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Nevermore’s Summer Splash Day was a disaster jointly engineered by the Student Council, the Lakeside Activities Committee, the werewolf club, and several teachers who placed an unreasonable amount of trust in adolescent self-control.
When the announcement was posted on the bulletin board in the main hall, Wednesday Addams stood before the offensively colorful sheet of paper and stared at it for exactly seven seconds. The paper featured water balloons, water guns, a lakeside picnic basket, and several smiling faces designed with absolutely no survival instinct. The title read Nevermore Summer Splash Day in a font that approached psychological contamination, followed by a list of activities: water balloons, water guns, club competitions, lakeside picnics, and finally, the phrase: Get ready for cool refreshment, friendship, and summer memories!
Wednesday found the final sentence particularly objectionable.
“Friendship should not be combined with humidity,” she said.
Enid Sinclair stood beside her, glowing as if the announcement itself had suddenly developed a personality, and that personality had no sense of danger whatsoever.
“This is going to be so fun!”
“That is precisely the problem.”
“Come on, Wednesday. It’s just water balloons.”
Wednesday turned her head slowly toward her. “Many wars throughout history have begun with humans underestimating projectiles.”
“It’s water.”
“Water is capable of causing drowning, hypothermia, paper damage, hairstyle collapse, and a measurable decrease in collective intelligence.”
Enid crossed her arms, smiling with an impressive lack of self-preservation. “Are you afraid of getting splashed?”
The hallway went silent for half a second.
Ajax happened to pass by carrying a box of water balloons, his face assuming the expression of someone who wished he did not have ears. Yoko pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and murmured, “Sinclair, you’re brave.” Bianca simply laughed.
Wednesday did not look at any of them.
She only looked at Enid.
“Fear is a rational response to danger,” Wednesday said. “The water balloon event does not constitute danger. It constitutes an insult.”
Enid’s eyes grew even brighter. “So you’ll come?”
“I will observe, as a bystander, Nevermore’s collective regression sample.”
“So you’ll come.”
Wednesday did not answer.
That was already an answer.
Yoko slowly took a sip from her drink and added, in a light, careless tone, “Just as a reminder, two couples got together after last year’s Splash Day.”
Wednesday finally turned to look at her.
“That data lacks causal proof.”
“Of course,” Yoko said. “Everyone just happened to get soaked, dry each other’s hair, hide in the same tent, and suddenly realize they found each other cute.”
Enid’s face went a little red.
Wednesday’s expression did not change.
“That is not romance,” she said. “That is cognitive contamination caused by poor event design.”
Bianca smiled. “Then you’d better be careful not to get contaminated.”
Wednesday looked at the three of them.
“I’ll bring a notebook.”
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
On the day of the event, the lakeside lawn became a battlefield with no surprise whatsoever.
The school had set up several bucket refilling stations, which the students quickly began treating as military strongholds. Water balloons swelled, floated, and bumped against one another inside the buckets, their colors so bright they were almost provocative. The grass had been made slick by the sprinkler system and by students who had begun fighting far too early. The air was a mixture of grass, water, sunscreen, cheap popsicles, and the particular excitement of adolescents preparing to make poor decisions.
The werewolf club occupied the northern refilling station and insisted that this was a contest of speed and glory. A small group of vampires guarded the shade beneath the trees, looking as grim as aristocratic corpses forced to participate in team-building exercises. The aquatic students, meanwhile, had been required to “compete fairly” due to their natural advantage and had submitted a formal three-page protest in response. As for the water guns, one of them appeared to have been modified with a compressed air canister, but when the supervising teacher saw that Eugene was the one holding it, she chose to believe things would not become too terrible.
This was the first mistake of the day.
Enid arrived already as happy as a golden retriever released beside a lake.
She was wearing a bright yellow top and shorts, her hair tied in a high ponytail, a blue water gun in one hand and a bag of water balloons slung over her shoulder. When she ran across the grass, she almost seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.
That was not a metaphor.
Wednesday suspected that, in a state of intense joy, Enid possessed the ability to reflect sunlight, and that the brightness was sufficient to interfere with ordinary judgment.
