Content Warning: Homophobia, parental neglect. The problem with Delilah, people always said, was how stubborn she was. It was an idea pressed into her practically by birth, by parents who wanted a good, submissive daughter. They cried when she wasn’t good. They practically killed themselves when she wasn’t submissive. But the worst thing, probably, was when Delilah ended up less of a girl than what they wanted.
Delilah was a girl. At least, she thought she was. But she liked looking less girl-ish. She liked how it felt with a binder pressing against her ribs. She liked the freedom getting a buzzcut meant. She liked leather jackets and shitty denim and wife beaters, even with the atrocious name. She was a girl, but she liked to be confused for a skinny, mean looking boy in the streets. The broken nose only added to that charm. The teeth straightened by years of braces detracted from it.
The last star for Lilianne and Jonathan Cohen was when Delilah started wearing a yarmulke. She wasn’t coy about it— she never tried to hide that sort of thing from her parents. They could accept her as she was, stupid haircuts and acne scars and all the attire a nice Jewish boy would find astonishing or not accept her at all.
They chose the latter. It took two weeks for Delilah wearing the kippah on top of her head to be shipped off to Wiley’s. Connecticut was close enough to New York City to where her parents could still check in, but far enough where they didn’t have to worry about looking into her defiant gaze any longer. Delilah couldn’t say that it didn’t hurt, but at least she didn’t have to deal with their scolding anymore. If Lilianne saw her hair now, a mess of curls and what looked like a mullet shaved from scratch, Delilah would be afraid of her having a stroke on the spot. Not to mention a girlfriend— a not-Jewish girlfriend. Her poor father would have his heart give out. Both of her parents, succumbing to the fatal condition of a daughter they didn’t know what to do with, let alone how to love.
It was okay, though. Delilah had other people that loved her, and in her stubbornness, she had fixed herself in the bathroom on the first floor of the Science building. Her class was on the other side of campus, but Storai had AP Psychology now, and she wanted to talk to them.
hey
can u meet me in the b-room?
i have something to tell uuu
Delilah waited for a second, with a bated breath. A few bubbles popped up, rippling once, twice, and then:
ok
It took another five minutes for Storai to show up, her dark hair in a braid and her uniform done to perfection— the white shirt pressed, the purple headband matching the plaid purple skirt, the Mary Janes smothered by lilac crocheted leg warmers. She looked gorgeous. Delilah’s heart hurt just looking at her.
“Hey, mentshette,” Delilah said.
“Is anyone else in here?” Storai asked.
Delilah’s face went a little red. “Oh— um— no, no one else is here. There was someone a little while ago, but they left—”
Before Delilah could continue, Storai went over and kissed Delilah long and slow. She closed her eyes, savoring it for a moment, before her girlfriend pulled away.
“What’s up, love?” Storai asked, leaning against the spotted marble sink.
“I just had a question to ask,” Delilah said. “It won’t— take very long.”
“Sounds good,” Storai murmured. “What is it?”
“Well,” Delilah said, “you know how I was talking to you about the GWWAC, right?”
“The what?”
“The Arcane Club,” Delilah said. “George Washington Wiley’s Arcane Club. GWWAC. It’s silly.”
“That’s the one that’s closer to a GSA, right?” Storai asked. “Where you’re just using its title as an excuse.” Her gaze had already shifted. I’m losing them. Fuck!
“Yeah,” Delilah warbled, “but we also just do it so we can hang out. We’re not very picky on it. It’s really just supposed to be a fun time, you know? We have a fun time.”
“Where are you going with this?” Storai asked, her eyebrows furrowing.
“Well…” Delilah said. ”We’re— we’re trying not to use it as an excuse. We’re trying to get um… more magic-y? We’re thinking about maybe doing something tonight.”
“Tonight’s short notice,” Storai said. “I have a chemistry test.”
“You can study first. It’ll be at eleven.”
“That’s late.”
“But it’ll be fun,” Delilah persisted. Storai sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers.
“Okay. Well, what are you doing?”
“We’re conducting a seance!” Delilah said. “Just the four of us, it’ll be a welcoming space. I’ll probably bring snacks, and it’ll be late, so we’re probably not going to see anyone else. It’ll be really fun.”
“A seance?” Storai asked, her expression turning baffled.
“Yes! A seance,” Delilah said. She went on to explain, “there’s a couple different ways to do it… I was looking on Wikipedia and stuff earlier, but we’re going to use an Ouija board.”
“Where are you getting that from?”
“Aida has one,” Delilah explained, before stopping. She realized her mistake a little too late as Storai bit her lip, an anxious expression crossing her face.
“Aida’s going to be there?” Storai asked.
“Yes, but she’s not going to say anything—”
“—I can’t risk that,” Storai said. “What if… what if she tries to join our group again? And tells Julie I was there?”
“So what?” Delilah said. “What’s the worst thing that’ll happen? What is she going to say?”
“She’ll ask me,” Storai whispered, “what I’m doing with someone like you.”
Delilah paused. Her face was red again, she knew it. She felt the heat rising to the surface like nothing else. “Someone like me.”
“Like… I don’t know,” Storai hesitated. “You know Julie doesn’t think of you highly. You guys have fought before. Am I supposed to pretend everything’s all peaches and roses between you two? She thinks you’re an outcast and a loser.”
“No, I just— I—” Delilah stammered. Why were her words failing now? Just spit it out! “What do you think of me? Am I a loser to you?”
“No!” Storai said, sounding exasperated. Okay. Okay.
“Okay,” she said out loud this time, a soft sort of sound. She felt like a hit dog, even though Storai didn’t do the hitting. Maybe it was because Julie was saying that sort of thing to her in the first place. She wondered what Storai said back.
Storai frowned. “I’m sorry, Delilah. I need to get back to class. You probably need to too.”
“Probably,” Delilah muttered. “Um… if you want to come, it’s at eleven.”
“Thank you for the invitation, love,” Storai said. “I’ll see you around. Thank you for coming, too.”
“Yeah,” Delilah said, scuffing her foot against the ground. “Of course.”
Storai went to leave. “Love you.”
“You too,” she wanted to say. The door shut before she could even open her mouth.
E. Syson (they/she) is the seventeen-year-old author of the Auriala trilogy on Amazon. She also works for Darpan Literary Magazine and Petrichor & Beaulieu Gazettes. Find them at @3_syson on insta!
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