Hey, bet you guys didn't expect me to update so soon. Never judge a book by its cover (im crying bc i miss those videos).

Anyway, shorter than last week's. Sorry lol. Also, my writing is still crappy rn. Need more practice.

Love you guys tho 3

"Wow…" Joel breathed into the dark, wiping the excess sweat from his forehead, "We're getting pretty good at this."

Wednesday smirked, picking up her discarded uniform from the floor, "You're not holding back anymore… You've become more… animalistic… Primal… I bled."

"I cried."

"I screamed."

"I know." The jewish boy smirked back at her with satisfaction, buttoning up his khaki polo, "I hope nobody heard you…"

"Don't lie to me, Joel." Wednesday deadpanned.

"Okay, fine, maybe a little bit." He blushed, "Just for the others to know who's boss. Like, 'I'm the alpha.' You know? You chose me, not them… And now I get to wave it in their faces."

"Or," His girlfriend sauntered over to him, slinking her arms around his torso, "You just want people to hear you having sex, because you're a pervert."

"Hey!" He feigned shock, but returned the embrace nonetheless, "That's alpha-pervert to you!"

"Let the record show that you shall henceforth be referred to as 'alpha-pervert' for the rest of the summer."

Joel crinkled his nose, "Okay, maybe it can be, like, an unspoken thing… Like, everybody knows that I'm the alpha."

"Alpha-pervert." She corrected, looking up at him.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, "Cara, if we can do what we just did every day - no, even if it's every month - you can call me whatever the hell you want."

"Hm," Wednesday shrugged against his body, "The offer is tempting..."

Joel nodded, smiling to himself, "It is, now?"

Wednesday rolled her eyes, "Calm down, Glicker… I'm only saying what I mean: You're my sexual plaything, and nothing more."

He rolled his eyes back at her, the smile still glued to his face, "Right…"

"Well, I have to get back to my cabin before the girls start to get suspicious…" She begrudgingly pulled herself out of his arms.

"Me too… I don't know how long Ben can hold down the fort with the maniacs we're dealing with."

"Maniacs, you say? How lovely."

"Isn't it?" Joel cocked his head, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He opened the door for Wednesday, who walked past him, keeping a sharp eye out for any of the other counselors.

She stopped short, however, after the first few steps, and sighed, turning around, "Joel?"

"Yeah?"

"Je t'aime…"

He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "Te amo, cara mia…"

Amanda Buckman screamed, staring back at her (for lack of better word) horrifying reflection in the bathroom mirror – her beautiful blonde hair, now molded into a rock-hard, sticky, black mess.

Slowly, she brought her quivering hand up to her head, and tried to touch it, gingerly.

How did this happen?

She racked her brain, retracing her steps… That morning she had woken up, around 5:30 or so… early enough to get the shower all to herself. After that, she pulled her hair into a towel to dry. She dressed herself, put on her makeup, and ate – honey nut cheerios, with strawberries and bananas on top, a glass of O.J. on the side…

And then – oh, the horror – Amanda went back to that stupid bathroom, and pulled the towel off. That was it.

Now she was here.

None of this makes sense; everything about her morning seemed normal; completely on schedule. Maybe she had to look back, further; what did she do before bed?

Amanda furrowed her brows in contemplation. Last night…

She walked the girls back to the cabin, after dinner. What did they eat again? Chili? Did that even matter?

Probably not.

They got ready for bed; ate s'mores by the campfire, put their pajamas on, had a pillow fight, took turns telling "ghost" stories… Nothing out of the ordinary – at least, according to Chippewa standards.

However, something kept jabbing at her memory: the dinner, the chili…

What is so important about the chili? Other than its devastating, bowelular effects on the campers who dared consume it?

Amanda thought long and hard, holding her head in her hands as she propped her elbows on the bathroom sink… There was just something about that dinner…

Dinner, chili, dinner, chili, campers, campers-

Campers.

That group of girls, that ragtag clan of misfits… Her girls decided to sit with them last night!

The campers, the chili, the dinner, the hair… It all traces back to one thing.

Well, one person. Though, that specific person seemed more like a witch to her… Or some nauseating demoness.

"That bitch."

"I didn't do it." Wednesday stated simply, folding her arms and leaning back into her seat next to a very exasperated Amanda Buckman.

Amanda stood up from her chair, "She's lying!" She pointed at Wednesday, "She did it for some kind of sick revenge!"

"I wish…"

"See?"

Wednesday rolled her eyes, "I said 'I wish,' not 'I did.'" She veered her attention back to Gary and Becky, who where seated across the table, "As much as I am enjoying her frustration, I would quite like to return to my cabin, now."

Gary scratched the back of his neck nervously, "I'm sorry, Amanda…"

"No!" The once-blonde girl screamed.

"I just don't see any physical evidence linking Wednesday to the 'crime.'" He frowned. Unfortunately.

Becky sighed, disappointed, "You may be excused, Amanda."

The girl let out a huff, pushing her seat against the desk, "Fine! Whatever!" She turned to Wednesday, her voice reduced to a dangerously low whisper, "Don't think I'm going to forget this, freak."

She stomped out of the small cabin, Wednesday shrugged and stood up from her seat.

"Hold on there, Wednesday," Becky chided, "Not so fast…"

She groaned inwardly, but kept her poise, "What?"

Gary frowned, "We're not going to punish you this time-"

"Because I didn't do it."

He disregarded her monotonous plea, "-But we will not let any behavior of this nature slide this year…"

Becky nodded, "You and Mr. Glicker are under a three-strike policy…"

"It's a baseball term, when you get three strikes, you-"

"I know what it means, Gary." Wednesday interrupted, frowning.

Becky's lips perked up into a small, triumphant smile, "We believe this policy is only fair, given the circumstances of your stay here at Camp Chippewa…"

"So, two more stunts like this, and say goodbye to your service credits… Alright?" Her husband smugly grinned.

Wednesday fought back every urge she had to strangle her head-counselors right then and there, to watch their faces slowly turn to a satisfying shade of blueish purple-

"Are we understood?" He asked again.

Or a swift motion, knife in hand, right across the jugular… Oh, the glory… Blood spewing everywhere. Joel would ignite the cabins- the camp would be in a state panic, once again. They would waltz among the flames…

"Wednesday?"

Wednesday snapped out of the pleasant daydream, glaring at the couple in front of her, "Yes?"

"Are we understood?"

"You are understood."

"Great!" Gary slapped his hands together, "You can go now… Breakfast is at 9:30. Hope you like French toast…"

"Gare uses a special, secret ingredient in his French toast…" Becky cooed.

"D'aw… It's really nothing… Just a little cinnamon, brown sugar, nutmeg…" He blushed, giggling, "And love."

Wednesday had always considered herself a fan of torment… An aficionado, if you will.

But this? This was just plain cruel.

Sooo if you liked it, fav, follow, and review.

If you didn't like it, suck my ass (jk I would never make you do that, I love you too much).

Also pray for me bc I have a drug test on monday and i really dont want to get grounded.