make this moment disappear.
*It's getting late. You should go,* I sign abruptly, avoiding his gaze.
He frowns, clearly sensing the shift in my mood. "But we're almost done."
*Curfew,* I lie, trying to keep my hands steady as I gesture towards the door.
He studies me, and for a brief moment, I think he's going to push, to ask questions I'm not ready to answer. But then he nods, respecting the unspoken boundary. Standing up, he gathers his things slowly, casting one last concerned glance my way.
"Alright. Thanks for letting me come over. I'll... see you tomorrow?"
I nod, giving him a small, forced smile as I walk him to the door, my heart pounding in my chest. When the door finally closes behind him, I release the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, pressing a hand to the spot where the bruise lies hidden beneath my hoodie.
In the silence of the empty house, the weight of everything settles over me again, heavier than ever.
YOU ARE READING
Mute Girl and Mr. Bad Boy Boxer
عاطفيةIt's hard moving and going to a new high school especially if you can't talk or as I call it mute....... Meet Celaine Rose The schools nerd but did I mention she's mute? Two years ago she was an accident well that's what her father told them. Things...
