Just Super

I wake up in a cold sweat. I’m not sure what I was dreaming just now, but it wasn’t good. My heart rate must be over a hundred bpm right now. I take deep breaths and try to calm down.

Bits of the dream emerge as I try to clear my head. I was flickering from place to place and everywhere I went the world was falling apart around me. I’d find someone I was looking for, then they’d crumble to dust, or disappear. I was fleeing something, but I didn’t know what.

It takes me an hour to get back to sleep.

It’s Wednesday morning, and I can’t believe I have to go back to fucking school. I should have left it in the other dimension. I’m exhausted from a horrible night’s sleep and my head is pounding. 

It takes me a couple of tries, but I am able to flicker away the headache. I end up a little less tired, too. That’s an improvement.

When I go to my closet to decide what to wear, I get a surprise. It’s about twice as full as it was yesterday morning. There are several really cute dresses plus some tops and skirts. My footwear seems to have multiplied as well. There’s a super cute pair of tall boots that I have to wear right away. I even find the perfect top and skirt to go with them.

My day is definitely improving, and it’s about to get better.

Me: Ready?

Em: and willing.

I flicker to Emily’s living room. 

It looks like I’m not the only one who got a wardrobe upgrade. She’s in a pair of adorable wide-leg cargo pants and a red t-shirt that hugs her curves perfectly.

I take a moment to appreciate the view. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks. Same to you.”

She takes my outstretched hand and we’re at school.

We figured out last night that I can now take one person with me when I flicker. At Emily’s insistence, I tried to change her outfit when we flickered, but that didn’t work. I can’t say I was disappointed. That would feel sort of ick. 

So far that’s the only difference I’ve noticed, other than the wardrobe upgrades. I have a distinct feeling that there’s more, though. I really wish I could remember what happened when we kissed.

We walk through the halls to the auditorium; there was a notification on the school app this morning saying that there’s a special assembly in place of the first half of first period today. Yes, we could have flickered directly into the auditorium, but I like walking with her. 

From the smile I catch when I peek at her face, and the way she’s humming as we swing our hands back and forth, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mind either. We find a pair of seats right in the center. Most people hate the centers of the rows, because sitting in one of those seats pretty much guarantees you’ll be one of the last people out. Unless you can teleport, of course.

Emily grabs my upper arm and points to the side of the auditorium. It takes a second for me to figure out what she’s trying to show me. The auditorium is back to its old shape; the recently added walls, one of which had been sealing off the anomaly, are gone.

I feel an odd sense of satisfaction.

When the assembly starts, the auditorium is less full than usual. At a guess I’d say about ten percent of the kids stayed home today. Emily agrees.

The assembly itself is boring. “Blah blah, we’re sorry that our protections were insufficient. Blah blah, they’ve been upgraded and a repeat occurrence is now impossible. Blah blah, thank you to each and every one of you who helped or was ready to help defend The School. Extra counseling is available blah blah blah.”

When it’s over, I flicker us out to the hallway. As we walk to her first class, people are paying a lot more attention to us than normal. Most of the attention is positive; guys nod at us; girls smile at us. We even get the occasional offer of a fist bump. Some of it is less positive, though. Some of the kids look concerned when they see us and give us as much berth as they can.

It makes sense; they all must know what we did. As far as they know, we could pretty much delete The School on a whim. I’m really glad we can’t.

Last night at dinner, Emily and I agreed not to talk about the day at all. We made plans for the weekend. We argued about who the mysterious new kid on Marked Hearts will turn out to be (obviously they’re going to be someone already established). Mostly we don’t talk at all.

One thing does come up, though. Each of us have noticed that our memories are slightly off from the time I ascended myself up until the kiss that brought us back down to Earth. It’s not that there are gaps, except during the kiss; it’s that they don’t feel quite real. For me it’s like I’m remembering a movie. Emily says it’s like she read about the whole thing.

I’m glad for that. I really don’t want that kind of power, or the responsibility that comes with it. But if I could remember what it felt like, I think I’d miss it anyway. I didn’t ask Emily, but I’m pretty sure she agrees. She seemed relieved, anyway.

I give her a quick kiss before I flicker to my own first period class.

“I knew it!” Denise is very proud of herself. “I knew that was you two!”

