Nora Key's Secrets

Brothers

  He hated being a university professor. And he absolutely hated the fact that there were various people who were obviously trying to get him fired by flirting with him. So what if he was a slightly handsome and young –not to mention smart- professor? It wasn't that big a deal, really.    He looked around the classroom and wondered how many students were in the wrong classroom. Some were on their phones (not even bothering to be subtle about it), others sleeping. He also noticed some girls dreamily gazing at him, two of them with chin in hand. There were only three people who were taking notes. One of them was a girl, one who frequently caught his eye. He found himself giving her a small smile, even though she couldn't see it. It was nice seeing a girl who was actually interested in what he was teaching instead of looking him over like a toy. He was content. That is, until he saw what she was writing in.
  A maroon leather journal.
  It hit him like a train. She wasn't taking notes. If she were, she would be looking up at least every few minutes or at least muttering to herself. But no, all her attention was focused on writing. She was gripping the pen tightly, almost as if she wanted to break it. Her hand glided across the paper in swift and abrupt little movements, and her face was contorted into that of a frown. He sighed. It wasn't like him to want a girl to give him attention, but he was so sick of seeing this girl either stare out the window or watch him with disinterest.
  It was as if she wanted to listen, but chose not to. It was as if she wanted to be there, but at the same time wished she were somewhere else. She was too confusing to even be in the same room with. The amount of details he knew about her were astounding. She had a strange presence, it was magnetic but unpleasant. The only feeling he could compare it to was when he ate too many sweets as a child. The queasiness and nausea didn't bother him so much, knowing that it had come from candy. He wondered who gave her that stupid journal.

He wondered if he'd seen it before.

---

  He hated being in college. So what if his brother was a professor there? That didn't mean he had to go there. He never even wanted to go. If only his stupid brother hadn't gotten this stupid job at this bloody university, he wouldn't even have to be here. He liked being on campus, but he didn't want to be a part of it. He came for wild parties, legendary nights, babes and booze. Not to be chauffeured to class everyday by a babysitter-ish roommate. He only came for the fun, not for the paperwork and lectures. But of course his genius of a brother had to enroll him. Now that he was being watched like a hawk, he had to make it to class. 
  In one of his classes, was a girl. They said she was Nora Key, and that all her friends were too stoned to register how dangerous she is.
  And they were right. The girl was bursting at the seams with hatred and seething with irritation. Everything she did, every look she gave, even a small flip of the hair, looked dangerous. Her eyes were rainstorms. Dark yet blue, and they soaked in any kind of light they could find. Her hair was long and you could see random streaks of faded colors all thrown in at once, the handiwork of someone who didn't know what they were doing. She looked like some sort of painting. She looked like a puzzle, a dilemma, another Mona Lisa that someone left behind for solving. She was an enchantress wearing the cloak of an evil witch.
  Bloody hell, with that attitude she looked like the poison apple that induced Snow White's slumber.
  He watched her during class. Her hand or foot always moving or twisting or tapping something. She snapped her head at every sound and movement in the room. Everyone else lowered their heads when her strong gaze passed them over. But he forced himself to look back. She was a magnet- a fiery candle, and he was the moth.
  He had a journal that his brother gave him to celebrate his 18th birthday, which was two years ago. A maroon leather journal that he had never used. He opened it and wrote on the first page. Wondering if she would actually succumb to that one sentence. Especially someone that fidgety.
  When class ended, he passed by her and dropped the journal down her bag. And watched amusingly from the sidelines as she frowned at the sentence with burning determination, a ferocity to win. He followed her around for the rest of the day. Just to see if she would write.
  And she did.