Chapter Text
The sky above Nevermore Academy was the same colour as a bruise, dark and swollen. Wednesday Addams considered this a good omen. She told her parents that the nice weather had changed her mind, and the chances of her not attempting to escape had now doubled. Mathematically, this was untrue; zero multiplied by two was still zero. But the lie had placated her parents and ended the conversation, which was the real victory.
The gates groaned open as the car rolled up the drive, her father’s chatter a distant hum behind the rain smattering the windows. He had been singing the praises of Nevermore since they’d left home, recounting tales of his own ‘golden days’ at the school. Wednesday doubted any of them were as golden as he remembered. She had heard all about how Nevermore had been the place he’d met her mother many times over.
She stepped out before the car had even stopped. The smell of wet earth and worn stone filled her lungs, sharp and grounding. The main building loomed above her like a cathedral designed by a maniac with a fondness for secrets. Gargoyles hunched above the eaves, dripping rainwater onto the flagstones. Somewhere in the distance, thunder echoed her approval for the architecture.
A woman in a fitted blue suit stood waiting at the base of the entry stairs, hands clasped neatly in front of her. Even without introduction, Wednesday knew this was the principal. There was only one person who could look that polished amidst the teenage chaos she was about to step into.
Larissa Weems had a smile that was practiced and precise. “Welcome to Nevermore, Wednesday. I trust the journey was pleasant?”
Wednesday didn’t return the smile. “I would not describe four hours trapped in a car with my parents as pleasant.”
Weems didn’t waver in her enthusiasm, but something akin to understanding flickered in her eyes. “I see. Well, let’s hope Nevermore provides a much-needed change of scenery for you.”
“It will provide a change of incarceration,” Wednesday replied. “It looks like the bars are less visible here.”
“Your reputation precedes you, Miss Addams.” If Weems was unsettled by the remark, she hid it well. “I hope you’ll find our curriculum stimulating enough to … channel your energy in a more productive manner. Now, let’s give your parents a chance to catch up before I show you to your room.”
Wednesday didn’t answer, nor did she wait. She just turned and walked off into the school, cataloguing the halls as Principal Weems and her parents hurried along behind her. Mother and Father murmured unintelligible words to Weems behind her, no doubt providing the principal with the most up-to-date version of the How to Control Wednesday Addams handbook.
The portraits stared as they passed and a faint smell of ozone clung to the air like static. She shuddered when distant laughter echoed up from the quad, grating her ears like scraping fingernails across a chalkboard. Despite its welcoming exterior, Nevermore hummed with barely restrained strangeness from giving teenagers free roam.
The portraits weren’t the only eyes she felt on her as she was toured through the school. Her peers gawked at her as she strode past, oblivious to the fact she could hear their whispers quite clearly. Cannibalism, double homicide and arson were all potential reasons for her previous expulsion and subsequent mid-semester enrolment. But despite her audience of teenage morons, Wednesday could feel another pair of eyes on her, even when it was just her, Weems and her parents.
She assumed it was just a curious ghost. Someone had to have died here previously. It just shouldn’t have felt so familiar.
They stopped before a door at the top of a spiral staircase. “This will be your dormitory.” Weems said. “Your roommate is already inside.”
Wednesday’s brow arched. “Roommate?”
“Yes,” Weems said lightly. “We believe cohabitation fosters mutual understanding.”
“Between predators and prey?”
“Between classmates,” Weems corrected, though her voice already had a tinge of exasperation.
When her mother read the number inscribed on the door, she let out a pleased gasp. “Oh Larissa, our old room?” She swooned. “The magic of Nevermore is alive and well.” Her father gave a hearty laugh at that.
Our? Wednesday now understood where the manipulative grip of her mother had been developed. She’d teethed her feelers here on her own unsuspecting roommate. Wednesday was begrudgingly impressed that Weems had somehow managed to keep her sanity intact.
