you can occupy my every sigh

Chapter Five

Wednesday wandered around campus, looking for clubs she could join. It didn't have to be anything particularly interesting; she just wanted to get Weems off her back. That woman was fixated on her with a single-minded focus that would unsettle anyone. Anyone, of course, except for Wednesday. She knew the way Weems' had handled the situation was an attempt at hazing, but it didn't phase her in the slightest. Wednesday took it as a challenge; which one of them could outmaneuver the other? Who could manipulate the system enough to get what they wanted?

Wednesday passed by a classroom, then double-backed when she heard loud music and excited talking. She peeked her head in and immediately kept walking. It was Enid and a group of the other wolves, all dancing along to some high-pitched, whiny Korean pop song. It would be a frigid day in hell when Wednesday willing chose to learn boy-band choreography. Wednesday knew she should start connecting with Enid, especially if she wanted the other girl to cover for her when she inevitably had Tyler over again, but some things were just too far for the sake of friendship. She would rather rip all her fingernails off than ask to join something like that.

Wednesday stepped out of the ornate doors into the pentagon, following the sound of a choir singing. When she approached the group, too far away at first to see who was leading the choir, she regretted her decision. Bianca was standing in front of the risers, conducting a gaggle of sirens into singing some mainstream pop song. The girl turned around, looking Wednesday up and down with barely-concealed derision.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was hostile and Wednesday didn't have the energy to continue putting up with Bianca's unnecessary contest. The siren got on Wednesday's nerves; if you're going to command a student body, do it with an iron grip, not a flimsy palm. Everyone turned on Bianca so easily because they weren't afraid of her. Maybe Wednesday would slip her a copy of the Prince by Machiavelli since she clearly lacked the knowledge of running a good empire. Either do something right or don't do it at all.

Besides, Wednesday had no intention of usurping Bianca's control over the school. If anything, all the extra work of maintaining good social standing was obnoxious to Wednesday. She didn't need people to like her, in fact, she'd prefer if they didn't. Then, she could get a modicum of privacy. Whether it was due to fear or respect meant nothing to Wednesday.

"I was following the noise of screeching. Goodbye."

Wednesday turned and walked away, ignoring Bianca's sputtering. She was quickly running out of options when it came to finding a club. All of the ones she'd thus far were extremely underwhelming.

When she stepped out onto the main grounds she noticed how truly awful the weather was. Sunny, bright, cloudless. It seemed Wednesday could never catch a break when it came to club-hunting. What a horrid morning.

Wednesday saw Xavier at the base of a set of stone stairs, a bow grasped in his hands. He knocked an arrow, aiming towards a large stack of hay targets, and let it loose. It hit the inner ring but missed the bullseye by a mile. Even in this, Xavier was painfully mediocre. Wednesday sighed and approached.

Xavier looked up and smiled at her. Gross.

"Hey, Wednesday. What's up?" His voice was hopeful, and she could feel his admiring gaze on her. She had no idea what he saw in her, but she wasn't interested in encouraging that behavior. Could she truly bite the bullet and be in a club where she constantly had to deal with him? She wasn't sure.

"Is this a club?" Straight to the point. If it wasn't, Wednesday would cut her losses and walk away.

"Yeah, it is. Why?" Xavier was an idiot. Clearly, if Wednesday was new, she'd be needing to join a club. Although, she was surprised Xavier hadn't started an art-based club. Maybe he preferred honing his talents in private? That, she could relate to. Wednesday would never join one of those pathetic writing circles. Her writing was good, and if it wasn't, she could critique herself more accurately than any amateur author could.