“Wednesday!” Enid called back. “Come on!”
Wednesday stood under the shade of a tree, dressed in a black short-sleeved shirt, black trousers, black shoes, and an expression that suggested she had come to attend a funeral rather than a summer event.
“I refuse to accelerate toward collective stupidity.”
Enid walked backward, grinning wide enough to show her teeth. “You could at least take one water balloon.”
“I don’t need one.”
“What if someone attacks you?”
“They won’t.”
Before Enid could ask why, a water balloon flew in from the side at high speed and struck Wednesday directly in the shoulder.
Water burst outward.
A dark patch spread across the black fabric.
The entire lakeside lawn went silent.
Ajax still had one arm held in the throwing position, his smile slowly freezing on his face.
“I thought you’d dodge,” he said.
Wednesday looked down at her shoulder. Droplets slid along the fabric, sinking slowly into the black cotton like a very low-grade and extremely offensive declaration of war.
She looked up.
“Petropolus.”
Ajax took a step back. “Yoko told me to throw it.”
Yoko immediately raised both hands. “I merely said, ‘I’d like to see you try.’ Legally, that does not constitute an order.”
Bianca was laughing so hard she nearly bent over.
Enid covered her mouth, her eyes shining with dangerous brightness.
Wednesday slowly reached into the bucket beside her and picked up a water balloon. She looked at it, assessing its weight, elasticity, volume, and likelihood of rupture, then looked back at Ajax.
“I had no intention of joining the battle,” she said.
Ajax took another step back. “And now?”
A very slight, very ominous curve appeared at the corner of Wednesday’s mouth.
“Now, education begins.”
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
At first, everyone thought Wednesday was bad at water balloon fights.
This was the second mistake of the day.
The third was assuming she would play the way ordinary people did.
Wednesday did not attack Ajax immediately. First, she walked to the refilling bucket and assessed the balloons’ weight, elasticity, throwing range, and rupture probability. She picked up three and weighed them in her palm. Then she studied the field: the slope of the grass, the slippery patches near the lake, the position of the shade, the movement speed of the werewolf club, Yoko’s dodging pattern, Bianca’s attack habits, and Ajax’s involuntary blinking response whenever he saw something reflective.
Enid stood beside her, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Are you making a strategy?”
“I am ending the event.”
“With water balloons?”
“With humiliation.”
Enid blinked. “That is such a Wednesday word.”
“‘Embarrassment’ lacks sufficient precision.”
Enid laughed so hard she nearly tripped over her own water gun.
Three minutes later, Wednesday threw her first water balloon.
It did not fly toward Ajax.
It hit the grass beside Ajax’s feet.
The balloon burst, splashing mud and water. Ajax instinctively jumped backward and collided with a werewolf student who happened to be rushing past behind him. The entire bag of water balloons in the other student’s hands flew into the air and came down on three people, including Yoko, Eugene, and an innocent vampire who had merely been passing by.
Chaos began.
Wednesday watched quietly.
“Indirect attack,” she said.
Enid’s mouth fell open.
“Did you just create a chain reaction with one water balloon?”
“The efficiency was acceptable.”
“You’re terrifying.”
“Thank you.”
The next water balloon was aimed at Bianca.
Bianca had been preparing to ambush Enid from the side. Just as she raised her hand, Wednesday’s balloon skimmed past her wrist and struck the edge of the refilling bucket behind her. The bucket tipped from the impact, sending water sloshing out and soaking Bianca’s shoes.
Bianca looked down at her shoes.
Then she looked up at Wednesday.
“Are you serious?”
Wednesday picked up another balloon.
“I rarely do uninteresting things without seriousness.”
Bianca smiled.
“Fine. Then let’s go.”
Enid screamed beside them, “Team battle! Team battle!”
Wednesday looked at her.
“You are too happy.”
Enid’s hair was already half wet, her face covered in droplets, her eyes bright as two little summer lamps.
“Because it’s so fun!”
Wednesday had intended to say that this was not fun.
This was a field observation of strategy drills, social collapse, and adolescents using low-cost weapons to conduct an absurd reorganization of power.
