Your name filled every margin, every line, every thin piece of paper of Cairo's. The moment she met you, when her eyes met yours, when she shared the same air as you, she became obsessed. A fleeting infatuation.

In empty classrooms, she would try to impress you, or fondle up your skirt. Cairo's never been a sap or a puddle for anyone. But you were a new topic for the aspiring author. Her new subject. The main theme around every essay she wrote, every idea that formed in her head, every entry of her journal. Your name floated around there at least ten to fifteen times.

Another problem. Your father, Mr. Miller, is Cairo's creative writing teacher. He's your writing teacher too, you share the same class, but he's more focused on your new found obsessor. Admirer is the term she prefers. She read his book "Apostrophes and Ampersands" once or twice, being the only one who checked it out at the library. Your father called it a collection of short romance stories. You called it POP.

Po-rn On Paper.

Which wasn't far off from it. But anyways, he found an attraction to Cairo. Because of her intelligence and compliments. But the he made the fatal mistake of introducing his daughter, you, to her and now she's completely wrapped around your finger without you even intending to do so.

She didn't shower him with compliments anymore. Or brush off his arms when handing in a paper. Instead, she did that to you. Twirled her hair when you came near, bit the top of her pencil, leaned against your desk, so close she practically molded herself into you. Cairo looked at you like she was a painter in the Renaissance and you were her first ever muse.

Your father was jealous of this.

Cairo sat in class once again, waiting for you to arrive. Her pen moved languidly between her fingers, shifting to a more comfortable position before continuing its journey across her journal.

"I wanna be your lover. I don't wanna be your friend."

Was written in bold, black ink. She slammed it shut when your father came.