Knowing Her ( Norminah)

--CHAPTER 2--

They'd met outside the library.

It had been cold, wet, a miserable sort of week, each breath taken feeling like inhaling all the ingredients necessary for pneumonia. She had been tired, she had been awake for over thirty-six hours, she hadn't been watching where she was going, bumping hard into the brunette as she exited the library, rubbing her eyes and mentally trying to keep herself prepared for her next exam.

"You know, it's proven that students do worse while sleep deprived," the girl said as she steadied Dinah and help her pick up her things. "A nap would be better than a cram session."

"Psych major?"

"Biology."

"God, even worse." The girl laughed and Dinah rubbed her eyes again, took her things with a pained smile. "Sorry I bumped into you."

"It happens."

"Right. Well. Sorry again." The girl smiled.

"Good luck on your exam." Dinah nodded, hearing her, not really comprehending the words, focused mostly on the girl's brown eyes and kind smile. Even much later, that was what stuck about the encounter. Not the sleep deprivation warnings, but the dark eyes, the kind smile.

(Three truths: 1. Meeting Normani Hamilton was a stroke of mere chance.)

She should have known, she thought. The day she saw Normani's dark eyes and kind smile, the day they met because Dinah hadn't studied for her exam until the last minute, she should have known she was a goner. (Because no one ever dreams about seeing those dark eyes again unless that person made an impression.)

Five years later, Dinah wished she'd been just a tad more addled that day. Just a tad more uncomprehending. Because then she wouldn't be where she was now: Andrea deciding she wanted to get to know Dinah better. Andrea deciding that she and Dinah needed to 'spend a day together.'

Barbara telling Andrea that Dinah needed to learn how to 'bake a goddamn cake first.'

"We baked yesterday," Dinah complained, eyeing the eggs, flour, and vanilla extract uncomfortably. Normani sat on one of the stools, a heavy textbook on her lap, looking up from her studying long enough to flash her grandmother a fond smile. "What did you even do with the cakes?"

"The one you made or the one I made?"

"You threw mine out, didn't you?" The older woman grinned, pulling out a cookbook, handing it to Dinah with a flourish.

"I did."

"That bad?"

"Pretty bad," Normani commented, not looking up from her book.

"You can't use school as an excuse to not help. You're off."

"Doesn't mean I can stop studying." Dinah opened her mouth to argue, but Barbara shook her head.

"Normani already knows how to bake. You don't."

"Andrea doesn't bake and she's not here."

"She was offended that she couldn't spend the day with you. So she 'went out,'" Normani said, turning a page, shaking her head. "She thinks I don't know—"

"Normani—"

"Don't know what?" Dinah asked, looking from Barbara to Normani, utterly confused.

"She doesn't want to be here," Normani said, finally looking up from her textbook, her dark eyes— the ones Dinah fell in love with on a cold, wet day, in front of the library—hard and unforgiving. "She hates it here. It reminds her of my dad." She swallowed, looked down, then shut her book, practically jumping off her stool. "I'll go study upstairs." Dinah watched as she left, and without any actual thought on her part, she made to follow her before Barbara grabbed her by the elbow and held her back.