But Enid laughed and shook her head, sending water droplets flying. A few landed on Wednesday’s face.
Wednesday went still for two seconds.
So did Enid.
“I didn’t mean to.”
Wednesday wiped the water from her face with the back of her hand.
“You have been added to the attack list.”
Enid’s eyes widened.
“You wouldn’t attack me.”
Wednesday picked up a water balloon.
“Your confidence lacks evidentiary support.”
Enid turned and ran.
Wednesday chased after her.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
This was the fourth mistake everyone made that day:
they assumed Wednesday would not run.
Wednesday was not incapable of running. She merely disliked moving an excessive number of body parts under meaningless circumstances.
But chasing Enid Sinclair was not meaningless.
At least, that was Wednesday’s assessment at the time.
Enid laughed as she cut across the grass, glancing back as she ran, her wet ponytail whipping over her shoulder, her water gun hanging at her side, her entire body resembling a happy dog that had just emerged from a lake and had no intention whatsoever of reflecting on its behavior.
“You can’t catch me!”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You are wasting oxygen on provocation.”
“Is it working?”
“Extremely.”
Enid laughed even louder.
She circled around a refilling bucket, grabbed a water balloon, and tossed it backward over her shoulder. Its aim was entirely inaccurate. The balloon sailed half a meter to Wednesday’s left.
Wednesday did not dodge.
The balloon burst on the ground, only splashing the toe of her shoe.
When Enid looked back and saw it, she shouted, “I was so close!”
“Catastrophically far from close.”
“That still means close!”
Wednesday stopped.
Enid stopped too, watching her warily.
“Why did you stop?”
Wednesday bent down and picked up an unbroken water balloon from the grass.
“Establishing range.”
Enid’s smile froze.
“Wait.”
Wednesday raised her hand.
Enid shrieked and jumped sideways.
The balloon flew past her shoulder. It did not hit her, but it struck Ajax behind her.
Ajax was hit for the second time.
He stood there, soaked, staring at Wednesday.
“I didn’t even do anything!”
“You were standing in the wrong trajectory,” Wednesday said.
“How is that my fault?”
“It is now.”
Enid laughed so hard she crouched down.
Wednesday looked at her laughing.
That was her greatest mistake of the day.
Because while her gaze lingered on Enid, Bianca launched an attack from the side, and one water balloon struck Wednesday squarely in the back.
Water burst across her shirt, soaking a large dark patch into the black fabric until it clung to her back.
Bianca raised both hands in victory.
“Got you.”
The whole field cheered briefly.
Enid was still crouched on the grass, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Wednesday turned around slowly.
Her face was very calm.
So calm that the cheering gradually died out.
Bianca lowered her hands.
“…I suddenly feel this victory may come with additional costs.”
Wednesday walked to the refilling bucket, picked up two water balloons, then picked up a third.
Enid said quietly, “Bianca, run.”
Bianca said, “I’m not running.”
Three seconds later, Bianca started running.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
Fifteen minutes later, the battle escalated completely.
Wednesday had seized the western refilling bucket.
The sentence sounded absurd, but everyone present acknowledged it as fact.
She had not won through strength. She had won through terrifying field control. She had Thing quietly roll the refilling buckets into new positions, disrupting the enemy’s access routes. She hid several water balloons behind tree roots, creating low-cost ambush points. She exploited the werewolf club’s excessive excitement and tendency toward group charges, luring them into colliding with one another. She even entered into a brief ceasefire with Bianca in order to annihilate a group of vampire students attempting to flank them from behind.
Enid, meanwhile, had become an entirely different kind of disaster.
She was soaked.
Not merely wet, but fully evolved into the ultimate form of Splash Day. Her high ponytail had half come loose, strands of golden hair clinging to her cheeks and neck, her yellow top even brighter now that it was wet, water droplets catching on her eyelashes. When she laughed, she looked like a running, water-shaking, social-HP-draining ball of walking sunlight.
Wherever she ran, chaos followed.
Wherever she laughed, someone became distracted.
She had no tactical awareness whatsoever, yet somehow changed the course of the battle in an extremely unscientific manner.
