The Addams Family by Calliope Glass

Author:Calliope Glass
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Back in the house, Gomez and Morticia discussed the situation.

“I agree, Gomez,” Morticia said as she knitted. “The whole family moving here would be a dream come true. But,” she added, looking up, “I don’t trust that Margaux woman.”

Gomez was poking through the welcome basket that Margaux had brought. “She’s an eccentric, darling,” he said. “Give her a chance.” He pulled a jar of something out of the basket. “Raspberry preserves,” he read, puzzled. “Never heard of it. Must be some kind of scented embalming fluid.”

Morticia raised an eyebrow. That was a very neighborly gift. Maybe she’d been wrong about Margaux.

“Gah!” Gomez said, starting violently. Wednesday had appeared behind him, apparently out of nowhere.

“Wednesday,” Morticia scolded gently. “I’ve told you a thousand times. Practice your lurking on someone other than your father. He’s just too easy.”

“Yes, Mother,” a voice in Morticia’s ear said softly. She did not jump, but it took some willpower. “Better,” Morticia said approvingly. She looked up at Wednesday—who was now standing behind the couch—and smiled. Wednesday smiled back and climbed over the couch to sit down next to her mother.

Gomez came over as well. “What’s on your mind, my little nightcrawler?” he asked.

Wednesday looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. “Well,” she said, “I spoke with Parker this afternoon. She’s the daughter of that talking mannequin who came to visit.”

Morticia looked up from her knitting. “I wasn’t aware that Margaux had a daughter,” she said. “What did you talk about?”

“She told me about a communal school all the neighborhood children attend,” Wednesday said. “It’s called . . . junior high.”

Morticia shivered. It sounded awful to her.

Gomez nodded. “Junior high,” he repeated, his voice grave. “I’ve read about those in my abnormal psychology books.”

Wednesday went on, her voice small but determined. “Anyone of age can enroll,” she said. Morticia felt her heart sinking. But she didn’t let anything show on her face. “I think,” Wednesday added, “that it would be . . . good for me.”

A long, long, silent moment went by. Morticia knitted and knitted and did not look at Wednesday.

Gomez cleared his throat. “I think it’s a capital idea!” he said.

Morticia came to the end of one row of stitches and began the next. “And what of your studies here?” she asked calmly, still not looking up. “Your taxidermy is coming along so well.”

Wednesday sighed impatiently. “Mother,” she said, “would you really deprive me of the opportunity to torment children my own age?”

“She makes a point,” Gomez chimed in. “What’s more, with Wednesday in school, we’d get to know the people here even better!”

“Well, Mother?” Wednesday asked eagerly.

Morticia looked up at last. She looked at her husband, his eager, cheerful face. She looked at her daughter, her anxious, pinched, sweet little snout.

She was outnumbered.

Eastfield Estates Middle School was a tidy, cheerful building. It had an Olympic-sized swimming pool and an award-winning science club. The cafeteria served quinoa on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was everything a devoted parent could want for their child.

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