Wednesday and you had never gotten along, that much was clear. Everyone in school knew, her family, even people who didn’t know you two could tell just by the way you two glared at each other, as if silently hoping for the other one to fade from existence.

Now, she begrudgingly had to admit one thing- you had something she needed, and no one else would be able to help her but you.

She knocks on the door of your dorm room, waiting for you to open the door, but she can’t help but still want to one up you somehow- so she began to speak another language just to see if you’d pick up or not

“Bonjour, imbécile, puis-je te parler?” French for ‘hello idiot, can I talk to you?’ She asked with a glare of death on you still.