Page 4 of And They Were Roommates

Delilah smacks the wall again for dramatic emphasis, pulling me back.

Whole-planet-arson status it is. The best course of action is to wait to share the details on my roommate situation. “My residential retainer said he’d check with the office about a single,” I say. “It’ll be fine.”

“Good. Or I’ll set them on fire.”

“Do not.”

“We’ll see.”

I tug on my left suspender strap. The fact that we need to be in uniforms the moment we’re assigned to rooms—a black-and-red plaid blazer with the Valentine crest on the lapel, matching plaid slacks, bright red button-down shirt, and black ties spawned from the depths of ugly Hell—is cruel. “Do I look like a guy in this uniform?”

“You are a guy.”

“But like.” I wiggle the dress shoes hanging off my feet, which I purposely ordered a size too large. Not my smartest move, but fearing that everyone would notice I have the smallest feet on campus beat my logic. “You know.”

Delilah crosses her arms in her much more aesthetically pleasing uniform. While I look drenched in fresh blood in my suit, she gets a pastel blazer and a plaid skirt that falls to her knee-high stockings. The reminder of how aggressively the brother and sister uniforms play into stereotypes isn’t a thrilling one.

“I thought you finally felt good about this stuff,” she says.

“I did. I do. Sort of.”

“You deferred your acceptance here for a reason.”

I did. To take online classes for a year. To figure out guy clothes and guy hair and other ways to survive, all in the privacy of my bedroom. But. “I guess.”

“No one’s gonna find out. How would they know?”

Jasper Grimes would know.

If he tells anyone, it’s over. The guidance package doesn’t mention transgender students, but that’s the problem. They only use the old church as a bell tower now, but when Mom studied here, going to church was mandatory on Fridays at nine o’clock. She took religion like other students took math. And whenever I visited Valentine before, not a single student struck me as someone who may need updated guidelines for the same reason I do.

Hence, keeping my head down.

“I just have a bad feeling all this will pile up,” I say. “And I’m worried I might not rank top five of my class.”

“Please, you’re the smartest person I know.”

The compliment only briefly warms my chest. Delilah could never understand the fear of losing a scholarship. Although both our parents went to Valentine, hers are doctors drowning in money. Mom was also an Excellence Scholar and now owns a bookshop that, although it’s a cornerstone of the Queens community, is drowning in debt—an anomaly when Valentine alumni get an unofficial fast pass to any Ivy they wish. But Mom wished for her dream instead. “My scholarship depends on it.”

“I mean, I get that. If I want to be able to run for the student council board this year, then I have to rank within the top fifteen of my own class.”

I nod, even though I barely take in what she says.

Delilah sighs, and it comes out a bit irritated and short. A piece of me wants to ask what’s going on, but she distracts me bycontinuing to talk. “I’m just trying to say that I hear you. About the pressure. I’d back out now if you don’t want this.”

“No,” I say, playing with Mom’s varsity Valentine ring on my finger. “I want it.”

Even more than that. When Grandma and Grandpa were alive, they would ramble about how proud they were of Mom to have scored this scholarship—and when she wasn’t around, how it was “wasted” on a tanking bookstore.

And then there’s Mom. At first, I applied without telling her, assuming the odds of being chosen as one of their Excellence Scholars were microscopically low, and that she would be crushed if I got her hopes up. Once they emailed me that my scholarship was still on the table after I deferred and came clean to her, though, she didn’t cheer like I expected. She only frowned, knowing full well that I would need to stay on the boys’ campus for reasons that might not thrill administration. She insisted there had to be other Ivy feeders in the region besides the one she went to—that I could apply elsewhere, to a place that wouldn’t pose as much risk.

But Valentine is where I realized I was a boy. It’s called out to me all my life, insisting I belong here. It had to bethiscampus.Thisacademy. After four attempts at explaining this to Mom—alongside reminding her how this life-changing education pointed her toward her love of books and, ultimately, mine—she let go of enough worry to give a hesitant seal of approval.

Yet I’m already facing problems one day in. Exactly like Mom worried about.

“But look how terrified you are,” Delilah says.

“I’m notterrified.”

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