Principal Weems allowed a small crack of a smile to glance across her features. “There were two other availabilities, but when I saw how perfect this opportunity was, I simply couldn’t resist.”
“You have chosen wonderfully, Larissa,” Gomez said. “Our little poison berry will come to appreciate the significance of such a choice. To carve her own path and leave her own mark on this school, while honouring the generations that walked these halls before her! Marvelous!”
Wednesday rolled her eyes, while her mother threw love daggers with hers. But her father wasn’t done with his spiel.
“I just hope your roommate is as formidable as you are. That you drag each other to new heights, as you challenge each other emotionally, mentally and maybe even physically.”
Disgusting. The grin Gomez shot slyly between Morticia and Principal Weems made her want to puke all over their shoes.
To her further displeasure, Weems smirked and turned the handle with the air of someone unveiling a new exotic exhibit. “I’ll leave the introductions up to you while I discuss some of the finer points of your enrollment with your parents.”
The door clicked shut behind her. Wednesday took two steps in and immediately considered arson. One side of the room was a riot of colour, with posters, fairy lights, stuffed animals and bedding so pink it made her eyes ache. The other side, still bare and waiting, was a blissful reprieve. A line of tape ran down the middle of the room, separating order from chaos.
In between the two sides, a large circular window opened out to a view over a large, grassy courtyard backing onto the forest that surrounded the school. Half of the window shimmered with colour that set Wednesday’s insides on edge and sent an itch crawling up her skin.
From the offensive half came a burst of movement. A blonde girl spun around, earbuds dangling from one ear, and beamed at her.
“Howdy roomie!” she said, voice bright enough to kill small plants. “I’m Enid Sinclair! Your new roommate!”
Wednesday stared at her. “I gathered as much.”
Enid bound closer, undeterred. “Everyone has been talking about you. Expelled from your old school for, what was it, an attempted murder?”
“Self-defence, of the social justice variety,” Wednesday corrected. “The authorities didn’t see it that way.”
“Cool,” Enid’s grin widened. “I mean, not cool that you almost killed someone, but, like, cool that you stood up for yourself! You’ll fit right in here, Nevermore is perfect for people who don’t exactly blend.”
“I’m not interested in blending,” Wednesday said. “I’m interested in isolation.”
“Oh, sure!” Enid smiled, blinding her with optimism. “You’ll come around before you know it.”
Wednesday needed to get out as soon as possible. She hoped Enid’s enthusiasm was an exception and not the status quo.
“Why the tape?” Wednesday asked.
“Oh! It’s the best way for me to keep my stuff on my side of the room. Might make things a bit easier for you to settle in!”
The girl radiated positivity like fire radiated heat, uncontrollable and dangerous if one stood too close for too long. Her hair gleamed even under the dim dorm lights, and her nails were printed with tiny paw prints. A werewolf, then.
“Don’t worry, I won’t shed on your stuff,” Enid said cheerfully, reading her thoughts and watching her eyes.
She said this with the same bubbly charm, but Wednesday could feel the undercurrent of loneliness. But this wasn’t preferred independence, like her own. Under the surface, Enid was begging for connection. When Wednesday squinted her eyes to see past all that colour, she noted Enid’s facial symmetry and masterful yet unnecessary makeup application. This alone should’ve made her popular, if Wednesday’s previous stints at high school had taught her anything.
She dropped her suitcase on the empty bed. “Your attempt at reassurance is just as effective as your interior decorating.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Enid said, utterly unfazed. “Eventually.”
“I would not count on it. I’ll have escaped by the end of the week.”
Before Wednesday could insult Enid’s cheerfulness further, a soft knock came at the door. She stepped over to open it, revealing Weems and her parents, standing right where she’d left them. Gomez was dabbing a handkerchief at silent tears, while Morticia had an arm raised around her husband in support.
“Goodbye, my darling,” her mother said, stepping forward to press air-kisses to her cheeks as she lightly grazed her palms across Wednesday’s shoulders. “I hope you have the most wonderful time here, like we did.”