We’re sitting in a coffee shop in San Francisco. I messaged Denise shortly after things got back to normal yesterday (luckily before I told my aunt and uncle, because that delayed the date by forty-five minutes), but all I told her was that everything was fine, and I’d fill her in later. Now it’s later and Emily and I have told her the abridged version of yesterday’s events, leaving out such minor details as how we were able to do all that.

She immediately got out her phone and showed us a video that was taken by a drone hovering outside the forcefield. It’s a pretty high quality video. You can’t quite make out our faces, but it shows Emily and I going ham on the invaders. It’s really weird to see myself doing straight up superhero shit.

“Yes, you’re very observant,” I reassure Denise. “Have a cookie.” I hand her one of the macarons off the shared plate of them we bought. I already had two anyway and don’t want to spoil my dinner.

She glares at me, but eats the cookie. Once she wipes away the crumbs, she continues, “But how? How were you two able to use each other’s powers? And where did those other powers come from?”

I take this one. “I can’t tell you that. It’s somebody else’s secret.”

Her eyes light up and she turns right to Emily. Fuck. I told her that I was keeping a secret for Emily, didn’t I? Fuck.

“So that’s the secret she’s keeping for you!” She’s proud of herself again, then her face falls. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Fr—Delilah.”

“It was before we started dating—” I start to defend myself.

“She already had it bad for you, though.”

I glare at Denise. “True, but not the point. I had to talk to someone, and all I told her was that you shared an important secret.”

Denise nods. “That’s all she said.”

Emily shakes her head, then buries her face in her hands. She starts shaking.

I put my hand on her back. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of that before…” I’m not sure how I meant to finish that.

Emily raises her head. She’s laughing. “You know what? I’m done? I’m going to get the attention eventually anyway, and what’s anyone going to do to me? If they did manage to lock me up in some government lab, I’m sure my damsel in goth armor would come rescue me.” 

She looks at me and I melt.

“Are you sure?”

She nods.

So we tell Denise the rest—not the whole poltergeist story—Emily says I can fill in the details later if Denise wants them—but the broad outlines and how I used my mark to change myself in the same way. The only thing we leave out is the whole divinity thing. We just talk about a “power source.”

“I’m confused,” Denise breaks in at one point. “So while you were tapping into Emily’s power source—”

Emily snorts at that and coffee almost comes out of her nose. 

Denise waves that off. “You know what I mean. Are you saying that when you were doing that, you reached back in time and transitioned yourself?”

“No, no. That’s just when I figured out what change I made the first time that would have gotten me raised as a cis girl.”

“Okay, and why were you shorter?”

“I can’t be sure, but I guess that the version of me that—”

“The purely hypothetical version of you,” Emily interjects.

“Yes, the purely hypothetical version of me that—”

“That doesn’t and never did exist,” she interrupts again.

“Yes, that. That nonexistent, purely hypothetical version of me transitioned differently.” From my disjoint memories of what it was like to have Emily’s power, or close enough, I think I know this. “If you’d been a trans guy, could you have transitioned yourself?” I ask her.

“Huh.” She stares up and to the right. “I definitely could right now. It would take months, though, and I’d have to do a lot of reading on the biology involved to get everything right.”

Excellent. I was right.

“But if I were trans, I think I would have probably auto-transitioned when I merged. Purely hypothetical, nonexistent eleven year Delilah could definitely have stayed shorter, if she’d wanted.”

“Oh, cool,” Denise and I both say.

That’s settled, so we finish filling in some of the details that Denise is curious about.

“That’s got to be frustrating, not knowing how you fixed things.”

I shrug. Surprisingly, I don’t really mind. It happened. I trust Emily, and I’m choosing to trust myself. The fact that we fixed it is good enough for me. I look at Emily.

“I’m good with it,” she says.

“Does this mean you’re going to go into rapid response when you’re done with school?” Denise asks me.

“Nope.” That’s one of the things I tossed and turned over when I went to bed last night. Sure, if there’s ever something that only I can deal with, I’ll step up. But I don’t want that to be my life. “I want to help people, but not like that.” I watch Emily’s reaction. I’m a little afraid she’ll be disappointed in me.

If she is, there’s no trace of it on her face. “How do you want to help people?”

“I think I want to be a therapist. Maybe for families or couples, or other groups.”

I can’t believe I blurted that out. It’s true, I’d like to do that, but I didn’t even know it until I said it. I feel my cheeks start to heat up. This is embarrassing.

