summary: Isabel runs interference for Layla, who is running out of time to teach Isabel all of high school biology, and Valentina, who is running her hands through Isabel's hair.
word count: 2.8k
In the blue corner, clutching a thousand-pound encyclopedia to her chest, standing smack in the middle of Valentina’s doorway, frowning with a brow well-steeled by blood, sweat, and book dust from the first century, it’s Layla Fletcher. “I’m just saying that if you applied the basic principles of concatenation theory to your plaiting process, you’d be able to finish with the bubble braids before curfew.”
In the red corner, perching on her bed, a peacock turned bird of prey, clenching Isabel’s loosened hair into fistfuls of blonde tumbleweeds, coming into the ring with her usual poker-hot spoken sucker punches, it’s Valentina Furi. “Why should I care about curfew? We’re literally in my room.” Then, under her breath, “Sure would be nice if you were out of my room.”
In the middle of it all: Isabel Armstrong, sitting on the floor a few inches from Val’s feet, newly saddled with the unbearable brunt of Layla and Valentina’s brewing fight. You know, Val’s been dumping shampoos and scrubs and general slews of unpronounceable hair-shining sludge on her all afternoon, and those layers are barely providing enough protection to keep the whole back-and-forth from exploding her eardrums.
Sure, the pair of them have always been all gung-ho about doing things the right way, a.k.a. their way, which is a trait Isabel’s pretty familiar with, herself. Sure, Valentina dragging Isabel into her room on a pretense where physical contact would make sense is something that’s been happening a lot, lately. Sure, Layla dragging Isabel into the library to powerslam her with knowledge is something that’s also been happening a lot, lately, despite Isabel’s very best attempts at convincing Layla that any double-digit grade is the best she expects.
Hell if Isabel can ever be sure how they’re arguing about hairstyling algebra.
Nerds. Aliens, really.
As the match (Layla: STUTTER SPLUTTER DOOR LOCKS) of verbal sparring persists (Valentina: GROAN EXPLETIVE AVA’S LOCKPICKING), Isabel considers her options.
On one hand, alone time with Val is in way short supply. Also, she still hasn’t figured how to win whatever game they’re playing now, with her being stuck on the floor and Val being awful secretive about her progress. (Layla: DIRECTION PRESCRIPTION REGULAR POLYGONS NERVOUS LAUGH) For all she knows, Cinder’s hiding beneath Val’s bedframe, branding her scalp with the Furi monogram as punishment for… something. (Valentina: SNARK SETTING TRENDS NAME-DROP LOW BLOW) But Isabel knows, deep in her gut, she and Val have the potential to be something; if she stays with Val, lets her fix a split end or a few thousand, then—who knows, you know? They could stop dancing ‘round something like the dumb kids they were at the Fairy Moon Ball. Stop using code like undone hair, excuses like contests without a finish line.
Stop Isabel’s worrying she’s dead last in a race Val might not even be in.
Plus, Val’s face when she saw Isabel’s hair had grown to her waist? Yeah, no, that’s something she’s gotta burn in her memory.
On the other hand, Layla did ask for her time first. With a question instead of an order, too. (Layla: LONGWORDLONGWORDLONGWORD) Maybe she asked when Isabel’d been three-fourths-asleep and she’d already written a whole curriculum for tonight’s study sesh in one of her many colour-coded binders with zero consideration as to Isabel saying no, but she asked. Politely, firmly, firstly. (Valentina: AUDIBLE EYE ROLL DEMANDING INTERROGATIVE) This was the thing about teammates—
A sharp sigh from Layla snaps Isabel out her funk. “I am here because Isabel agreed to be tutored tonight.”
And sends her straight back into the spiral. Agreed’s a real load-bearer in that sentence. Then, Isabel locks eyes with Layla, who is finally, finally managing to look as tall as she is in the face of a Furi’s… well, fury, and silently agrees Valentina oughtta learn that later. Layla presses on, lips pressed all Ms-Furi-like. “We have a biology test this Friday, remember?”
“Oh, please, I could catch her up on every chapter we’re covering in my sleep. Without making her fall asleep, by the way, as your instruction seems to do so well—"
Layla scoffs. Valentina pauses. Isabel facepalms. And here she’d been hoping that the brightest bulbs in Unicorn Academy could’ve learned something from their dorm’s last set of screaming matches.
Eh. Just one of many reasons she’s never really been in the same weight class as them, brain-wise.
Ow, ow, ow. And she won’t ever be a contender, brain-wise, if Val keeps taking the ends of her hair like they’re the toughest reins she’s ever tugged on. “Are you saying Furis aren’t natural-born teachers?”
“I’m saying that your priorities currently lie elsewhere,” Layla replies, cool as ice. “Also, how is it my fault that Isabel would rather run a triathon than go to bed at a reasonable hour?”
“Hey!” Isabel interrupts. The other two look at her. Nice to know they know she’s in the room, honestly. And she can’t say Layla’s wrong about either Val’s intentions or Isabel’s dedicated training routine, but she can try rerouting her roommate to a wonderful place far, far away where her newly grown spine won’t give Isabel a bald patch. “You guys wanna break the harmony bond again? Man, just let Val do her thing.”
