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Laurie is indeed meant to be Wallflower, as she was early on before befriending Wind Dancer and coming out of her shell some-she did seem a touch snarky at that point, though she didn't get overly much chance to show it.
"Where's the lab?" Laurie asked and Scott told her too explicitly for her to claim she was lost.
Now Laurie stood in Hank's lab, hands shoved her into her pockets, watching the blue guy. She had no idea what learning to use her powers would mean, only that she was to meet with Mr. McCoy today. Good. More than math or history, especially more than krav maga, she needed to learn control.
Leaving home wasn't her idea. Okay, she admitted things had been bad at school, but so what? Nobody liked school. And was it her fault? She had done everything she could. She didn't ask Trenton to approach her. Or Victoria. Besides—some people deserved it.
"Have a seat."
"I'm fine here."
"Okay. You're not afraid of mice, are you?"
The question startled Laurie. For the first time since arriving here, she raised her eyes and dropped the scowl. "What?"
"Mice," Hank repeated. He lifted a wire cage and set it on the table. Inside, a little white mouse stood in the corner, its whiskers twitching. Its front paws were splayed out, trying to balance even so close to the floor. The little thing was visibly trembling.
Laurie stiffened. Mice. She hated mice! Creepy little tappy-clawed monsters! Trying not to look scared, she clenched her jaw and stepped forward, putting her face close to the cage.
"Hey there, mousy."
Filthy little rat. This close, she could smell it, a mix of animal and pee and wood shavings. Its beady eyes had evil in them.
The mouse squeaked and tunneled into its wood shavings.
"We can find another way to make this work."
"It's fine."
"If you're afraid of mice—"
"Who said I'm afraid of mice?" Laurie demanded.
Hank shrugged. "Okay." He seemed not to believe her, but did not make the offer again. "He's afraid. Your challenge for today is to calm him down."
She raised her eyebrows at that. "Calm him down?" she repeated. Was he insane? "It's a mouse! It's not like it's gonna listen to reason!"
"What is your gift?"
"You want me to use my gift."
"I want you to answer the question," Hank replied evenly. He did not sound annoyed with her, and Laurie found that bothered her a bit. She was being stubborn and refusing to give on this. As an adult, Hank was supposed to be annoyed.
She heaved an aggrieved sigh. "I emit, like, pheromones. I can make people feel what I feel."
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to have a seat?"
"I said I'm fine!"
It wasn't that Laurie regretted losing her temper. It wasn't her fault! She didn't even want to be here, she didn't want to talk about things or look at some dumb mouse. She didn't want to be in trouble, either, and that she regretted.
There would be consequences. There always were.
"A graph is basically a visual representation of data. See, this is what you know," Doug explained, indicating two sets of numbers inside parentheses, "and this," the outline of a graph, "is what those points are telling you. Except," he realized, "this is wrong, you should have a positive slope. That means the line goes up."
Scott traced the line, not quite touching the paper, right to left. They sat at a table in the library, Scott's algebra book and mangled homework in front of them. Doug was easily twice the other boy's size, but hardly the typical skull-brained bruiser.
On the contrary, he actually understood algebra.
"Fair enough," Doug replied, "but it has to go up from left to right. See, this is actually 4 on the y axis—which is vertical. Your axes are mislabeled."
"Your axes are mislabeled." The retort came from Ororo, who dropped herself into a chair opposite them. She clearly had no idea what 'axes' meant, but had picked up basic insult patterns. "I need to trade weeks with one of you."
Doug looked at Scott, then back to Ororo. "I understand, but the metaphorical usage of weeks eludes me." He never meant to do it, but words stuck so easily in his mind. After a pause, he translated into Humanspeak, "I don't know what you want."
She explained, "I don't want to clean the kitchen tonight. Or this week, at all. Trade with me. I'll take your next turn."
"Why?" Doug asked, the question stretching to two syllables in skepticism. He was a nice guy, not a stupid one.
"'Cause."
"You're being evasive."
"You're being an asshole."
"You want something from us," Scott reminded her gently, glancing up from his algebra homework. That had the majority of his attention: the graph needed to be re-re-done, because somehow he had messed it up again. His line didn't have a positive slope.
"I'm paired up with Laurie," she explained. "I can't be around Laurie."
Doug went quiet. Ororo practically steamed at the mention of Laurie, having needed all of two days to determine that disliking wouldn't suffice. She needed to actively despise Laurie. So he clamped his jaw, sure anything he said would only make matters worse.
"She's not so bad," Scott murmured, his eyes on the paper again. He was, Doug thought, strangely uncomfortable for a mundane situation.
"Have you actually spoken to her?" Ororo challenged.
"Sometimes…" Scott trailed off. His tongue flicked over his lips like dryness was the problem. "People need time."
"Sycophant."
"I'll clean the kitchen as long as you stay there. You don't have to talk, just be there." There was something strange in him as he said it, something Doug couldn't quite put his finger on, but Scott was a difficult person not to trust.
Ororo sighed. "Fine. Good enough. Deal." She thrust her hand out so suddenly Scott jumped back in his seat. When he realized she only meant to shake on it, Scott edged forward and took her hand.
"Deal."