{Off The Wall era – 1979}

"Today class, we have a new student. Her name is Delilah, and she came all the way over from England. She's only been in the country for a couple weeks, and she's extremely shy, so please do your best to make her feel welcome."

The teacher – Mrs Johnson – gently ushers the new girl over to the vacant seat by Michael Jackson, the most polite student in class. He looks her way, clearly wishing to talk to her, but her hoodie covers her face, making it impossible to even do something as simple as smile without disrupting the class.

Michael furrows his brows in confusion, wondering why she hasn't even acknowledged his presence or even looked his way. Nevertheless, he looks ahead once more to listen to what Mrs Johnson is talking about. In the back of his mind – however – he is desperate to at least see the appearance of this new student.

* * *

At lunch, the bell rings, giving Michael and his classmates the all-clear to leave the classroom. Instead of dashing to the lunch line like normal, Michael chooses to sit at a two-seater table, alone, and watches as – in the distance – the new girl Delilah walks towards the entrance doors which lead outside. Again, her hoodie covers her face. He briefly wonders where she's going, but thinks nothing more of it before starting his lunch.

After school comes only an hour and a half later; Michael leaves the building, ready to walk home with his brothers, when he sees the girl walking alone – again with her hoodie over her face. His expression becomes curious, but holds sorrow, as the thing he desires most is to get to know her.

Shaking his head, he watches as she becomes nothing more than a speck in the distance, before catching up with his brothers.

"Who were you watching, huh?" his playful younger brother Randy questions tauntingly. "A girl?"

"Actually ... " Michael's gaze flicks from the pathway to his brother. "Kinda, yeah."

At this, all the brothers wolf whistle and smirk at Michael. Simultaneously, they nudge at his arms and body, and his older brother Jermaine coos, "Is Michael crushing on someone for the first tiiiime?"

Michael shakes his head desperately. "No! She's the new kid. Nobody's ever seen her face; she spends her time alone; she's never spoken. I'm curious about her."

Marlon, the brother only a year older than Michael nods in understanding. "Nice. Well, when you see her face, check to see if she's hot. I'm lookin' for a girl just as much as the rest of you guys."

"It ain't about looks," Michael reminds him. "Personality sells it."

With that being said, they all begin to walk back home. Michael, however, can only think of Delilah, and his ever-growing curiosity for her and her character.

* * *

A week later, Michael still hasn't seen the face of the girl, or heard her voice. His curiosity is at its highest; the more he sees her hoodie-donning self, the more he can't help but allow his mind to concentrate completely on her.

As the bell rings for lunch time, Michael makes sure to see closely where Delilah spends her lunch times. Discreetly following her as she leads herself outside, Michael watches as she sits down under a tree just outside the school grounds. His eyes sparkle courtesy of the sun as he sees her bring a diary out of her school bag. She opens this diary, clicking her pen top to turn it on; she then writes briefly, before pausing.

She fixes her hoodie so that her hair slips through the gaps either side of her face, fully exposing her ginger locks for the first time. Michael's lips part slightly as he admires her hair, almost in awe of how long and beautiful it is. The thing he notices most, however, is the fact he still cannot see her face.

Delilah continues to write in her diary, seemingly becoming a part of the writing as she scrawls each word down. The enigmatic nature of her actions grows too much for Michael, causing him to announce to her his presence.

"Hi." He speaks as politely as possible, and in the softest voice he can possibly muster.

The girl clearly moves her head upwards in acknowledgement, but the hood of her hoodie doesn't move to reveal her face.

Michael approaches her a little more, before sitting down beside her. "I-I'm Michael. I know your name's Delilah. It's a pretty name." Having received no response, he speaks again. "Um ... not to be rude, but do you ... talk? You can talk, right?"

Instead of a verbal answer, the girl nods her head, not exposing any part of her face other than her already-showing hair. Michael continues, in order to learn as much about the girl as possible.

"So ... you're from England. I always wanted to go there and see what it's like. It must be a great place." Again, he is given no answer, so he carries on. "I heard the weather ain't great, but the people are lovely. I'm sure you're the same, along with your family and friends from there."

"No," the girl finally answers, causing Michael to jump in surprise.

"No?" Michael cocks his brow up, intrigued.

"The people aren't lovely. They're evil."

"Evil?" This time, Michael seems to want to listen rather than talk himself.

A soft sniffle is heard from behind the material which hides Delilah's face, causing Michael's intrigued expression to melt into one of pity. His brows furrow slightly as he shuffles himself closer to her, coming opposite her.

"Are you crying, Delilah?"

Although the girl doesn't speak, a shake of the head is made clear. Michael momentarily accepts her answer, despite knowing she's lying, and instead pleads with her.

"We'll come to the evil thing in a moment. Please let me see your face ... "

"No," is all she says in response.

"And why is that?" Again, Michael's expression is saddened; all he wants to do is make a new friend. When he is given no reply, he asks again. "Why ... is that?"

"You wouldn't wanna see my face," Delilah asserts, her voice broken from the crying she's obviously done.

"I would wanna see it," Michael argues softly, gently resting his hand upon the fabric of the hoodie. "Now please ... let me see you."

"No ... " Delilah pushes his hand away, before folding her arms against her chest. "I told you ... you wouldn't want to see my face ... "

"But I would," Michael retorts. "And I know you're crying. There's no need to hide it. I don't judge ... " His hand moves upwards to the same place as it was before, poised ready to remove the hood from her face.