Denise cocks her head. “I can see it.”

“Definitely,” Emily agrees. “That’s awesome, Delilah! When did you decide that?”

“About eight seconds ago.”

She beams at me. “Well I think it’s great.”

“I think I may have been avoiding thinking about my future for a while now.”

“Really?” Emily’s disbelief is not even a little convincing.

“That’s a complete shock to me.” Denise’s is even less so.

“It was that obvious?”

“Yeah.” 

“It was.”

“You know, you could have told me. I can listen to reason.”

“Is that another new skill you’ve picked up?”

Emily answers for me. “It’s probably my good influence.”

“Yeah, probably,” Denise agrees.

“I could leave you both here, you know. Just, ‘blip,’ and I’m gone and you two have to make your own ways a couple thousand miles home.”

Denise looks at Emily. “Could you drop me on your way home?”

“Sure.” Emily grins.

I am the luckiest girl on the planet.

Ms. Ruehl may have been teasing, but she wasn’t kidding about paperwork and questions.

I’m spending most of my Thursday in the office repeating my story over and over, and filling out so many forms. Emily’s turn was yesterday; she hadn’t offered any details and I hadn’t asked for any. We already had our stories straight anyway.

The most complete version is the one I give to Tiara. I don’t hold anything back with what I’m telling her; she’s one of the slowly increasing number of people who knows Emily’s secret.

The only thing notable about that particular discussion is the way she keeps asking me about The School’s new defenses. After the second oblique question, I realize that she isn’t responsible for them. After the third, I realize that she thinks that Emily and I are, or at least might be. If she’s right, it’s not like I can do anything about it now.

The interview with Principal Ruehl is considerably shorter. 

“How are you feeling, Ms. Doyle?”

“Pretty good, thanks. How about you?”

“I am well. Thank you very much for your actions yesterday.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How much credit do you want for your actions?”

“What do you mean?”

I appreciate that she’s asking the questions and letting me answer them, rather than just blitzing through the conversation with her mark.

“If it’s what you want, your identity and role in preventing disaster yesterday can be released to the press. I believe you would become quite famous.”

“Fuck, no!” Oops. “I mean, no, thank you.”

“Very well, thank you for your time.” She turns to her computer screen.

So much for her letting me actually be part of the conversation.

“That’s it?”

“I did not want to waste your time. I’ll forward my notes to you as soon as I’ve completed them. If there are any errors, please let me know immediately.”

I guess that’s the best I’ll get. “Thank you, ma’am.”

It’s another accursed B day, so no I don’t get lunch with Emily. That’s fine, though.

Bella and her crew make space for me as I approach their table.

“Hey, Delilah,” Bella greets me.

I put my new name up on the Wall Tuesday night, and it went out in the school newsletter yesterday morning as well. It’s nice that people paid attention.

“Thanks for saving everyone and stuff,” she continues. 

A chorus of agreement goes around the table.

I try to hide my blush.

“I did what anyone would have, in my place.”

“Fuck, no. If I had your mark, I’d have been in Acapulco two seconds after the whole thing started.” Haley is not mincing words.

A couple of others agree with her.

“Why Acapulco?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

That's fair.

Ten minutes before lunch I get Ms. Ruehl’s notes. I don’t see anything I have a problem with, so I reply with a simple “thanks.”

The last interview of the day is with agents of the Bureau of Metanormal Phenomena. I don’t like them; they’re assholes.

First off, they treat me like a child, which I technically am, but I mean like a small child, not someone who’s almost an adult. They use small words, speak slowly, and largely condescend to me. Luckily Ms. Ruehl’s notes included a quick list of my rights, and how much exactly I’m required to say.

“Frank—”

“It’s Delilah.”

“Your official records say Frank.” He holds up a print out. Sure enough it has my old name on it.

I flicker closer and snatch it from his hand. 

“Hey!”

I ignore him. The header shows that this was printed in the middle of the day on Tuesday, while hijinx were still ensuing. That’s interesting. When Uncle Keith had gone to change my name on his insurance yesterday evening, he’d found it already changed. All the online records I could find were changed as well.

I hand the paper back, then flicker my ID into my hand. It has the same changes as everything else. My full name is now Delilah Franca Linden Doyle. That works for me. I hand it over.

