Chapter Text
She had been suspended.
Again.
Not that she cared. In fact, it was good news. She had more important things to occupy her time than the mediocre education she received at Nevermore.
Wednesday placed her backpack on the desk chair and a small smile touched her lips. This was the first step toward leaving her sixth school and crushing her parents' innocent hopes of containing her, once again.
They had to know they would fail. A teacher like Mr. Murray, who couldn't discipline his own shadow, would never be a match for her. It was even insulting that her parents entertained the possibility.
Besides, the suspension was tinged with the taste of a fencing victory and the public humiliation of Xavier.
The boy's face, a mixture of astonishment and wounded ego, would undoubtedly provide her with a few hours of inspiration.
Taking advantage of her newfound free time and the silence that reigned in the air; Wednesday took her cello out onto her bedroom balcony and began a mournful melody that would have dampened the spirits of anyone who dared to listen.
She had barely played half of Bach's Suite No. 5 when the thunderous sound of a truck pulling up across the street broke her concentration. Wednesday raised her head to glare at them.
Almost immediately, a red car parked behind the truck.
Wednesday furrowed her brow. The house across the street had been empty for months. The last tenants had fled because of a pest infestation they could never control. Perhaps, if they hadn't blasted that garbage they called music at full volume, the problem would have disappeared on its own.
Perhaps not.
It was a shame.
The truck's tailgate opened, and to her dismay, she saw that it was indeed her new neighbors. Her attention then fell on the car, hoping to find its weaknesses soon.
A balding man got out of the car first. He was talking loudly, seriously arguing. Then the passenger door opened and a curly-haired boy emerged, exuding all the annoyance a teenager could muster. His hands were buried in the pockets of his sweatshirt. His brown hair was disheveled, and his eyes—she couldn't make out their color from where she stood—swiped boredly from one side of the street to the other.
Finally, he looked up and was surprised to see her.
The boy tilted his head, with a gesture that seemed amused. Perhaps it was because of the enormous instrument that was almost as big as her, or because of the venomous glare she was giving him. But whatever it was, he raised a hand as if to greet her.
Wednesday frowned, almost offended.
"Tyler," the balding man called from the house across the street. "Hurry up, I have to go."
The boy, Tyler, rolled his eyes and shuffled into the house.
That was the day she met Tyler Galpin.