Chapter Text
Wednesday first meets Enid beside the sand pit, in fourth grade.
It might be an exaggeration to say that the playground in which Wednesday’s classmates frequent is the most unforgiving place on earth, but it’s not. Children can be very cruel. Wednesday observes this in the way the boys would pull on pigtails just to watch girls cry, the way her peers seek out ants only to grind them under their sneakers.
Another example: Wednesday has chosen to read by herself under a tree behind the sand pit. For no apparent reason, a group of children come up to her, snickering, like they’re laughing at some inside joke. Wednesday quickly grows annoyed. Not because she’s being laughed at, but because they’re interrupting her reading time.
“What?" Wednesday asks.
“What kind of outfit is that?” One of them shoots back, and Wednesday looks down at herself. She’s wearing all black today, which is what she usually wears. So what is it about today that makes her the target of their mockery?
“It’s a dress,” Wednesday answers.
“Yeah, for your dead grandma,” Another boy pipes up, and that elicits a round of laughter. Now Wednesday’s really irritated; it’s been two minutes and none of them have provided anything of value. She’s about to open her mouth, maybe sing that high-pitched sound and see if it would make their ears bleed, when someone starts shouting.
“GWARGH!” A blonde girl pushes through the ring of children, fingers outstretched like she’s going to claw someone’s eyeballs out. Seeing how long her fingernails are, she definitely could. “ROAR! RUARGHHHH!”
Wednesday has no idea what’s happening.
“What is wrong with you?” The same boy asks.
“I’m a werewolf!” She announces, then reverts back to her previous pose. “Stay back or I’ll eat your flesh!”
“Um, guys,” Another one says, staggering back. “Her nails are, like, scary long.”
Wednesday still has no idea what’s happening.
“Ugh, it’s her. This isn’t fun anymore.” The first kid who laughed at her scoffs, turning around. “Let’s go.”
“That’s right!” The blonde kicks the dirt at their feet, sticking her tongue out. “Go! Go! And tell your friends to not be so mean next time! Or I’ll eat you up for dinner!”
The crowd that’s been gathering eventually dissipates. The girl dusts off her hands against her shorts, letting out a satisfied sigh.
“Did you see that?” She grins, putting her hands on her hips. Wednesday finds it impossible to look at her; her shirt’s covered in colourful reflective material. “I totally chased them off!”
“You…” Wednesday pauses for a minute; the girl in front of her looks proud, as if she’s successfully scared away what Wednesday, in reality, considered a pesky inconvenience. There’s no denying that she did chase them away, though. “You did.”
A part of her wants to ask why, but then the girl speaks again.
“I’m Enid. Enid Sinclair!” She sticks her hand out. “Nice to meet you! Are you okay?”
Wednesday tries to get a grasp on this girl’s— Enid’s— personality. It eludes her, at this moment. She takes the hand regardless. “I’m Wednesday Addams.”
It turns out Enid is a werewolf. Not the kind Wednesday sees in the Twilight movies— which, if you ask her, is a mockery of supernatural beings as a whole— no, Enid’s family can legitimately turn into wolves.
“Not a lot of werewolves go to this school,” Enid whispers as if she’s telling a secret. They sit on the creaky swings, buoyed by rusty chains and the occasional gust of wind. “The ones that do are almost all in eighth grade.”
“Really?” Wednesday asks. She’s genuinely curious. She’s never seen a monster in real life, let alone up close like this. Or maybe she had and just didn’t know about it. “No one said anything about that.”
“That’s because we go to school with normies,” Enid explains. “I think if we started shouting it out in public people would start, like, transferring out.”
“Then why did you say it back there?”
“Say what?”
“That you’re a werewolf.”
“Oh,” Enid says, kicking herself off the ground and letting the momentum carry her. “Well, they were being mean. And, like, all the werewolves and vampires and other guys wanna keep their powers on the down low, but I already told everybody from the start. I don’t—” She stops, trying to put her thoughts together. “I don’t think we have to hide ourselves just because some people don’t like us. It’s just common sense.”
Wednesday gives a noncommittal hum in return. She pushes herself forward, swinging slightly along with Enid. She doesn’t say anything, but she’s never agreed more.