She scowled in displeasure as her mother stepped back, allowing her father to step in and take over. The bear hug she was forced to endure nearly knocked her off her feet but she managed to stay upright, arms pinned by her sides. When he finally let go, Gomez straightened himself and fixed his slightly askew tie.
“And remember mi tormenta-,” he started.
A tiny smirk etched itself on her lips. “Fight dirty,” she finished, echoing the family's unspoken rule of combat.
Wednesday turned back into the room, grabbing the typewriter case Lurch had left by the door. By the time she’d placed it down on her desk and returned to grab her cello, her parents and Weems were gone. Enid now lay flat on her bed on her phone, seemingly oblivious to the room around her.
She catalogued the items in front of her, to prioritise the most efficient way to unpack. Hang up the clothes first, to prevent the travel creases becoming permanent. Set up the typewriter second, so any damage that occurred during the journey could be fixed. Tune her cello third, in case she wants to practice before bed.
The last sweater went up on a hangar, clothes arranged by function rather than colour, before another knock sounded on the door. Wednesday remained silent, but Enid called out “Come in!”
Perhaps she was less oblivious than Wednesday thought. Or the full moon tonight was heightening her senses.
The door opened to reveal a woman with auburn hair, bright eyes and a pair of boots so brightly red Wednesday thought she might’ve accidentally put a foot through a corpse. She also possessed the first genuine smile from an adult she’d seen today.
“Sorry to interrupt, girls,” she said. “Wednesday, I’m Marilyn Thornhill, Ophelia Hall’s dorm mother. I just wanted to check in and make sure you were settling ok.”
“Fine,” Wednesday said flatly.
“Wonderful!” Thornhill’s smile didn’t falter. “Your uniforms are ready to collect from Principal Weems’ office. If you need anything, extra blankets, advice on getting into Weems’ good graces, more orientation info or you just have a question, my door is always open.”
“I do have a question,” Wednesday said. “Does the school believe in the use of corporal punishment?”
Thornhill blinked, then laughed. “Are you planning on breaking the rules, Wednesday?”
“Don’t mind her, Ms Thornhill.” Enid interjected. “Wednesday’s got this whole macabre thing going on.”
“I’ve noticed,” Thornhill said lightly. Her gaze lingered on Wednesday for a moment longer than necessary. Not wary, but interested. “Travel into Jericho, the nearby town, is permitted but your best behaviour is expected. It’s a twenty-five minute walk, and there’s a bus shuttle on weekends.” Thornhill looked around the room again, smiling at both girls. “Well, you two enjoy your evening. Welcome to Nevermore, Wednesday.”
When she was gone, Enid flopped back onto her bed and pulled out her phone. “Isn’t she so cool? She’s, like, the nicest teacher here. Which is crazy considering she’s also the only normie teacher this school has ever had.”
Wednesday said nothing. She was still keeping an eye on the door as she pulled her typewriter from its case, the faint scent of Thornhill’s floral perfume lingering in the shared space.
When she put the cover back over the ink ribbons she’d just replaced, she sat down with a scrap page to confirm it was ready for use. Enid looked up from the comfy armchair she’d moved to, interested in the antique on her new roommates desk.
“You know, most people do their homework on a laptop,” she said with a laugh.
“I use a typewriter when I’m working on my novel,” Wednesday answered. “I dedicate an hour to it each day, during which absolute silence is required.”
She stood up suddenly, turning to the door. “What corner is the principal’s office located in?” Wednesday asked.
“North-eastern, I think? I can come with you,” Enid offered brightly, already half out of her chair.
Wednesday did not require an escort to retrieve a uniform. Unfortunately, Enid had not yet learned this.
“It’s a big school and you’ve literally been here for, like, two hours. You don’t even know where the dining hall is.”
“I am capable of navigating hallways,” Wednesday replied, tying her laces with deliberate precision. They weren’t loose, but she didn’t want to risk getting them tangled if a quick getaway was required. “Believe it or not, I have done so since childhood.”
