Sykosa, Part I: Junior Year

by Justin Ordoñez

  One other thing.

  Last year, Mike Holler was the Academy quarterback.

  He was also Donna Harly’s boyfriend.

  And a loser.

  SS1 tosses her hair again. It’s long and luscious, and no matter how many times she messes with it, it falls perfectly in place. “I don’t wanna leave the Stars behind! Besides, if only we go, without them or the Bitches, it’ll be just us and no one else! Plus, everyone is gonna be at this party this weekend!”

  SS2 concurs. “Yeah, everyone’s gonna be at the party!”

  Niko’s annoyed. “Oh ye’s of little faith—wake up! There’ll be tons of college guys there, we don’t need our boyfriends!”

  SS3 is confused. “Your boyfriend isn’t coming, Niko?”

  Niko coughs. “Well, he has to drive us out in his van.”

  SS1 gasps. “See, I knew it. I’m not going if the Stars aren’t.”

  SS2 gasps as well. “Yeah, we aren’t coming.”

  “Fine, you guys. You’re so lame sometimes.”

  SS1 shakes her hair a third time, then reaches into her book bag for her own cigarettes. She dresses like most girls at the Academy, in the sense that her skirt is rolled and her blouse is pulled back. However, during weekends, she transforms into a Niko and wears slinky club clothes when she parties, drinks too much, and eventually starts freak dancing her boyfriend in public. (It’s where the girl rubs her butt in the boy’s crotch).

  “What about you, Sykosa? Who’re you gonna bring?”

  SS2 lights up. Her skirt is also rolled, her blouse also pulled back and, during weekends, she too wears skimpy club clothes. Her boyfriend dislikes dancing, though. For that matter, so does Niko’s. Thus, the two often dance like lovers. They freak, hug, and kiss (no tongue, pervs). They have a bond since both feel physically inadequate. “Yeah, who’re you gonna bring?”

  It’s been noticed that Sykosa and Tom are closer, as some girls have relationship Dopplers. They also, of course, know about Sadie Hawkins, which she took Tom to. Now, before he sounds like a big jerk for not asking her to Prom, Hazu had just broken Niko’s heart, so seeing as everyone’s lives were in romantic shambles, everyone went as a big group.

  I wasn’t lying to my parents about that part.

  The dance was also awkward, so they don’t talk about it.

  She plays dumb. “Whom do you mean?”

  “Tom! Are you ever gonna hook up with that boy?”

  SS2 nods. “Yeah, hook up with that boy! Then, we’d all have boyfriends! That would be so cool!”

  Should it need to be said: no one knows she hooks up with Tom behind the chapel. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

  Niko interrupts. “Relax, girls, I invited Tom. Maybe Sykosa will finally get some action this weekend.”

  SS1 pouts. “How so unfair! Your first hookup out there all by yourselves? That’s so romantic.”

  SS2 has big, starry eyes. “Yeah, that’s so romantic!”

  Her attention splits since her butt is tight with poop, which reminds her why she came here. She uses the last stall where the light barely reaches. For one, she likes her privacy because girls are strange. Defecate in a normal bathroom and females hang around doing makeup to find out who pooped and feel gross for them. There’re other reasons. Last year, when she first got the key to this bathroom, she came here to poop and…

  Well, she can’t go there.

  (Her eyesight gets fuzzy again).

  Niko rolls her eyes again. “Whatever, you guys, go ahead and go to Ass Girl’s party and—”

  SS2 interrupts. “It’s funny how you call her Ass Girl.”

  Niko pouts. “Come here, whore.” SS2 rushes over and she gives Niko a hug while Niko lays her arm over SS2 like she is a boy. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

  SS2 giggles. “Don’t worry, you’ll get Hazu back. You will.”

  Niko agrees and decides this situation calls for a little reverse psychology. “You girls go to Ass Girl’s party! But, you’re going to be disappointed because no one throws a bash like me. So, go hang with the Bitches. I mean, you’re only welcome because Ass Girl’s such a slut for Hazu; otherwise, you’d never be invited and they’d laugh at you for showing.”

  The Sluts have worried expressions.

  SS1 throws her hair. “Should we do a girls’ weekend?”

  SS2 agrees. “Yeah, let’s do a girls’ weekend!”