Wednesday was calculating how to use three water balloons to force Bianca out of the shade line.
Enid dashed across the edge of her vision.
Soaked.
Glittering.
Like an uncontrolled golden comet.
Wednesday’s wrist shifted two degrees.
The water balloon missed Bianca and struck the tree trunk beside her.
Bianca looked at the tree, then at Wednesday, then at Enid in the distance, who was shaking water from her hair.
Her expression became extremely offensive.
“I said nothing,” Bianca said.
Wednesday picked up another water balloon.
“You would do well to maintain that.”
Bianca smiled.
“I’ll maintain it. But I saw.”
Wednesday threw the balloon.
Bianca dodged nimbly.
The balloon struck Ajax behind her.
Ajax was hit for the third time.
“Who did I even offend?”
Wednesday did not answer.
She was looking at Enid.
Enid had just been splashed from the side by an entire cup of water from a werewolf classmate. She shrieked, jumped, and immediately bent over laughing. She wiped her face with one hand, pushing wet golden hair back and revealing a flushed face and eyes so bright they almost hurt to look at.
It was a completely defenseless kind of happiness.
Absurd. Loud. Utterly without order.
Like sunlight in the shape of a dog charging into battle and shaking water all over Wednesday.
Wednesday should have hated it.
Wednesday did hate it.
She hated the fact that she had looked for a third second.
Enid noticed her looking.
So Enid waved at her, smiling even more brightly.
“Wednesday! You zoned out!”
Wednesday’s expression turned cold for an instant.
“I did not.”
“You did!”
“You are reducing our side’s combat efficiency.”
“You admit we’re on the same side!”
Wednesday went silent for half a second.
Behind them, Bianca let out a short laugh.
Yoko laughed too.
Ajax, although he had no idea what was happening, laughed along on social instinct.
Wednesday slowly picked up a water balloon.
“Everyone,” she said, “has been reclassified as a target.”
Enid laughed so hard she nearly collapsed onto the grass.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
The battle truly lost its final scrap of order when Yoko took off her sunglasses.
She had been wearing that pair of sunglasses since the beginning of the event and had not removed them even after being hit by three water balloons. Her patience was as long as a vampire’s lifespan, until Wednesday seized the third refilling bucket and announced, in an extremely cold voice:
“The enemy’s water resources have fallen below the sustainable combat line.”
Yoko looked at her.
“This is a water balloon event.”
“You may offer that consolation to the defeated,” Wednesday said.
Yoko held the sunglasses in one hand and looked at her.
From a distance, Enid drew in a breath.
“Oh no.”
Yoko walked toward the enormous backup water bucket beside the tent. It was supposed to be used for refilling the smaller buckets, and the school had clearly labeled it: NOT FOR ATTACK USE.
Yoko glanced at the sign.
“A suggestion. Not a law.”
Enid had just opened her mouth to warn Wednesday when a water balloon suddenly flew in from the side. She dodged, clutching the bag of water balloons in her arms, and before her laugh had even faded, Yoko had already tipped the bucket over.
An entire bucket of water came pouring toward Wednesday and Enid.
Wednesday reacted quickly.
Theoretically, she could have avoided it.
But Enid had just stumbled back beside her, her attention only just returning from the attack at her flank, with only enough time to see a wall of water crashing down.
Wednesday’s assessment took half a second.
She reached out, caught Enid, and pulled her aside.
The water hit them anyway.
A full, absolute drenching.
From head to toe.
The grass erupted in cheers.
Enid froze.
Wednesday stopped too.
Water dripped from their hair, down their faces, their necks, and their clothes. Enid’s yellow top was completely soaked, clinging to her shoulders and waist. Her golden hair stuck to her cheeks, and droplets hung from her eyelashes. The bag of water balloons in her arms had been soaked as well, losing all tactical value and retaining only absurdity.
Wednesday’s black short-sleeved shirt clung tightly to her body, making the line of her shoulders and arms far too clear. Her dark hair had soaked into separate strands along the sides of her face, and water slid from her chin into her collar.