Wednesday doesn’t know why Enid keeps coming to her during lunch now. They’re in different classes, which means Enid must have a different circle of friends to hang out with, except she keeps seeking Wednesday out when their breaks coincide, like a moth to a lamp.
“Wednesday!” Enid exclaims, skipping along the sandpit as she arrives at Wednesday’s usual spot. “What are you doing?”
“Reading,” She answers.
Another thing Wednesday doesn’t know: why she hasn’t asked her to go away yet.
Enid plops down beside her, keeping a respectable distance between them. “Reading about?”
“To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.”
“That sounds rough,” Enid frowns, her eyebrows pinching together. “Is the Mockingbird okay?”
“That’s not what the story’s about. Also—” Wednesday closes her eyes. “—I prefer reading in silence.”
“Oh,” Enid presses her lips together. “Okay.”
Wednesday expects Enid to walk away any second now. It’s obvious to Wednesday, even at ten years old, that her silence unnerves people. People surround themselves with noise and drivel, so unsettled by the concept of quiet that they’d rather listen to nonsense than nothing. Enid seems like one of those types. Her fashion sense practically demands attention.
But of course, Enid sits there with her, content with not saying anything.
Wednesday continues reading. She’ll glimpse at Enid when she’s not looking, and when she does, she sees Enid’s gaze trailing along the ground, occasionally opening her mouth to speak before remembering she’s not supposed to. It’s quite amusing to watch, actually. And Wednesday starts to wonder, why does this girl care so much about how she feels?
It’s a question she’s never had to ask before.
The lunch bell rings. Enid perks up, and then she looks at Wednesday. Wednesday just shrugs; they’re meant to go back to class now, and Enid’s still standing there like she doesn’t know what to do.
“I want to say bye,” Enid starts, “But I don’t know if I’m still allowed to talk?”
“Goodbye to you, too,” Wednesday says, tucking her book under her arm and trying not to smile. It’s because Enid’s so hilariously clueless, she thinks. Nothing more than that.
Enid still stays completely silent the next day during lunch period. Wednesday puts her book down, which she’s never had to do. She stares at Enid, who’s squirming uncomfortably; she can practically see the words trying to escape her.
“You can talk, you know,” Wednesday finally says.
Enid breathes. “Oh, thank god.”
This is odd, Wednesday thinks. Because if Enid likes talking, why did she listen to Wednesday anyway? And, if it was because Wednesday told her to, then why follow her when no one else did?
“My dad says to respect people’s bond-drees,” Enid says once Wednesday brings it up. “Respect is, like, kind of a big deal in my home.”
“Boundaries,” Wednesday corrects. Then she realises why she lets Enid spend time with her. Not because of curiosity, or out of boredom, but because she’d simply listened to her. “I didn’t expect you to take what I said so… literally.”
“But what if I didn’t and you started hating me?”
“Why would—” Well, Wednesday wants to say why would you care about that, but instead she settles with, “That’s an odd thing to worry about.”
“It is,” Enid says, and then, without missing a beat, “So can I talk now?”
“As long as I’m not reading.”
“Great, ‘cause I wanted to ask about that book you were reading yesterday.” Enid nods to her, and something about this girl is clearly unusual, because Wednesday feels the corners of her lips twitch imperceptibly upwards.
There are many things Wednesday dislikes.
She dislikes bright colours, for one. Candies with sugar content so high like they’re trying to induce diabetes into the next generation. She hates physical contact, the sound of chewing, the loud, shrill ring of laughter.
Enid is all of these things.
Enid wears a different-coloured sweater every six hours. Wednesday learns that she brings two sweaters every day to school, so she can change into the other one halfway through lessons. She goes through bags of candy bars, chews through a pack of gum like her life depends on it. When Enid laughs, she doesn’t cover her mouth or try to smother the sound; it comes out big and loud, like a bomb going off.
It’s a warm afternoon when Wednesday sits under the tree again. Enid barrels out a minute later, making a beeline for her. She’s sweating profusely, and her body slumps as she sits on the ground next to her, heaving. “P.E. was brutal today,” She says.
“I can tell,” Wednesday notes.
Wednesday hates sweat.