“Of course you have,” Enid hesitated, rocking back on her heels. “I just thought-”
“You thought incorrectly,” Wednesday cut in. “Don’t you have your own friends to occupy you?” She added with surgical cruelty.
The words landed exactly where intended. Enid laughed, a quick and brittle sound that tried very hard to pass as genuine. “Yeah, totally! I mean, duh.”
Wednesday did not watch her for a reaction as she left. Watching would have implied interest.
It didn’t take long before Wednesday was standing in front of a pair of tall oak doors that nearly reached the ceiling. She knocked once, hard, and stepped back to await a response. When none came, she twisted the handle to find it unlocked and slipped inside.
Elaborate candelabras lined the walls, the orange glow of firelight washing over the room in front of drawn curtains. Expensive furniture lay about in front of the solid desk, projecting an image of regality. Black garments adorned a side table and she grabbed the entire pile after giving them a onceover to confirm they met her required specifications. Wednesday exited the room once more, in the process of adjusting her arrival checklist when a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Settling in already, Miss Addams?”
Miss Thornhill stood in the doorway, hands folded neatly at her waist. Her expression was warm in a way Wednesday found deeply suspicious.
“I have acquired the necessary textiles and have taken note of important locations around campus,” Wednesday said flatly. “If that constitutes settling in, then yes.”
Thornhill smiled. “I meant with your roommate.”
Wednesday paused, one eyebrow inching upwards. “My roommate is loud and chromatically offensive. I anticipate she will request a room change by the end of the week.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Thornhill replied lightly. “Opposites have a way of balancing each other out. Bringing out the best.”
“I don’t back down from challenges,” Wednesday said. “And I do not improve with prolonged exposure.”
Thornhill only smiled wider, as though this was charming rather than alarming. “We’ll see. I look forward to having you in my class, Wednesday.”
Without another word, Thornhill turned and walked away.
When she returned to the dorm, the room was empty. A single note sat on her desk, written in looping, aggressively cheerful glitter-pen scrawl.
gone to hang out with my friends xo
Wednesday smirked. Victory, it seemed, was inevitable. She was nothing but efficient.
The new uniforms were put away quickly, with one set left out for use tomorrow. The final task was to take the cello out of its case and set up the stand it rested on. When she was finally unpacked, the time had just ticked past five thirty.
Dinner time.
By the time Wednesday reached the dining hall, the initial novelty of Nevermore had already begun to wear thin. The vaulted ceiling above allowed the echo of conversation and clinking cutlery to linger in the air like magic.
She chose a seat at a shockingly empty table, setting her tray down and straightening the edge so it aligned perfectly. Tonight’s meal contained a mixture of mysterious items that looked like death was lurking around the corner. Most poisons looked safer to consume.
Across the room, she spotted Enid immediately, as bright as an emergency flare, wedged in between two other girls. Her mouth never stopped moving in between eating and speaking. Wednesday catalogued the sight without comment and turned her attention back to her food.
The whispers had started as soon as she sat.
She ignored them.
Eyes followed her as she cut into her meal, her posture straight, movements economical. The stares were predictable, a combination of curiosity, suspicion and poorly disguised judgement. She had been the subject of public fascination before. It had bored her then, too.
Halfway through her meal, a shadow fell across her plate.
“Why’s someone as cute as you sitting all alone at dinner, new girl?”
Wednesday did not look up. She continued eating, unfazed. There was a pause, then-
“-ahem.” The boy cleared his throat, louder this time. “Why’s someone as cute as you sitting all alone at dinner?”
Still nothing.
She felt him lean closer, impatience radiating off him in waves. When she finally lifted her gaze, she did so slowly, meeting his eyes with a look that suggested she was assessing whether he posed a threat worth neutralising.
His greasy, long hair and lanky frame suggested he was not. The smug look he had plastered on his face suggested he was.