Enid’s mouth had only just begun to curve into a smile when the sound caught in her throat at the sight of Wednesday.
Wednesday was looking at her too.
It was not the gaze she usually used to assess battlefield positioning. Nor was it the cold scrutiny she reserved for Nevermore’s collective foolishness. Her eyes rested on Enid’s face, dipped down for a fraction of a second, then returned quickly to her eyes.
Quickly enough to be ignored.
But Enid saw it.
Her heart felt as if it had been struck dead-on by a water balloon.
This was just Splash Day. Everyone was soaked. They were not the only two people whose clothes were clinging to them. This was merely the natural consequence of a summer activity.
And yet Wednesday stood in front of her, black clothing pressed to her body, wet hair at her cheeks, her expression still cool but marked by a rare disarray. She looked as if summer had offended her, and also as if summer had finally managed to leave a trace on her.
Enid’s brain began screaming.
Wednesday was clearly not doing much better. She pressed her lips together. The movement was small, small enough that anyone else might not have noticed it at all; Enid noticed, and immediately regretted noticing.
“You…” Enid began, her voice half a pitch too high. “Are you okay?”
“I have not drowned.”
“That’s good.”
“And you?”
“I also have not drowned.”
“Acceptable.”
Neither of them said anything else. Those sentences about drowning and acceptability should have been absurd enough to push the atmosphere back to normal, but Enid could still feel the pressure of Wednesday’s fingers where they had caught her wrist. The water was cold, but that small ring of skin had begun to warm in a highly inappropriate manner.
Beside them, Ajax asked quietly, “So are we still playing?”
Bianca slowly raised an eyebrow.
Yoko pushed her sunglasses back into place with an expression that understood far too much.
Enid tugged at the hem of her soaked top, only trying to keep the fabric from clinging so closely. But the moment her hand touched the cloth, she realized Wednesday’s gaze had dropped with it.
The glance lasted only a moment, short enough that no one else might have noticed. Wednesday looked away almost immediately, as though it were merely the path of an incorrect calculation quickly corrected. But Enid saw it. She also saw the faintest flush rising at the tip of Wednesday’s ear, almost indistinguishable among the waterlight and dark hair.
That made her face even hotter.
They both looked toward the towel tent at the same time.
“Towels,” Enid said.
“Reasonable,” Wednesday said.
They both stepped left.
Almost collided.
Stopped.
Both stepped right.
Almost collided again.
From a distance, Bianca said, “Do you need me to get traffic cones?”
Enid’s entire face went red.
“No!”
Wednesday looked at Bianca.
“You may continue. The cost will be educational.”
Bianca raised both hands in surrender.
But her smile only became more obvious.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
The walk from the grass to the towel tent should have taken less than a minute.
It took them three.
Reasons included, but were not limited to: both of them looking too deliberately forward; Enid trying not to look at Wednesday’s clothes and therefore becoming intensely aware of the fact that she was trying not to look; Wednesday controlling the angle of her gaze with near-military discipline; and both of them having very little experience with the increased physical presence produced by wet clothing.
The towel tent was supposed to be nothing more than a temporary supply point set up by the school.
There were a few folding tables, several stacks of white towels, a plastic box filled with backup water balloons, and a small cooler for drinks in the corner. Outside the tent, there was still screaming, splashing, running, and the collective collapse of Nevermore’s student body. But the moment they stepped inside, the noise seemed to fall away as if through water.
Not silent.
Just farther.
As if the tent had abruptly ceased being a towel station and become a pause that was deeply inconvenient and should not have existed. Outside were summer, strategy, friends, mockery, and water balloons. Inside, there was only the sound of droplets falling from the ends of their hair to the ground, the soft friction of towel fabric being lifted, and Enid’s breathing, which she was trying very hard and very unsuccessfully to keep quiet.
Enid wrapped a towel around herself first.
That helped her recover a small portion of her language ability.
Wednesday picked up another towel and then simply held it in her hands without moving.
She looked as if she were examining an alien object of unclear function.
Enid watched her for three seconds.
“You need to dry your hair.”
Wednesday looked down at the towel.
“I know.”