Valentina’s iron grip loosens at last. Isabel whips her head around for two reasons: first, to confirm all of Valentina’s yanking haven’t paralysed her from the neck up; second, to wipe a big, smug smirk off Valentina’s face. “And you — lay off Layla, so she can do her thing and gimme the crash course on cellular perspiration.”
“Respiration,” comes a prompt correction, courtesy of two voices.
A blink. “Uh, duh. I knew that. You just heard me wrong ‘cause of all your yelling.” Neither speaker nor listeners are convinced this is the truth. Isabel sighs, then turns to face Layla again. “Okay, Coach, ready to listen and learn.”
“But Valentina isn’t doing her thing correctly, which I believe is why you are neither listening nor learning.”
Valentina freezes. “Excuse me?”
Isabel facepalms again, leaving just enough space between her fingers to see if Layla’s fainted yet. Was this how everyone else felt when she stirred shit with Val? God, maybe Ava had a point with all her mushy friendship bracelet stuff. Food for thought, assuming the sharp chemical scent from all Val’s bubbly hair care stuff hasn’t eaten her neuroses alive.
Layla’s buried her face in her textbook, as if its gilded pages can protect her from whatever wildfire’s burning through Val’s throat right this second. She gulps enough air to last her to the bottom of the ocean. Then, off to the races. “You comb her hair with your fingers even though you have several brushes at your disposal, which suggests you don’t trust your own styling products enough to execute your vision, which is surprising, given your frequent bragging about brand names. You keep undoing your, well, minimal progress whenever Isabel speaks, which implies you would rather hear her voice than accomplish the task at hand, which is, for you, and for lack of a better term, very weird. And, even though Isabel’s ponytails don’t exactly call for microscopic precision due to their diameter, you get so close to her scalp, it almost looks like you’re sniffing it–”
“Hey, remember your cute little ice cave? The one Cinder will make a slushy the second I tell him to?”
Water off Layla’s back. “You’re capable of fixing Rory’s braids in less than five minutes. All you need to do now, so that Isabel can get an education and you can get your beauty sleep, is stop getting distracted by…” She squints at Valentina and (a happily uneducated) Isabel, takes a moment to think through all her hypotheses. Very wrong hypotheses, hopefully. Isabel holds her breath. “Her usage of unicorn shampoo?”
“I get that sleeping a few feet away from her might’ve broken your nose, but it’s really difficult for those of us that do to ignore the whole barnyard musk thing. Unless you’re secretly using Mister Tansy’s lab equipment to make human shampoo she’ll actually use, you’ll let me fix her braids, however long that takes, and you’ll let me do it tonight.” Composed commentator Valentina makes a spectacular return, rambling on and on and on, letting Isabel’s brain turn off. Back to sneering, for her, back to acting like there isn’t another reason they want some private time, for them. The conga line of justifications falls off her tongue with ease, tone distantly pissed, the way it would be if the dwerpins cooked her oatmeal a minute too long, far from the way Isabel thinks it should be if tonight was supposed to be another d—
Isabel exhales.
Huffs, actually, if she’s being honest. Which is something Valentina might never be, when it comes to the stuff that matters. Which is something she could’ve figured out sooner, probably, if not for all the concussions.
The sooner she accepts that revelation from Captain Obvious, the sooner she can focus on stuff that matters to her. Like setting up healthy competition with her hundred per cent platonic archnemesis, or figuring out a new reason to blow off Layla’s lectures.
But, like, riling up Val’s mattered to her for a long while now, so she smiles a tight smile and mutters, “Here I was thinking I was special.”
Valentina smacks the back of her scalp. “Are you kidding me? I only fixed Cloud Boy’s braids because he’d somehow gotten all the gum he’d wanted to put on my heels in his own hair. This is obviously different.”
In spite of herself (and the slight sting of that slap), Isabel wants to hear her out. Easier said than done, with her traitorous ears being flushed to hell and back. Val presses on— “Let’s just say there’s a reason I wanted to do this in private.” —pauses; flushes, too— “And still want to do this in private, if you do.”
Something about the way she says that last part brightens a bulb above Isabel’s head. A smirk lights up her face as she spins around, the response on her tongue let out lowly and slowly. “So that is what you meant by your hair is literally painful to look at, let me fix it tonight, or else.”
Balked in her ear, in that exact voice: “That is so not how my voice sounds.”
“Whatever you say. Could’a just asked me out like a normal person, you know. I would’ve said—”
Layla shuts her book with a jump-worthy thump. “Look, I have no idea what you’re whispering about, but for the sake of your enrollment, I hope it can wait until Saturday. This test is worth 0.5 percent of our total grade. Isabel, that could be the difference between a D and a C for you.”
Tempting offer. Before Isabel can respond (she isn’t sure she can respond, really, without crushing Layla’s heart like gym chalk in her complete and utter contentedness with scoring anything above an F-), Val leans in close. It’s almost romantic, the brush of warm breath against skin. Almost, because she hisses like a spitfire: “Would you get her out of here?”