“Are you deaf? I said-”
“I heard what you said,” Wednesday replied calmly. “Your foolish and, quite frankly, embarrassing attempt at what you might call ‘flirting’ didn’t necessitate a response.”
A ripple moved through the dining hall. Chairs shifted, turning to watch. In the back, someone snorted.
The boy’s smile tightened. “Whatever.” He scoffed, hiding his irritation poorly. “What’s your name anyway, new girl? I’m-” He started, extending his hand.
“I know who you are, Xavier Thorpe.”
She did not take his hand.
The pause this time was heavier. All eyes were trained on them now.
“You… you do?”
“I was at your grandmother's funeral,” Wednesday said evenly. “I heard a noise coming from a coffin in another room, so I opened it hoping to find a reanimated corpse. Imagine my disappointment when instead, I found a snivelling pre-pubescent boy bawling his eyes out, begging someone to come save him.”
Laughter burst around the hall. Xavier’s face flushed. “That was you? But you had-”
“Short hair?” Wednesday tilted her head. “My brother snuck behind me with a pair of clippers the week prior. I was unaware he possessed the speed required to best me with stealth, but it certainly didn’t help Pugsley when I hunted him down afterwards.”
Xavier ran a hand through his unkempt and untied locks instinctively, trying to recover. “Guess I just have a thing for girls with intense hair.”
“Your hair looks like it’s desperately trying to distract from the absence of substance beneath it. Now leave, before I decide to do you a favour and rip it out from the roots.”
The dining hall erupted. Xavier laughed along with them, a little too loudly, palms raised in mock surrender. “Okay, tough crowd. Let me know if you change your mind and wanna hang.”
Wednesday watched him retreat, unimpressed. Her gaze drifted, unimpeded, across the room. Enid was watching her.
Their eyes met for a second, Enid smiling with something bright and unreadable in her expression, before she looked away, suddenly very interested in whatever the girl in sunglasses next to her was saying.
She finished the rest of her dinner in silence. The whispers faded as she stood and placed her tray on the cleaning rack, making her way out of the hall. She didn’t look back.
When she returned to her room, something felt off. Then she saw it.
Her pillow had been moved two inches to the left.
Enid hadn’t returned to taunt her with pranks yet. She crept further into the room, head on a swivel to catch any hint of movement. A flicker under her bed cover drew her attention where a small mound tried its best to flatten as much as possible.
Wednesday waited and waited, hovering over her misshapen cover like a predator about to strike.
Without warning, she pounced, diving through the air to pin the mysterious shape down. Whatever it was struggled, but it couldn’t find a way to escape her vice grip. She wrenched back her covers with one arm to reveal a disembodied hand, held together by a myriad of stitches and mysterious magic.
Wednesday lifted the offender into the air. “Hello, Thing. Spying for Mother and Father, are we?”
The hand continued thrashing silently to escape capture. He desperately tried to sign an explanation, but the firm hold he was trapped in made that difficult. Even an apology was near impossible.
“They are not concerned for my wellbeing,” Wednesday gritted, slamming Thing down onto the desk. “They are trying to reach their meddling fingers into my life from afar, to interfere and turn me into a puppet.”
The squeeze loosened, and Thing was able to sign properly now. His posture drooped in defeat.
“And at the drop of a hat, you’d just change your allegiance?” She taunted. “You’re only doing this to save your own skin. We both know how vain you are.”
The hand offered a sad nod, before bowing in mock servitude. If Wednesday was going to succeed in turning this school on its head and escape by the end of the week, Thing’s skillset would come in handy.
“If I catch a hint of betrayal, I will lock you in this drawer before I escape. You’d slowly go insane, surrounded by total darkness until you’re scratching your smooth, supple skin off.”
Thing cowered in terror under Wednesday’s threats.
“Now come,” Wednesday said. “We have some catching up to do.”
Somehow, she managed to drag her cello onto the balcony through the small door hidden in the panes of the massive window. The chill that met her outside didn’t bother Wednesday, but Thing had somehow managed to pack some of his knitted finger warmers.