Enid sits as Wednesday flips through her new book, tapping her hands on her legs. Eventually, her movements get slower, her head starts leaning forward, and it’s obvious that Enid’s about to nod off.
“Hey,” Enid begins, still as tentative as ever. “Can I sleep on your shoulder for a little while?”
Wednesday hates physical contact.
She closes her book. Stares at Enid, who’s fighting to stay awake. Her eyelids begin to droop, struggling to keep up with Enid’s obvious attempts at keeping them open. What will Enid have to lose? If she dozes off now, she’ll likely be left with a sore neck.
There's no obligation to help Enid. Except, Enid hates not talking. Enid doesn't like not being able to be close to someone. And she's been able to keep quiet the past few weeks whenever Wednesday's reading, something no one's done for her before.
“Okay,” Wednesday says.
“Thanks,” Enid shifts closer, head resting gently on Wednesday’s shoulder. She gives in to sleep about thirty seconds later.
Wednesday realises she hates just about everything Enid does. Except, as she looks at Enid, who's snoring softly— she's not annoyed by any of it at all. It's one of the great wonders of this world, she thinks.
(And if Enid asks, two days later, if she can lean on her shoulder for a little nap again, Wednesday will find herself unable to refuse.)
Wednesday realises she doesn’t know about a lot of things.
She doesn’t know why people still keep following her in fifth grade. Usually in groups, with mockery and jeers on their tongues. They lob insults at her wherever she goes, about the way she acts, or dresses, or even looks at them. There’s no logic in wasting their time on such frivolous nonsense when they could put that energy into something much more productive.
She also doesn’t know why Enid doesn’t have friends. A question verbalised between two girls under the rustling of leaves, one dressed in black and the other in all shades imaginable. Why do you spend time with me? Wednesday queries. Enid looks at her and Wednesday feels herself shrink for the first time, somehow afraid of the answer.
Enid says, Because I don’t have any friends besides you.
And what a confusing statement, because Enid talks to you like she wants to be your friend, opens up invitations of playing with her, respects your space if you don’t want to, laughs coolly when you spit hurtful things at her. It’s unimaginable, the concept of Enid not having friends.
Is it because she’s a werewolf?
No, Enid answers, playing hopscotch as she does. It’s because they think I’m weird.
You are weird, Wednesday muses, and Enid sticks her tongue out at her.
Wednesday doesn’t know why she entertains Enid. Why she lies when Enid asks if she’s okay with physical contact. If Wednesday could have her way, she’d be living in a bubble on a remote island miles away from everyone. But something as simple as the tugging of an arm, the brushing of hair away from her face, the resting of someone’s head on her shoulder bursts every notion she had about herself.
There are a lot of things Wednesday has yet to know. Another thing she doesn’t understand: she looks at the spot under the tree where she usually sits, and sees a crowd forming before she’s even gotten there. Why they’re there is anybody’s guess.
Turns out Enid has tolerated her fair share of bullying, as well.
“She brought her stupid science experiment to class and made glitter explode everywhere!” Her classmates offer, and Wednesday takes a moment to look at them up and down. They’re covered head to toe with sparkling material. She looks back at the centre of the circle, where Enid stands, hunched over with arms hugging her waist like she wants to disappear into herself.
“Enid,” Wednesday walks over, whispering. “What’s going on?”
“What they said,” Enid mumbles. “I wanted to make a giant disco ball. It didn’t work, obviously.”
“And now everyone’s covered in glitter!” One of them shouts. “You know how hard it is to wash glitter off?”
“Sorry,” Enid says.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” A boy emerges from the crowd, hands balled up into fists. “You better find some way to fix this or I’ll knock your lights out!”
“Fix what?” Wednesday deadpans. “Do you want her to hose you down or something?”
“Anything that gets rid of whatever she got on me!” He marches forward, towering over Enid. Enid, who’s shaking like a leaf in the wind. Wednesday watches as he reaches forward and grabs the front of Enid’s shirt, tugging her upwards until she’s almost suspended in the air.
There’s something that needs to be done, Wednesday thinks. If she ponders the problem a little bit more, maybe she can give a detailed explanation. She’d hate it if glitter got on every inch of her body— that’s a fact— but Enid’s already apologised, and there’s not much else that can be done other than a few rounds of being soaked in warm water.