She still did not move.
Enid almost laughed.
But Wednesday’s hair was still wet, dark strands clinging to the sides of her face, droplets sliding from her chin. Her black clothes still clung to her as well, softening some of her usual knife-edge neatness and leaving her with a kind of disarray forced on her by summer.
This should not have been something that made anyone’s heart misbehave.
Enid was certain of that.
Absolutely certain.
Her heartbeat disagreed.
“Your hair will get tangled,” Enid said.
It should have been a very ordinary sentence.
Extremely ordinary.
Ordinary enough that one person helping another dry their hair could be classified as a friendly post-water-balloon-event assistance behavior.
Wednesday lifted her eyes to look at her.
Enid’s hand was already reaching out.
The moment she reached, she regretted it.
But pulling back would have been strange too.
So her hand remained suspended in midair, like a poor decision displayed for public examination.
“I can help,” Enid added.
Wednesday looked at her.
For longer than normal acceptance of help should have required.
Then she handed the towel over.
“You may.”
The words landed, and Enid’s heartbeat failed again.
She took the towel and stood in front of Wednesday.
The distance between them suddenly became unreasonable.
Out on the grass, they had chased, dodged, and thrown water balloons at each other. The space between them had opened and closed over and over, and none of it had been this dangerous. Out there, their bodies had been part of the activity: running, screaming, dodging, laughing. Everything had been diluted by the chaos of summer.
This was different. Wednesday was standing still, and Enid was standing still with her, with no water balloons flying past, no Ajax being accidentally struck, no Bianca ambushing them from the side. Nothing remained to help Enid recover her usual brightness except the fact that Wednesday was there—wet, quiet, and allowing her closer.
Enid pressed the towel to her hair.
The motion was gentle.
She tried to focus on the task in her hands.
Just hair.
Wet hair.
Ordinary hair.
Wednesday’s wet black hair.
It clung to the side of her face, the ends still dripping. When Enid folded the towel around it, her knuckles nearly brushed Wednesday’s ear.
Wednesday did not step back. She only lowered her eyes, as if enduring a procedure she did not entirely dislike.
That made things worse for Enid.
If Wednesday had stepped away, frowned, or delivered a three-hundred-word objection, the situation would have become safer.
But she did not.
She stood far too quietly.
Like a black cat allowing itself to be dried.
Enid’s movements grew more careful. Wiping became pressing, and pressing became guiding the damp hair back from Wednesday’s face. She watched the towel draw water from the dark strands, watched the small droplets still clinging to Wednesday’s eyelashes, watched the way her face looked far too pale in the shade of the tent.
Then Enid realized she had been looking too long.
She immediately lowered her eyes.
This was worse.
Because once she looked down, there was nowhere safe for her gaze to go.
Wednesday’s collar was wet, the black fabric clinging near her collarbone. A drop of water slid slowly down the side of her neck and disappeared beneath the edge of her shirt.
Enid’s brain sounded an alarm.
Hair.
Focus on the hair.
As long as she was still drying Wednesday’s hair, everything could still be explained.
“Your technique is adequately efficient,” Wednesday said.
Enid almost laughed.
She also almost dropped the towel.
“Thank you for the highly romantic assessment.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to grab them back and shove them into a water bucket.
Wednesday lifted her eyes to her.
“This is not a romantic act.”
She said it so calmly that the sentence lingered in the tent for one second too long. Enid’s hand was still touching Wednesday’s hair through the towel, her knuckles close to Wednesday’s ear, close enough that if she moved just slightly, it would stop being “helping her dry off” and become something neither of them was prepared to name.
“Of course it isn’t,” Enid said.
She tried to make her voice sound normal, but the words landed too lightly and failed entirely at their intended function.
Wednesday looked at her as if she had already heard the flaw inside them, but she did not point it out immediately. That brief silence was more dangerous than any of her usual precise dissections. Enid became abruptly, painfully aware that outside there were still screams, splashes, running feet, and the sound of water balloons bursting, but inside the tent there was only Wednesday’s wet black hair, the towel growing warmer beneath Enid’s palm, and her own increasingly disobedient breathing.