When the hand had adjusted enough to regain some control over his digits, he began dutifully turning the pages of sheet music, just like he did at home. Wednesday’s fingers glided across the strings, allowing her beautifully slow rendition of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 to haunt the backdrop of the full moon.
What should’ve sounded frivolous instead sounded like a funeral march. The undercurrent of feelings unable to surface reverberated deep through the music as Wednesday poured every suppressed emotion she had into the tune.
A click behind her caused Wednesday to stop abruptly. She turned, only to see Enid standing meekly near the door with a hand raised in apology.
“Oh my god, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said. “That was so beautiful.”
“It’s fine,” Wednesday huffed. “I was almost finished anyway.”
Wednesday lowered her bow first, then her cello, resting the instrument careful against the stone railing. Thing tried his best to remain as still as possible.
Enid noticed him easily.
“Oh… um, hi,” she said, stiffening on the spot. “That’s a, uh, something.”
Thing lifted two fingers in silent acknowledgement. “That’s Thing. The Addams family’s right hand.” The hand offered another brief, polite wave before he signed something to Wednesday.
Wednesday closed her eyes for half a second. “Of course you do, with an eyesore of colour like that.” she said flatly.
She paused, eyes coming to land on the wolf’s bright nails. Enid straightened at once. “Hey! They’re not an eyesore, they’re expressive.”
Thing tilted his own wrist, wriggling his fingers in a way that suggested he was a fan. He adjusted one of his knitted warmers just enough to reveal his own neatly filed and painted nails beneath.
Wednesday sighed. “He appreciates fine penmanship. Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Oh,” Enid said, a grin creeping back in despite the bizarreness. She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a tightly-guarded secret. “You have got to teach me your cuticle routine.”
Thing leaned in too, rapt, like he was appreciating the talent they each had on display. They stood there, admiring each other’s work even though they had no way of communicating. The positivity was making Wednesday sick.
“It’s a full moon,” she asked out of nowhere. “Why haven’t you transformed?”
Enid’s blue eyes suddenly looked down at the floor, and the girl rocked back and forth on her toes. A nervous sigh was drawn from her lips as Enid looked back up at Wednesday.
“I… I can’t,” Enid said sadly. “This is all I can do.”
She lifted her hands. A moment later, a set of rainbow claws slid out of her perfect nails, each one catching rays of precious moonlight.
When they’d seen enough, Enid let the claws retract and curled her hands into the sleeves of her sweater as if she could hide the evidence away in there.
“Why?” Wednesday asked flatly. It didn’t come out mean, nor did she intend it to, but Enid flinched anyway.
“I don’t know,” Enid said simply, arms dropping to hang by her sides. “Every full moon I can feel my wolf inside, but instead of begging me to let her out all she wants to do is curl up and sleep. My mom thinks I’m a failure, you know, that I’m just not trying hard enough.”
“And if you never transform?”
Enid shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug that pulled her inward rather than one that dismissed the question. “I’ll be kicked out of my pack and forced to live as a lone wolf, with no prospect of finding a mate.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Wednesday responded. Actually, it sounded immensely preferable.
“I could die alone!” Enid cried.
“We all die alone, Enid,” Wednesday said matter-of-factly. “When it’s your time to pass over, no one is there to alter your course.”
Enid stared at her. “You really don’t know how to comfort people, do you?”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She looked away quickly and leaned across the balustrade, blinking too fast. Enid’s shiny eyes didn’t register until the smallest sob reverberated across the balcony. Thing hurried over and rested his fingers gently on Enid’s wrist. There if she needed it.
Wednesday frowned. Comfort was not in her arsenal. She could deal with anger, de-escalate (though she preferred not to) violence and hunt through deflection to find answers. Tears, however, complicated things.
“Why are you crying?” she asked.
“Because I’m upset! What, you’ve never cried before?”
