ISSY (easy) || Completed √

1. Love for something shiny

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All that glitters isn't gold.
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This story all began when Isabelle and her best friend, Emily, finally won in pressuring their individual guardians to take the offer and allow them study in Badmus High.

Attending Badmus High has been a dream of every Nigerian teenager, because it was considered one of the best schools in Nigeria. So as soon as the opportunity came knocking, the two girls didn't hesitate in jumping at it. Mrs. Juliet Onyenorah, Isabelle's mom, found it concerning that a school was ready to accept final year students without the usual entrance examination while Jane Obinna, Emily's Aunt, was drawn in by the exclusive benefits Badmus High had to offer. As said by an advocate of the school, the fee would be cut as this was a means to promote the school's reputation and bring in more talents.

Despite Mrs. Onyenorah's suspicion, her husband was on Jane's side, so they proceeded with registration.

It was a Sunday and Isabelle and Emily were at a salon, fixing up their hair for the next day.

“Wow. Look at the size of their football field,” Emily gaped and Isabelle leaned in to see, but her hairdresser wouldn't let her as she gripped a couple of strands.

“Ouch,” Isabelle winced.

“Sorry. Stay one place so it'll not pain you,” was the hairdresser's advice.

Isabelle frowned and crossed her arms.

“See, see,” Emily said and held her phone in between them, so Isabelle could see from the corner of her eyes.

“That's a school field?” Isabelle wowed.

“Wait, till you see the library. It'll throw you off,” Emily said and winced when her own hairdresser pulled at her hair. “Easy na.”

“Sorry. Just stay one place,” the lady told Emily.

“Am I not staying one place? You sha want to tear my hair (you just want to ruin my hair).”

“Emmy,” Isabelle called.

“Abegi (please).”

Though it was in murmurs, Isabelle could tell Emily's hairdresser was muttering profanities at Emily and Isabelle eyed the lady evilly.

Soon, the two were done with their hair and were on their way home.

“I hope there are cute boys there,” Emily leaned in to say, one arm around Isabelle's.

“My own is I hope the workload isn't much. I'm happy we're attending this school o, but this one we're resuming on second week. I hope I won't have to write so many notes.”

“Mtchew. Anyone I can write, I'll write. Me I can not come and go and kill myself away (I can't stress myself).”

Isabelle giggled, not only at what Emily said, but also at her choice of words. Eight years ago, Emily was still living with her parents in England and had a deep British accent. But after spending the following eight years in Nigeria, it was impossible not to have been corrupted by the popular slangs of the country.

Emily suddenly sucked in a breath, finger tapping the edge of her hair. “I hope I don't have to be making my hair every week in this new school, because I can't deal with this.”

“Why'd we be doing that?”

Isabelle knew why Emily would want such. Emily had natural curls that were as stubborn as the owner. They've tried every relaxer in the book, yet the hair remained the same. Isabelle sometimes teased Emily that it'd be until Emily stopped being stubborn that her hair would succumb.