Then there’s the situation that’s unfurling right now; the crowd looking on as the boy pulls his fist back and Enid cowers away from his grip, unable to wrestle herself away. If Wednesday waits any longer, Enid will get hurt for something she didn’t intend to do, however stupid that science experiment was.
So she makes a decision.
It turns out, when you kick someone in the crotch, it doesn’t matter how deep or intimidating their voice was. They’ll almost always let out a high-pitch squeal.
The principal’s office is a familiar place. This time, the plant growing in the corner of the room has started blooming. Wednesday observes it, noting how the petals curl downwards, much like how the corners of the principal’s lips turn down as he lists off the things Wednesday has done ever since she’d started attending the school. Releasing tarantulas, he says, giving her a stern look. Having a birthday cake topped with decorations that resembled a severed arm, threatening to scoop someone’s eyeballs, break someone’s ankles, and— her most recent offence— kicking someone in a targeted area. Twice.
“You mean groin,” Wednesday says.
“Our little raincloud has an explanation this time, surely,” Her father pats her on the back, unbothered. Wednesday nods.
“The person I kicked was about to harm my friend.” Wednesday elaborates. “I believed I intercepted him before he could attempt anything.”
“He was about to harm your friend?” Her father asks, just as her mother goes, “You have a friend?”
“Yes.” Wednesday says. “Anyway, he deserved it.”
“Wednesday!” Her mother chides, nudging her shoulder.
“Look, if something like this ever happens again, I’ll have no choice but to suspend her… indefinitely.” The principal puts his hands together. Wednesday notes that it resembles somebody praying; perhaps he’s praying for Wednesday, or a more likely option, himself. “Luckily, the boy— Austin’s— family has been very kind. They just want you to apologise to him in person. Can you do that, Wednesday?”
No, she’s about to say. Actually she’d much preferred it if Austin was transferred instead. Wednesday would rather go on with life without seeing him again.
“Of course she can,” Her mother smiles. Wednesday, unable to speak, glares at the principal.
Enid stares at her like she’s been killed.
“I can’t believe you went to the principal’s office,” She says softly, covering her mouth in shock. “Are you gonna get arrested?”
“No,” Wednesday says. “I just need to apologise to Austin.”
“Okay,” Enid nods. They’re standing in the school hallways, the students around them thinning as they slip into their respective classes. Enid furrows her brows, like she wants to say more, but can’t. She reaches over and grabs her hand instead.
Wednesday looks down at their hands. Looks up. She should pull away, right? She doesn’t know why she can’t. This, somehow, feels bigger than the trip to the principal’s office. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry,” Enid squeezes tighter. “You shouldn’t have done that. It was— it was my fault, anyway.”
“No it wasn’t.” Wednesday scowls. Or, well, part of it was Enid’s fault, but she can’t say that when she’s staring into her big, shiny eyes. She focuses on Enid’s hand on hers instead, the warmth tethering her like a ship to an anchor. She squeezes back.
“What are you gonna do tomorrow?” Enid questions. “I know you won’t like apologising to him.”
“We’ll see.” Wednesday tastes something sour at the thought of having to apologise to Austin. There’s no way around it, though. Maybe she’ll actually have to do it.
It turns out, Wednesday doesn’t even have to go to Austin. He shows up at her locker, a smirk plastered on his face. “Hey, where’s my apology?”
“Your apology?” Wednesday says, confused, then sees who she’s talking to. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on. Spit it out already.”
Wednesday feels grateful. She doesn’t have to seek Austin out anymore, which was half the challenge of trying to apologise to him. No, instead, this boy crawls up to her like a desperate dog, craving for a moment of vulnerability so he can slobber over it every chance he gets. It’s truly depraved. She regards him for a moment.
“What for?”
“What for?” Austin splutters. “For yesterday, obviously!”
“I forgot what happened yesterday. Care to remind me?”
“You— you—” Austin blinks, then tenses up. “You kicked me!”
“Kicked you?” Wednesday asks. She’s rather enjoying the different colours Austin’s face goes through, particularly that shade between pink and red. “Where?”
