Wednesday sat at her desk, reviewing the last page of her freshly-written chapter of Viper De La Muerta. As she inspected the page, she began absentmindedly, tapping her fingers on the desk, and rocking subtly back and forth.

It was a self-soothing gesture she hadn't been able to kick over the years. So now she mostly did it when Enid wasn't around or wasn't paying attention. She didn't want her to see and start asking the wrong type of questions, asking for answers she didn't want to give.

Outside of speculation, the only people who knew Wednesday was autistic were her parents and brother and, against her will, Principal Weems. Everyone else, including Enid, seemed to think she was just spooky or kooky. Perhaps both.

Now was one of those rare times that Wednesday decided to be open, no matter how bad of an idea. So when she heard Enid enter in the dorm for the evening, she didn't stop her soothing movements. Maybe she didn't care. Maybe subconsciously, the questions got easier. But either way, she was never so…open with it.