“Fine. Mr. Doyle—”

“Seriously? If you misname me or misgender me again, I’m leaving.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“Watch me, then.” I flicker back to my bedroom and scroll through social media for a minute. I flicker back into the chair, catching the two agents in the middle of an argument.

“You know what,” I say. “You have Ms. Ruehl’s report. If you have any questions beyond that, send it to my guardians and we’ll decide whether or not to answer them.”

“We can make things difficult for you if you don’t cooperate.”

“Seriously?”

They stare at me.

I could totally fuck up their lives. I’m not going to though; they’re baiting me. “Fine. But I’m serious. Misgender me or misname me again and I’m out.”

I sit in that little conference room for two hours, answering every question with “Please refer to Principal Ruehl’s report,” or “See Ms. Ruehl’s report for those details,” or the like. They do at least stop misnaming and misgendering me. Small victories.

When they finally give up and are preparing to leave, Ms. Ruehl steps into the room. She waits for them to exit before addressing me.

“Well done, Delilah.” 

That is not getting old yet. 

“Thanks?”

“Be warned that there will be more of that. I’m afraid that the delicate balance that keeps the marked mostly safe has been disturbed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, young lady. You have nothing to apologize for.” She pauses, then corrects herself. “Nothing recent, that I know of, to apologize for.”

Since her ability allows her to never misspeak, I know she did that on purpose. Why does everyone like to tease me?

She continues. “I’m confident that we will find a new equilibrium. My point was merely that you should prepare yourself for many more such interrogations before that equilibrium is found. We will do our best to shield you from them, but there are limits.”

“Thank you.”

Emily and I are sitting on the sofa in her living room. Her moms are out on a date, so we have the house to ourselves for at least the next hour and a half. I turn off the TV as the latest episode of Queer Hearts ends.

“You okay?” Emily strokes my cheek with the back of her fingers.

On the show, Elle, the girl who’d been kicked out of her house for being gay, has just moved back home. Her parents had both apologized and promised to make it up to her. There was a lot of crying on the screen and here on the sofa.

“Mostly. It’s just…” Just what? I don’t know. Hard. Sad. “I guess I feel stupid. I cried when they kicked her out. Now I’m crying when they take her back.”

“It’s not stupid.” She pulls me into a hug.

We sit like that for a while. I flicker away the snot so it doesn't get on her shirt.

“What did you just do?” She must have felt something when I flickered.

I explain. She grins at me. She kisses me.

“How can you kiss me right now? I’m gross.”

“You’re not gross.” Her tongue darts out and touches a tear on my right cheek. “You’re delicious.” She repeats the motion on my other cheek. “You’re delectable.”

We sit for another moment, foreheads pressed together. Eyes closed.

“You’re delightful,” she whispers.

“I love you.” Oh, no. Why did I have to say that now? When I’m a snotty mess?

“Oh!” She stiffens. 

Damn it. I knew it wasn’t time to say it. I pull away. I flicker more snot away.

“No, no! Listen…” Emily searches for words.

“What?”

“I want to tell you something, but I don’t know if I should,” she says.

Of course I want to know what she’s talking about, but maybe I’m better off not knowing, if she feels that way.

“You can tell me whatever you want to.” I’m glad I’m all cried out.

“I’m not sure if I want to. It’s about this. It’s about us. I’m afraid it’ll mess things up.”

I don’t know what to say to that. 

We sit for another couple of minutes.

“Remember when we were talking about Lora Lee?” she asks.

“Yeah. Does this have something to do with the visions?”

She nods. “The middle one. It was maybe six or seven years from now, I think; the date didn’t show up in it.”

I shift position so that I can look at her as she talks and take her left hand in my right. I rub little circles with my thumb.

“Before I get to that, I need to explain something,” she continues.

“By the time I came to The School, I was pretty sure I was going to live my life mostly alone. I figured that if I found someone I cared enough about to spend my life with, I wouldn’t want to put her in danger by, well, spending my life with her.”

I start to say something, but she continues.

“This was toward the end of last school year. Remember, I hadn’t figured out my danger sense by then. I knew that I kept being where all this bad stuff happens, but I thought maybe trouble was coming to me, not the other way around.

“The vision started with me flying toward an apartment building, and in through a window. I’m not sure where I was coming from, but I’d clearly been out doing my thing—one sleeve of my jacket was missing, there was something unpleasant under my nails, and I smelled like smoke.

