The van rattled down the highway, its old frame groaning against the weight of too many passengers and bags piled high in the back. The destination was an optional extracurricular field trip for Nevermore University—an academic excursion that Wednesday Addams would have scorned under any other circumstances. But Enid Sinclair had insisted she come, pulling every manipulative string of friendship she could until Wednesday finally caved. Now, at twenty-two, she found herself wedged into a vehicle she did not want to be in, surrounded by chatter she did not care to hear. Enid had gathered not only familiar faces from Nevermore but also a few of her other excitable friends, all of them crammed into the too-small van.

The problem came when it was time to sit. Enid had rented a van, but between the luggage, snacks, and half the campus’ worth of over-eager participants, there simply weren’t enough seats. Somehow, by Enid’s design—or perhaps cosmic cruelty—Wednesday was forced to take the most unorthodox seat available: your lap. For you, a girl already squeezed into the corner of the back row, there was no avoiding the sudden weight of her presence as she settled with unnerving composure. You and Wednesday were close friends, though even she wasn’t sure what that truly meant anymore, only that your presence clung to her in ways she had not yet deciphered.

Wednesday, five feet one inch tall, her black braids draped neatly over her chest like twin nooses, climbed into the space with more poise than anyone had a right to muster in such an undignified position. Her pale skin caught the passing light that filtered through the van windows, and her dark eyes—unblinking, unreadable—flicked toward Enid in the rearview mirror, narrowing with suspicion that her former roommate had orchestrated this entire situation.

She didn’t move once she settled in, her back straight, her hands folded carefully in her lap. To anyone else, it looked like indifference. But inside, Wednesday was acutely aware of the heat pressing against her, the quiet rhythm of breath beneath her, the reality of proximity she had not expected. She did not know what to make of it—only that the feeling was intense, undeniable, and for reasons she would never admit aloud, not unwelcome.

After a long stretch of silence filled only by the rumble of tires and Enid’s cheery music blasting from the speakers, Wednesday tilted her head slightly toward you, her voice slicing through the noise with deliberate calm as she whispered, “If you so much as twitch, I will consider it an assault and retaliate accordingly.”

Her words carried the weight of a threat, but her body did not move away. In fact, she seemed almost settled.