  Niko throws up her arms. “Thank you!”

  SS2 wraps her arms around Niko again, but talks to Sykosa. “Well, are you gonna come?”

  She spaced out, hoping her disinterest would prompt their exit. Then, in the last stall, she’ll sit, staring at the door graffiti. First, Kana’s a coke whore. Second, I hate myself. It will begin again. That time, last year, when she was in that stall trying to shit in peace, the deadbolt snapped back and she stayed silent, hoping she would go unnoticed. That happened, and she got the “pleasure” of hearing a distressed Donna Harly tell a story about a boy feeding her a pill. He put his hands on her. Donna pushed him, to find she was pushed back, pushed open, then pushed into. She was his toy. And more than Donna wanted freedom, she wanted it to end. If she surrendered, then he’d shoot in his condom and leave her, like they all do, to cry alone.

  She breaks free. “What?”

  SS2 giggles. “You gonna come to Niko’s party?”

  Niko chimes in. “She’s talking to her parents, but it’s super hard with Sykosa’s parents.”

  SS1 has returned to the mirror. “That sucks.”

  SS2 returns, too. “Yeah, that sucks!”

  It does suck, not this weekend, but these last few minutes.

  Periodically, she comes here to remember she’s like Donna. That boy would’ve been atop her, her legs forced open and he’d be inside while she played dead, praying this might be one of those memories so blurred by fear she’d never actually remember it. These thoughts aggravate her core. The weight is upon her lungs and her eyes are fuzzy. It’s why… It’s why—after Donna left with Mackenzie—she wiped clean her cheeks, then her asshole, had no cigarette to smoke since she did not yet smoke, but instead put her pen on the stall door and, right underneath Kana is a coke whore, wrote: I hate myself.

  This isn’t her story. This isn’t her life.

  I do hate myself, though. And I blame myself.

  Niko’s perked up. “You’re all making the right decision. We will be the hottest party in all of Idaho!” That sounded wrong. “I mean, it’ll be cool anyway.”

  SS1 separates and picks at her bangs. “Let’s talk to the boys. Maybe they’ll want to come.”

  SS2 does, too. “Yeah, Niko, let’s invite the boys!”

  Niko vetoes. Hazu is a 100% no-go and a potential deal breaker. After all, Ass Girl is white, as well is her ass, and he’s drowning in it. Niko’s smart and patient about these things. She knows if she makes Hazu miserable, he’ll come back to her. It has to seem like his decision, though. “Let the boys rot. I bet they’re calling you complaining about how bored they are without you.”

  SS1 likes this notion, especially since she expects her boy will do this. “Okay, girls’ weekend!”

  SS2 agrees. “Girls’ weekend!” Then, she smiles big before she hugs Niko. “Hopefully your parents let you come, Sykosa!”

  “Maybe, I’m going to try really hard.”

  The Pep Squad, who wait in earnest, simmer down.

  It’s still there, though.

  She hates Mike Holler. The raping bastard.

  It could’ve been me.

  That’s the thing. No one raped her. She feels raped anyway. She feels naked when clothed. She feels alone when she’s with company. She feels used, even when appreciated. It’s led her to the conclusion that rape is an assault on all women. And why not? Everyone put up with Donna being raped. Everyone would’ve put up with her getting raped…or Niko, or the Sluts, or anyone with girl parts. That’s why rape isn’t a crime, it’s a statement. And that why i
t’s hopeless. Which explains why she latched her skirt, adjusted her sweater vest, then exited the stall, exited the bathroom, and went back to her normal life.

  Hours later, post-“meltdown,” Tom was bloody on the floor.

  Apparently, he didn’t approve of the statement.

  Niko’s proud of herself. “Girls’ weekend, it is. Keep in mind, Timmy’s coming cause he’s over twenty-one and that’s vital.”

  SS1 snubs her smoke. “It’s cool that you date an older guy.”

  SS2 does the same. “Yeah, we wish we dated older guys.”

  “It has its advantages, like the booze.”

  Seconds later, the Sluts walk through sprits of perfume and say their ta-tas, leaving Niko and Sykosa alone. Niko’s in front of the mirror. Her eyes are glued to the nine imperfections on her face. Niko’s documented these areas for the better part of her life, and she’s failed in all her attempts to hide them. “Are you more excited about this weekend?”