“Aw, a question instead of an order,” Isabel deflects. Funny how quick Valentina Furi can get snuffed out by plain ol’ Val, on occasion. “Next thing you know, you’ll be sayin’ please and thank you.”
Her optimism is rewarded with a shove from a hair dryer straight to the muscled back. Isabel stands up with a perfunctory snicker. What? In Layla terms, it’s basically another law of the metaphysical universe: most of the time, Valentina knows best. Most of the time, Valentina is really annoying about knowing best, sometimes to the point of making things worse, but when it comes to throwing people out her room and leaving zero wiggle room for their return… yeah, Isabel’s gonna go with her judgement on this one. Even if that judgement is, like, as judgmental as humanly possible.
Arriving at the doorway, cocking her head to the side, “Yo, come with me a sec.”
They take their leave under the heat of Valentina’s laser vision, the hurricane shot out the hair dryer at their hinds. Isabel brings a hand up to the back of her neck, picking long strands away from sweaty skin. Hand’s clammy, too, so beats her, if that even worked. Hour’s swallowed the hall in darkness, dashed by some faint blue and yellow lights further out. Good. Makes it harder to read Layla’s expression as they exit.
“I take it you’ve finally decided to join me in exploring the beautiful world of cellular biology.” Layla grins. Not hard enough, apparently. “A very smart decision.”
“That I am not making.”
The grin drops. “Are—are you being serious?” A very good question. Just one she’s not getting an answer to. “Let’s reiterate, you would risk a possible failing grade to get your hair done? And by Valentina, who, need I remind you, spends most of her time either pulling your hair out or indirectly making you pull your hair out?”
“Look, I appreciate you calling it a possible failing grade.” Isabel pinches the bridge of her nose. Half of her hopes the pressure’ll break it. Pool of blood would get her out of explaining the electromagnetic properties of Val’s identity crisis between sparring partner and secret softie hairdresser. “And no offence, but this is the first time Val’s, like, invited me into her room with a temp below one million Fahrenheit, and I’m not throwing away this shot just to bump my grade up to something without a minus. Dude, this is big. Proves things between her and I have been heating up for real.”
“Her and me.” A reflexive correction. A retrospective sputter. “Wait, what do you mean heating up? Human-to-human transmission of Cornicove Fever has never been recorded, and its incubation period is far too short—”
Isabel tsks, turns Layla around by the tense shoulders. “Forget it. C’mon, roomie, you’ll have way more fun at the library without some dummy like me asking you why cells do aerobics. Val just needs me tonight.” Could be the other way around. Could be another way around. Only one way to find out, Isabel figures, and Layla’s standing in the way of it. Over her shoulder, flippantly, “Copy your notes at breakfast, cool?” And she’s almost broken out into a sprint back through the hall when—
“You should know,” Layla blurts out. “I’d originally planned on tutoring Ava this evening.”
Just what Isabel needed: another reason to feel bad for the girl who’d taken it upon herself to drag everyone in Sapphire Dorm to graduation. She skids to a halt. Sucks air through her teeth, sympathetic. “She bailed too?”
“For a picnic with Sophia. What do you think they’re up to now?” Flex of Layla’s fingers against her book—four taps, quick succession. “Braiding each other’s hair as well, perhaps?”
In the nick of time, Isabel’s saved all the trouble of thinking by Rory, top half in black-and-yellow uniform, bottom half decked in heart-dotted boxers, both halves endangering all of the dorm’s decor as he shows off an essay (its title almost as large as its truly impressive grade of EMERGING) while still half-wearing a fluffy sleep mask. All these years, Isabel’s still not sure where he sleeps, if he sleeps. Doesn’t matter, really. Important thing is Isabel’s sure he needs Layla’s help a lot more than she does. She leaves Layla with a pat on the back, some recommendation she test how long Glacier can freeze a person in time right now, and makes her great escape.
Back at the doorway. She tries to shake some loose hair out her face. Fails. Tries to ignore the quirk of Val’s lips. Fails.
“Nah, you grouching at my roommate and kicking me out to kick her out was real cute.” Isabel says, sliding next to her on the bed. If the last few minutes have been any indication, waiting for an invitation with this girl was just waiting for trouble to interrupt. “So was the offer to fix my hair. Or else.”
“I meant that I needed to fix the crime against eyesight that was your hair," Val says. Doesn’t pass by Isabel, that she’s started avoiding eye contact. "Nothing else.”
“Your priorities sure look like they’re lying elsewhere right now.”
“Stop talking that way.”
And they were back to the orders instead of questions. Nice while it lasted. Two steps forward and such. Besides, Isabel’s figured out a couple ways to level the playing field, whenever Val wanted to escape the moment on her high horse.
I have a feeling something bad will happen to Valentina next season the Furi curse is coming for her I just know it, Mona lost an eye, ms Furi got trapped under a falling temple and hurt her leg and Serena has fallen off a cliff and is probably injured something big will happen to Valentina next episode and either she will get hurt or she will have to witness another Furi getting hurt
Chapter Summary: As the society begins engaging in their greatest battle yet, multiple individuals are forced to reveal and reflect upon the complicated truths of their pasts.
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