“As I came through the window, there was a woman about my age waiting for me. She moved to kiss me and I said something about letting me clean the soot off my face first. She laughed and said something cheesy, then kissed me anyway.

“Fifteen-year-old me had never kissed anyone. I wasn’t sure that was something I even wanted. After this, though, I knew it was. She was beautiful and soft and…”

She trails off with a dreamy look. This is making me really uncomfortable. 

“Sorry,” she continues, “I guess the details don’t matter from there. The point is, I wanted that future. I want that future.”

Oh, I see where this is going. It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I’m still glad I’m cried out, though.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, and squeeze her hand. “I know that, no matter what the stories tells us, most people don’t end up with their high school sweethearts.”

She shakes her head. “That’s—let me finish, okay?”

I nod. She squeezes my hand.

“The visions Lora gives are one hundred percent clear and real when you’re having them, but they fade faster than regular memories. Sort of like dreams. So at the time, I knew exactly what this woman looked like, but after a bit I couldn’t really remember her face.

“I looked for her anyway. In the vision, I knew we’d gone to school together, so I searched The School. She wasn’t there. Every time a new kid showed up I made sure to see if they might be her. They never were.”

“There’s still a couple months this year and there’s next year,” I say, “just because you haven’t found her yet, doesn’t mean—”

She glares at me and I stop talking.

“But I did find her. She showed up at The School a couple of months ago, but I didn’t realize it until just now.”

“You said—”

“I said the new kids were never her.”

She’s locked eyes with me again. Why is she the only person in the world that I don’t hate eye contact with?

She takes my hand in both of hers and keeps looking into my eyes.

Oh. I’m not a new kid.

“This is exactly why I’ve never talked to Lora.” I sigh. “Are you only interested in me because some future version of you loved some future version of me?”

“No!” She looks shocked. “Of course not. I didn’t even know. Except for that time we talked about Haley’s thing, I haven’t thought about my vision at all since before we got stranded. It was just a possible future, and it had done its job by showing me what was possible.

“But just now it all came rushing back. See, in the vision, when we were done kissing we stood there, foreheads pressed together. When we pulled away, her face was all covered with soot, and then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

“I kissed her again, and told her she was delightful, and she said those three words just like you did now. You said those words.”

This is a lot. 

“I know this is a lot, but remember, it’s just a possible future. Please don’t let it scare you away.”

“Scare me away? Do you think I wouldn’t want to spend as much of my life with you as I can?”

She pulls me into another kiss, which turns into another forehead touch.

She sighs. “I love you, too.”

There’s more kissing, but it can’t go on forever.

Eventually, I’m lying with my head in her lap. She’s stroking my hair while I stare up at her face.

“So was there more to the vision? After the kiss?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t remember most of it even right after. Most of the rest is just a blur.” She looks a little embarrassed, but is clearly trying to hide a smile.

“Most? So part of it isn’t a blur?”

“Remember when you saw me in the shower at other Tiara’s?”

I’m pretty sure I could draw a photorealistic picture. “Yeah, vaguely.”

“Well, if you’re still feeling at all bad about that, you can stop now. Because it turns out, that made us even.”

There’s a lot more kissing.

The sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains finds its way to my eyes and I wake up. I shift enough to move the spot of light to my forehead, but I don’t want to move more than that; I’m so warm and cozy and safe.

“Morning, Delightful,” Emily whispers in my ear. “Want to go get breakfast?”

“No. I wanna stay here forever.”

“You promised me crepes in Paris.”

It’s true. Yesterday-Delilah was a fool to think getting out of bed would ever be a good idea. “Mmmm, five minutes?”

She hugs me tighter for an answer.

Those five minutes pass in five seconds, but they’re amazing anyway. I am nothing if not a girl of my word, though. “First one out of bed gets first shower!”

I hear her yell “Cheater!” from the bedroom as I appear in the shower stall.

Once I’m all clean, I lie back down in the bed and bask in the memories of last night while she takes her shower.

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting at a table on the sidewalk outside a creperie in Paris. I watch Emily take a bite of her crepe and close her eyes to savor it. She catches me looking when her eyes open.

“What?”

“I was thinking about the future.”

“This afternoon? Next month? Next decade?”

“Yeah. All of that.”

“What does it look like?”

“I don’t know, really. But I’m looking forward to it.”