  “I guess.”

  “I don’t understand you. I mean, if Tom goes, don’t you—”

  She interrupts. “I don’t know.”

  That means no.

  “I don’t get it. What’s the matter?”

  What’s the matter is she likes her relationship being unlike the Sluts’. She likes how Tom is different. If she brings him to Coeur d’Alene, he might become just another “guy,” like all high school boys are “guys.” Crazy as it sounds, she saw Ass Girl’s party as a testing ground for going public with their relationship, and, if that went well, taking their relationship to his bedroom after school. I’m tired of the chapel, too. But it’s hard. Lots of stuff has been drilled into her by her parents, by the Academy, by Mother Superior. Like, it’s insane, but she justifies her sexuality with Tom by the fact that he never touches her vagina. That’s why the rule exists—if I never feel anything, it’s not my fault. And her sanctity as a woman is untarnished. It’s a retard theory, but she’s bought into it, and it’s not even her first concern. It’s Mackenzie. That M. I’m not certain our relationship can handle this weekend. She isn’t certain he cares.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, my parents will say no.”

  V.

  The long, lonely hallways fill with moving bodies and slamming lockers. Teachers monitor these happenings like night watchmen. Far be it for them to understand, but every so often, girls pull hair and boys break noses. Far be it for her to understand, but every so often, her stomach cramps like someone installed a dome light in her colon. She thinks she’ll shit soon. She’ll go back to that secret bathroom, which will hopefully be empty, to be in that same stall, stare at those same words, think those same thoughts, and fall in love with him all over again.

  Don’t give in, Sykosa! The Pep Squad—teen boys and girls in red-grey cheer uniforms with two-toned pom-poms—has assembled in her mind. Fight, Sykosa, fight!

  However, she can’t hear the Pep Squad over Tom.

  “Did you hear? I was late for another class.” Yes, Tom, I sit around and gossip about how late you were for class. Oh yes, that’s what I do! “I guess I got enough tardies that they might suspend me.” Poor you, oh poor poor you, I’m only having a breakdown! “I hope my Mom isn’t too pissed.”

  Blackness.

  She tells herself not to think about him, not to feel for him.

  She fails.

  It annoying how his every sentence is like a new paragraph. Once again, he doesn’t notice. He only waits by her locker. Like a dog. She performs her obligatory evaluation of him. He sucks. Everything that made him cute this morning sucks too. His shirt isn’t firmly tucked, his collar isn’t firmly straight, his smile is crooked, and a piece of hair has sprung loose from the collected whole.

  Why is he such a slob?

  Pep Squad: Don’t give in, Sykosa! Fight, Sykosa, fight!

  “I probably can’t come here in between classes.” “I wanted to let you know.” “Anyways, what did you think of what Niko said earlier?” His speech is garbled by chewy candy pieces. Each chewy is wrapped in a wax paper housing, and instead of throwing the wrappers away, he puts them in his front pocket. Slob! “Hello, are you in there?” “Sykosa?” “Are you mad at me or something?”

  Don’t think about him. Don’t feel about him.

  Blackness.

  “I’m sorry, I…” I need a hug and chocolate and a laxative, if you can spare one. She pauses. They don’t hug around other people, only behind the chapel. I’m a slut. “I’m stressing out over all this crap. You and Niko have these cool parents, but mine are freaks. They’re coming to parent-teacher conferences tonight, and afterwards, I’ll be locked in my room until I have all As.” Inside her locker, she twists material until a textbook slides out. A note’s attached to it. Do homework. “And I didn’t start my homework for my next class. I forgot it yesterday.”

  “Is it an important assignment?”

  No. “Yes, and I have to get it done as soon as possible. Hold this.” Her bag unloads onto his unsuspecting arms and he stumbles like the weight of her bag is the weight of the world. And you know what? It is the weight of the world. And, mind you, a little wimp like her finds a way to hold it every fucking day and why can’t he? She’ll tell you why. He stumbles not because he cannot stand steady, but because he is afraid to stand steady—afraid to be a fucking man and hold her fucking bag like a fucking man should! “I’m sorry. It’s heavy, isn’t it?”

  The anxiety is winning. Her thoughts are running.