“You kicked me! You know you did!” Austin spits. “You kicked me—”
“—but where—”
“You know where!”
“Can you say where it was again?”
“You— Right there!— You know it! You do!”
“Okay,” Wednesday raises an eyebrow. “But I don’t recall.”
“You idiot!” He says, his hands curling into fists again. “You’re doing this on purpose!”
Wow, he really wants that apology.
“I don’t remember.”
“I’ll make you remember!” He slams a fist into her locker, then raises his other one. Wednesday’s eyes widen, but she’s not surprised. She just hadn’t anticipated getting into a fight again so soon. She squints at him, like she’s trying to figure out what’s been bothering him. She snaps her fingers.
“What?”
“I remember now,” Wednesday says, and then she punches him.
The feeling of her knuckles against someone’s jaw. It’s a newfound experience. The sound reverberates through her body, the sheer impact of it. There’s a moment of shock from both parties, a stunned quiet that surrounds the students milling about the halls. Wednesday looks at her hands, examining the damage; it hurts, but it’s simply not enough. She decides she must punch Austin again.
Wednesday hears something crack.
The word expulsion carries a lot of meaning. It means that Wednesday doesn’t have to endure the stares of every person in the room when she walks in for class. It means no more forcing poorly-made school lunches down her throat during lunch. It means that she won’t get to see Enid, her only friend, the girl who was convinced she’d turn into a wolf if she danced under a disco ball because it resembled a full moon, for the rest of her life.
“You can’t be leaving,” Enid shakes her head. They’re outside the school, Wednesday slinging a bag over her shoulder and Enid on the precipice of disbelief. “No way. You have to stay.”
“The principal did warn me.” Wednesday says. “If I got into trouble again I would be suspended indefinitely.”
Enid whimpers.
“That means expelled, by the way.” Wednesday explains, a little uncomfortable at how teary Enid’s getting. She’s never known how to react when somebody’s crying. “That’s enough reason for my parents to transfer me elsewhere.”
“You could still sneak in here from time to time. You could move in with me.” Enid offers more solutions, ones that Wednesday knows are just her way of denying the truth. “You can't leave. You’re… you’re…”
I’m what?
“You’re my only friend. I don’t have anybody else.” Enid leans in, her voice lowering to a whisper. “And I don’t like this school. Everyone’s mean and the teachers don’t listen to you.”
“You’ll find somebody better than me, surely,” Wednesday says. But the way Enid looks at her, like she’s the only thing that matters, makes her voice drift into something less confident.
“I’ll… I’ll…” Enid trails off, unsure. Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a glitter gel pen. “I’ll write my number down so we can keep in touch. Okay?”
Wednesday doesn’t say anything, even as Enid lifts her wrist and scribbles a series of purple numbers down on her arm. There’s the sound of sniffling, and Wednesday feels like she should say something comforting, something to cheer Enid up, except she has nothing.
“There.” Enid blows on the ink to let it dry, The sensation tickles, and Wednesday frowns at the strange feeling in her chest. “Now we can keep talking, even if you’re not coming here anymore.”
“...thanks,” Wednesday murmurs, looking at her wrist. “When you ever get picked on again, just punch them with your thumb tucked under your middle finger. And don’t forget to bend your knees.”
“Okay, I won’t forget.” Enid sniffs. “And you won’t… you won’t forget about me once you leave, right?”
“I won’t forget the time you got glitter on everyone’s faces.” Wednesday says, and Enid lets out a watery laugh. Punches her in the arm. It stings and Wednesday thinks about how she’ll miss this, too, and suddenly she understands why Enid’s crying.
“I have to go,” Wednesday says awkwardly, knowing that this is probably the last time she’ll see her in person. She should say more, right? But she's never been good at this, at knowing what needs to be said at the right moment, at doing what needs to be done. For once, she feels useless. “I’ll call you when I get back. Goodbye.”
“No, I’ll call you first!” Enid exclaims. She waves goodbye, still waving as Wednesday walks away and turns a corner, and Wednesday, unable to refuse Enid this, waves back, too. She stares at the numbers on her arm long after she's left the school, at the last thing Enid had given her before she left.