This time, the girl says nothing. She just allows Michael to continue with no questions asked. Slowly, Michael uses both hands to pull the hood down behind her, revealing her face at last. Her skin is fair, and her ginger hair is the only notable feature of hers; her eyes are unseeable.

"W-Wow ... " Michael murmurs to himself, so the girl doesn't hear it.

Delilah's eyes force their gaze downwards; they almost seem closed from the angle Michael is sitting at. Michael notices the redness of her eyelids, and the tear stains that tint her cheeks, and an urge within him tells him to talk more. With desperation in his tone now, he pleads with her one final time.

"Please, Delilah ... hold back that river ... and let me look in your eyes ... "

Without thinking, he rests his hand under her chin, guiding her head upwards. She cringes lightly at her own bashfulness, making sure to keep her eyes firmly shut.

"Please? ... " Michael begs now. "Let me see your eyes ... "

Just the way he asks is enough for her to obey his desperate command; she gently opens her eyes, revealing their crisp hazel irises. Behind the brown are little lightning bolts of red; her eyes are bloodshot from the amount of tears she has cried.

"Delilah ... why wouldn't I want to see your face?" Michael questions rhetorically. "I mean ... you're beautiful."

"But I'm not." Delilah is quick to fight back on the statement.

"And who says that?" Michael frowns, unable to keep his eyes off her. "I'm sure nobody says that—"

"Daddy says it," the girl admits sharply, interrupting the words of the young man talking to her.

"What does your father say?"

"He says ... " Her eyes move downwards in sorrow; a tear falls from each eye as she starts to elaborate. "He says I look like mum. He says mum is a bad woman, and I shouldn't look like her. He told me I have to hide my face away from everyone ... so that's what ... I do ... "

"But why do you listen to what he says?" What was once curiosity for Michael is now empathy; his own childhood was made tougher by his father bullying him for his appearance – particularly during adolescence. Hearing Delilah's words gradually begins to stab a metaphorical knife through his heart. "Parents have no right to say that stuff to their children."

"But he's right," the girl frowns, forcing her eyes back down to the grass below them. "I'm not beautiful."

"Why do you keep lying to yourself? Your father is lying about that." He soothingly runs his fingers through her hair, but it causes her to flinch. "You can trust me. I'm not a bad person; neither am I a liar." His eyes then move to the diary which is closed. "What have you written in there?"

"M-My feelings. That's all," she answers softly, a hint of nervousness within her tone.

"Good feelings ... or bad?"

"Both. But most bad ... " She places the book back into her bag, along with the pen.

"You don't need to feel that way ... " Michael tells her, his voice trailing off towards the end of his sentence.

"Daddy says nobody loves gingers," Delilah suddenly says with no provoking.

"But ginger hair is gorgeous," Michael assures her. He takes a moment to admire the bright locks of orange, before returning his gaze to her face. "The colour of your hair doesn't change anything about you; neither does the colour of your skin. None of that should matter."

"You're the first person who ever said that." The girl doesn't move her eyes from the floor; another tear falls from her left eye, slipping silently to the ground along with her gaze. "But everyone else says I'm stupid, and ugly, and a bad person 'cause I'm ginger."

"And you believe them?"

At last, the two pairs of brown eyes meet. Whilst the male's remain dry, the female's fill with tears. "Yes," Delilah admits.

"Well you shouldn't. You're insecure for no reason at all, because honestly ... you're perfect." Michael makes sure to keep eye contact with her whilst he says this, to show her he truly means what he says.

"But nobody's perfect ... " she answers, no louder than a faint mutter.

"Maybe not; but you're the closest thing to perfect I've ever seen." Michael's brows knit together sadly as he rests his hand under her chin once again. "Please believe me, Delilah."

Her eyes fill up again, glazing over, but this time, a smile accompanies the tears. With no hesitation, she launches forward and embraces Michael in a genuine hug of gratitude. Michael returns the hug, gently stroking her hair with his fingers. Upon pulling away, the girl looks up at Michael, and quietly says, "Thank you."

"Just promise me something," Michael demands softly, his face only inches from hers now. His eyes look down into hers.

"What?" Her eyes avert upwards, vulnerably peering into his.

"Promise me you'll never say you're ugly again. Because you really are beautiful. I can promise that. In fact, I could promise on my life." His hand gently rests against Delilah's arm, almost keeping her in place until she's made the promise.

And she does just that. She nods, agreeing to his words. "I promise."

"Good. Now, I don't make promises to break them. You don't either, right?"

"Of course not." A tiny smile of amusement tugs at her lips, subtly suggesting she's actually happy. "I wouldn't break a promise to my only friend."

"You and me against the world," Michael states, giving her a closed-mouth smile.

"You and me against the world," Delilah repeats, clarifying that Michael's comment is true.

Their faces still close, Michael lifts his arm, letting his hand move underneath her chin once more. He lightly moves her face up, and their eyes meet once again. Michael chooses this moment to close the small gap between their faces, and kisses her mouth softly. Delilah immediately reacts to this, raising her arm and cupping Michael's cheek with her hand. The kiss is only simple; nothing too over-the-top, but it's enough to make both of them smile.

Soon, they part, exchanging small, shy smiles.

"You'll never wear the hoodie over your face again, will you?" Michael requests, his hand taking hers.

"Never. Especially not for you." She gently places one more peck upon Michael's mouth.

At this, Michael smiles again.

"You and me against the world from now, Delilah."

~~

This story ain't the best, but I wanted to write it anyway. I'm currently in Cyprus and it's freaking boiling! Constantly feel as if I'm going to die. xD
I wrote this to pass the time I guess. :3
I hope you enjoyed it. :)