  She thinks how no one’s perfect, except for her. She must be perfect, ever so perfect and everything else, or else everything will go wrong… Relax. It’ll be worse without him. She wonders what he’s feeling. He’s smiling. At what? It’s Mackenzie with her fancy Fendi book bag and her Invisalign braces. Not only will Mackenzie have better grades, she’ll have a better smile. Plus, Mackenzie’s a better swimmer! Don’t forget that! Fuck you. She hates feeling inferior to Mackenzie in the boyfriend, or any, department. It relates to valedictorian, which barring a miracle, will be won by Mackenzie. It’s all bullshit too. Nobody remembers, the Administration included, how Mackenzie spent last year slutting it up with the Bitches.

  She was Donna’s #2. And Lonny’s #1 dickhole.

  I wish.

  Truthfully, even dating Lonny, Mackenzie never got the “bad girl” reputation. She also knows, for a fact, all the sex rumors about Mackenzie and Lonny were fake. As does everybody. All anyone knows is Mackenzie’s a prude, and not in the “waiting for marriage” way, but in the “I don’t understand anything about my body” way. Otherwise known as the girls who overinvest in the sexual purity Catholicism encourages.

  Hell, Mackenzie probably doesn’t even masturbate.

  How weird is that?

  Moving on, Tom sets down her worldly bag. “M, in American history, our teacher passed out this review packet. I swear, it was hard. I barely finished one page.”

  “Didn’t Sykosa help you?”

  She speaks from inside her locker. “He spent all class joking with Niko. That’s why nothing’s done.”

  Mackenzie shrugs. Sykosa behaving like a freak-a-zoid, how unordinary. “Well, Tom, I’ll help you finish it tonight.”

  Her eyebrows climb her forehead.

  Not if he knows what’s good for him.

  “That’d be cool.”

  She looks inside her locker. It’s gray.

  Sometimes that is all it will ever be.

  “Hey, I have the pictures from the Sonics game.” Mackenzie un-tucks the flap of the 24-hour photo package. “And this one! Remember, you spilled your drink all over the Sonic Squash?” M giggles, staring at him with a typhoon of brown irises so innocent that even Sykosa has the urge to fuck the little bitch until she cries. Worse, they have that touchy-feely friendship. The one where everyone thinks they’re hooking up soon. “Take these, I have my own copy. Why didn’t you call last night?”

  “I’m sorry, M. Were you lonely without me?”

  “A little.”


  We never go to Sonic games, or take pictures, or talk on the phone. The best they do is the infrequent party together or a mini-date on the weekends if she can separate from her folks. And I… I… Her hand shakes, her stomach quivers, and this sweeping weight overwhelms her lungs. It’s going to happen. Relax won’t work and the Pep Squad will fail and she will pass out. Right here. Right now. Upon the floor as if she were dead. Relax. She can’t pass out in front of him. He thinks he saved her and that she is happy. So she tries to keep straight, but her eyesight has been infected by splotches of green that replicate until her head gets dizzy. Her muscles drop a bunch of papers. She bends. He does, too, like a good dog. She smells his hair gel. It calms her. And it lets her heart, no longer burdened by her compact frame, pump blood to her brain.

  Both their hands reach for a page, and their fingers touch.

  He’s warm, but scarred.

  It’s her fault. He saved her.

  He did save you, so get it together.

  She complains. “I’m such a klutz.”

  Mackenzie thinks this is lame. “I have to go. Call me, okay?”

  This isn’t her story. This isn’t her life.

  Mackenzie’s totally lame. That’s what you said, right?

  His voice is unsure. “O-okay.”

  Mackenzie playfully hits his arm. “Say it like you mean it! Call me tonight, you promise?”

  He sounds less sure. “I promise.”

  M has gone. So has the blackness. She stacks her stuff and forgets her homework. If he’s on timeshare, then she wants her minutes worth. The Pep Squad’s in the background. Don’t give in, Sykosa! Fight, Sykosa, fight! Not just for her salvation, but for her relationship. This is what loving Tom’s like—constant attacks from Mackenzie that’re quite immoral; yet, because it’s Mackenzie, who’s so sweet and innocent and lovable, it seems like her right or even her responsibility to try to steal Tom.