Stokely wasn't part of Them very long, only about a minute before she was knocked out. Not long enough to get a handle on everything. There were so many thoughts streaming through her head. Memories involving people she'd never met, music she'd never heard, body parts she'd never had. If everything hadn't been so fucked up she might have peeped into Delilah's mind. The mind is the real erogenous zone, after all. And seeing what Delilah was really like, under her masks – well, that might have been too much for even Stokely to handle. She still wants to try.
After the invasion Stokely slept for two straight days. She drank orange juice and chicken soup, because she didn't quite trust water, and because her mother had to feel useful somehow. She went back to school the next Monday, and the staring didn't bother her as much as it used to. She felt like staring back.
Delilah didn't come back until Wednesday, and when she did she wore contacts and twenty pounds of artfully applied make up. She headed up cheerleading practice like nothing had happened, but Stokely noticed that afterwards she bypassed the water fountain and went for the Gatorade machine.
In English class they are asked to write about one childhood memory that changed their lives. Stokely's classmates write about family trips and tragedies; pets and grandmothers and books and tears.
Stokely write about her first and last Barbie doll. Of how she cut off its hair and put its head on backwards and colored all over it with black pen, right before she tried to feed it to the dog.
When she finished reading her essay the class was dead silent. Someone in the back of the room made the crazy sign when she sat down. Delilah just looked at her strangely. Strangely, because Stokely thought she might have understood.
One of the things she remembers most is shooting Delilah. The weight of the gun in her hand, the noise, the smell, her heartbeat pounding in her head. Stokely has seen those... those things writhing in Delilah's face, and she'd known right then. Known that Delilah had to be killed. Casey couldn't do it, so she did it for him. She'd tried anyway. At least she'd tried.
Stokely knew this was probably going to be the third year in a row Delilah won Prom Queen. That was just the way it worked. She'd look perfectly gorgeous on Gabe's arm. Maybe even Zeke's, since he was the new football star. Not that Zeke was going to show up. He's skipped prom four years running and there wasn't much chance he'd change tradition. Stokely hadn't gone yet either, and she thinks about throwing an anti-prom party at Zeke's house. They could drink and smoke and talk again, and maybe they'll invite Casey. It would be nice for someone around here to be happy.
She thinks, for a moment, about inviting Delilah. To see if she'd accept, or maybe to see the look on her face. Stokely knows Delilah would never give up a chance in the spotlight.
Zeke's right: there's no rush like fighting Delilah. There's something about watching her perky white teeth snap out insults that makes Stokely's blood boil. Something about the quintessential rich preppie kid façade that Stokely wanted to debauch.
Delilah is both a dream and nightmare. Everything Stokely wants and everything she fears. Sometimes Stokely dreams she's a vampire and that she drains Delilah's blood to the last drop, and that she makes Delilah a vampire too. It might just be an overdose of Buffy and Anne Rice, but she thinks a psychologist would have a field day just the same.
Stokely reads psychology books. She read Jung and Freud and Erikson, Mathis and Singer. Science fiction always has a lot about brainwashing and cortal zones and neural functions and inbred moral values, and she figured she might as well know what the hell they were talking about when they talked about it. Then it was just interesting, and she couldn't stop. It was too much fun to pick people apart and find out what made them tick.
Zeke was a puzzle, like she'd said. Stokely thought that she'd had Casey figured out, but that was before, before everything, and now she wasn't so sure. Stan – uh, best not to think about him. In the end, he was just a guy.
Delilah – ah, the crux of the matter. If Stokely could've cracked her she wouldn't have had a problem.
Delilah was driven. Demanding. Sexy. Sensual. Smart. Stubborn. Bitchy. Ballsy. She lied, constantly, and she always had to be the fucking best. She wanted the beat the system – she hated that system, but until the day came she could beat it, she would rule it.
Stokely wonders what Delilah's dreams are like.
Stokely knows about obsession. You can't get through a decent psych book without running across it at least once. She'd like to say she's not obsessed, but the first step is often denial, so she hedges the subject and thinks she might be. Just a little.