She should take the towel away.
That was a reasonable conclusion.
She did not.
Wednesday did not step back either.
The towel slowly slipped down from the side of Wednesday’s hair and came to rest on her shoulder. Enid’s hand stopped there with it, as if an action originally meant to complete a cleanup task had suddenly forgotten where it was supposed to end.
Wednesday’s gaze remained on her face.
Enid’s heartbeat felt too heavy to belong to her.
Just as Enid had almost forgotten that the rest of Nevermore still existed outside the tent, Yoko’s voice drifted in from outside, drawn out and far too pleased with itself.
“Are you two coming out, or do we need to hang a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the tent?”
Enid jerked backward.
Wednesday caught the towel as it slipped.
Laughter erupted outside.
Ajax asked, deeply confused, “What are they doing in there?”
Bianca’s voice carried a smile. “Clearly not drying hair.”
Enid buried her face in her own towel.
“I’m going to die.”
Wednesday turned toward the outside of the tent, expressionless.
“Everyone has thirty seconds to begin running.”
The laughter outside stopped at once.
“I think she’s serious,” Bianca said.
“She’s always serious,” Yoko replied.
“Can I surrender first?” Ajax asked.
Wednesday picked up an entire bag of water balloons from the supply box.
“Surrender is not retroactive.”
Enid finally lowered her towel.
Wednesday’s hair was still half wet, dark strands clinging to the side of her face. The tips of her ears remained faintly flushed, but she had already restored herself to a level of composure that made Nevermore students instinctively reconsider their life choices.
For one helpless second, Enid could only stare.
Wednesday, half-soaked and armed with a full bag of water balloons, looked so absurdly serious that Enid wanted to laugh all over again.
The blush at the tips of her ears did not help.
Wednesday paused at the mouth of the tent.
Only then did Enid realize she was still holding the towel she had used to dry Wednesday’s hair.
“Oh.” She held it out. “Here.”
When Wednesday took it, their fingertips brushed.
They both stopped for a fraction of a second.
Then both pretended nothing had happened.
“I’m going to deal with the witnesses,” Wednesday said.
“You mean revenge?”
“Evidence disposal.”
“Isn’t that worse?”
“More effective.”
Then Wednesday stepped out of the tent.
Outside, Ajax screamed.
“I wasn’t the mastermind!”
Wednesday’s voice rang out coldly. “You are a social unit.”
Enid stood frozen for three seconds.
Then she pulled her towel over her face, made a sound much less like a wolf than a puppy startled by its own tail, and ran after her.
Outside, the battle was still waiting for them.
Afternoon sunlight lay over the lake, and the spray kicked up from the grass glittered like shattered glass. Nevermore’s Summer Splash Day had long since lost any recognizable form of order: werewolves charging across the lawn, vampires ambushing from the shade, Bianca laughing as she dodged, Yoko providing commentary while fleeing for her life, and Ajax suffering for reasons that were beginning to look increasingly spiritual.
Enid ran straight back into the chaos, soaked through, golden hair clinging to her cheeks and neck, still laughing like the entire afternoon had been built for her.
Wednesday followed.
She had intended to restore order through retaliation.
She had intended to punish every witness.
She had intended, at the very least, to maintain the dignity of someone who had formally classified the event as an insult to civilization.
Then Enid looked back at her, bright-eyed and breathless, still wet and still smiling, and tossed a water balloon into Wednesday’s hand.
Their fingers brushed.
Only for a second.
Only long enough for Wednesday’s next throw to miss Yoko entirely and burst at Enid’s feet instead, sending up a bright splash of water.
Enid laughed as if that answered something.
Wednesday stared at her.
Then raised another water balloon.
Enid shrieked and ran.
Wednesday chased after her.
The lakeside lawn erupted again in cheers and screams, water spray and sunlight and wet laughter tangling together until the whole event slipped beyond recovery and into campus legend.
And Wednesday Addams, thirty-seven minutes after formally despising adolescent stupidity, still maintained that the event had no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
Only, while chasing that soaked piece of golden sunlight across the grass, she forgot to say so out loud.