Wednesday hesitated. The last time she cried was ten years ago. She’d vowed to never speak of it again, but maybe that’s what Enid needed right now. To know she wasn’t alone.
“I was six years old,” Wednesday started. “I was taking Nero for a walk-”
Enid turned back to look at her quizzically, tears still swimming in her eyes.
“My pet scorpion,” Wednesday amended. “A group of older Normie boys held me down while they murdered him. They ran him over with bicycles. Multiple times. I buried Nero that afternoon and cried my little black heart out.”
“Oh Wednesday, I’m so sorry,” Enid said sympathetically. She hesitated before stepping forward, arms out in a silent offer. “I really want to introduce those boys to my claws.” When there wasn't any attempt at reciprocation, she awkwardly lowered her arms with a smile. "Not a hugger, got it."
Wednesday turned away. Enid was right, she did not do hugs. “I can arrange an ‘accident’ for her,” she said instead. “If you like.”
“For… who?”
“Your mother,” Wednesday continued.
Enid blinked. “Oh, well, um… thank you Wednesday, but I do still love my mom. And I know she loves me. Just… deep down.”
“If you ever change your mind-” Wednesday began.
“I’ll give you a call,” Enid said with a soft giggle. “Wait, do you even have a phone? I’d usually assume you would, being a teenager and all, but you do also own a typewriter, so…
Wednesday turned back to face her, temporary loss of emotional control over. “I do not own a phone, nor will I possibly ever entertain purchasing one. If you need to contact me, you’ll know where to find me.”
“And if I don’t know where to find you?” Enid asked.
“Then you don’t need to contact me.”
A small, surprised smile tugged at Enid’s mouth before she could stop it.
They stood there for a moment, the moon hanging between them as a witness, before Thing signed something about the cold and scurried back inside.
Eventually, Wednesday lifted the cello. “We should follow,” she said. “The night air will damage the varnish.”
Immediately, Enid offered to help. Admittedly, Wednesday was not the kind of person to accept it. She operated alone, because she was the only person she could trust. Sentient hands didn’t count. And yet, there was something about the genuineness of Enid that caused her to hesitate for the first time in her life.
And so they carried it together, carefully, each aware of the other's presence. Their hands never got close to touch, yet the space between them felt charged.
As they set the cello down inside, Wednesday spoke before her brain could reconsider. “I can teach you,” she said. “How to understand Thing,”
Enid’s eyes lit up and her face broke out into a wide grin. “Really? That’s one of the nicest things someone’s ever offered me.”
Wednesday didn’t look up from where she was packing away her cello equipment, nor did she correct her. What Enid had said probably wasn’t true. Besides, offering to teach her to communicate with Thing was more for the hand’s good, not hers. He needed more friends, Wednesday did not.
Later, Enid came over and gestured to the uniform she’d left out for tomorrow. “You really only wear black?”
“Yes.”
Enid nodded along, like this fit perfectly with the image of Wednesday she had in her pastel-tinted, positive-thinking mind. But that image was bound to expire soon. At her best, Wednesday was indifferent. At her worst, she was downright cruel. So far it seemed Enid was capable of handling her.
“Thornhill said it was, like, an allergy thing?”
Wednesday paused. “Accurate, though I am not a fan of my personal information being shared,” she said. “I break into hives and the skin peels off my bones.”
“Gotcha,” Enid said cheerfully. “Not a hugger, then.”
That assessment was more than acceptable.
Thankfully, Enid kept quiet for the reminder of Wednesday’s bedtime preparation, until just before their light went off.
“She does care, you know. Thornhill. And despite what you might think, that’s not a bad thing,” Enid said. “She really is the nicest teacher.”
The nicest people, in Wednesday’s experience, were often the most dangerous.
She was still thinking about Thornhill as sleep overtook her later that night. Teachers always read her file before she met them in person, and it left her with more enemies than educators. But Thornhill seemed like she wanted to give Wednesday a chance, which was horrifying. Just as horrifying as Enid humming a K-pop song across the room.