Sykosa, Part I: Junior Year

by Justin Ordoñez

It will. “Is that all you know, Niko?”

  Niko catches herself in another window, then swivels her neck to follow herself around. “I know one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “He and Mackenzie hate each other.”

  Wow. Forget this “not getting him” shit…

  It’s like we’re soul mates!

  “Over what?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a longstanding feud.”

  She wants more information. It doesn’t happen.

  A passerby points toward Kana. It’s followed by an awkward exchange of waves. Kana gives a smile for an apology. When you’re Kana, that means, “Intrude on my personal space.” The passerby does exactly that. It attracts some skater boys. Then the catty glare of their teenage girlfriends. The most intrusive are a pack of Japanese exchange students who offer things like receipts to be signed. It takes a while before Kana pulls away, and even longer before she again finds anonymity, but by then Kana’s withdrawn.

  “That was strange, after all this time.”

  Niko sounds happy. “See, Mom! Everyone still loves you!”

  Kana keeps to her reliable smile, then supplies her credit card for every whimsical purchase. It’s not the same. Kana’s posture staggers and her voice is jittery. It ends in a specialty boutique for swim wear. Niko knows about the haircut and the bikini, I told her during her haircut. Upon arrival, the sales attendant offers drinks. She declines. Niko does, too. Kana says yes, and once Kana has water, she drinks it in gulps, then puts a prescription bottle back in her purse, but not before she swallows several pills.

  Niko is concerned. “What’re those, Mom?”

  “They’re for my back, sweetheart.”

  “Still? I thought it might be better with your time off.”

  Kana shrugs. “I guess not.”

  “Well, so long as everything’s okay.”

  Kana never answers. Her phone is buzzing again, and she’s too weak to ignore it. “Honey, I need to answer this.”

  By request, the store supplies Kana with a private room while Niko wanders the perimeter, inspecting the mannequins who wear the spring line, then checking the racks to see if it’s available in her size. Dismayed it’s not, Niko talks. “I’ll never forgive you for withholding your secret crush.”

  “I’ve only had it since this morning!”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll get him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Niko sighs. “The reason I told him to scram was because he was giving you this dopey, love struck look.”

  I thought it was only me! “Really?”

  “Yep! Maybe we’ll call him tonight and hang up on him.”

  Hanging up on boys is a long practiced sleep-over prank. It has also happened infrequently since Niko joined the Bitches. She supposes these things will become standard again. And she’d very much like that, but… “I can’t sleep over tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “My mom said I can do tonight or Saturday, but not both.”

  That response makes sense, but Niko’s still down about it. “Oh, I see.”

  “Really, Niko, it’s not a big deal.”

  At first, Niko accepts that, then over two seconds, Niko goes through the same process as Kana did the last hour. Her posture turns sad and her voice is jittery. “I don’t understand.”

  “What?”

  “No one seems excited that my mom is home.”

  That’s not true. “I’m excited.”

  “No one mentioned anything about it.”

  “Who didn’t?”

  “No one. The only ones who care are you and Hazu.”

  Hazu? What does he care for?

  She never gets the opportunity to ask the question.

  Niko’s phone rings. This time, like Kana, Niko answers.

  “Hello?” Ð “I told you, I’m with my mom, I’m not answering the phone.” Ð “She’s great! She wants to meet you.” Ð “Oh, it’s a possibility.” Ð “I ran it by him in case.” Ð “Don’t be upset.” Ð “I’m not with him.” Ð “I’m not seeing him tonight.”Ð “I haven’t decided.” Ð “Yes, I’ll let you know when I do.” Ð “Bye.”

  With that, Niko hangs up, and what happened with Niko’s posture and voice gets worse. She tries to be sensitive about it. “Was that Donna or Hazu?”

  “Hazu.”

  “Can I ask what he wanted?”

  “This morning, I realized I don’t want to do post-Prom with my mom home. I’m too…” Embarrassed. But, Niko doesn’t say it. “I mean, I told everyone we might need a lower profile.”

  Sounds like a plan! She wasn’t interested in a crazy Bitches party anyway. She notices a swimsuit, a ways away, she wants to check out. She drifts in its direction, hoping that Niko will follow. “I think that’s for the best.”

  “I know, but everyone got upset, so I asked Scott if we could have it there, but then Donna found out and got angrier.”

  Um. “But, he’s your boyfriend.”

  “Yeah…” Niko thinks better of it. “Anyhow, it made its way to Hazu—now he’s pissed I called Scott.”

  Jesus Christ, Niko.

  There’s really no other way to put it.

  “Why would Hazu be pissed? You’re not dating him, right?”

  “We’re friends, but he’s having trouble adjusting. He says he’s not over me.”

  Of course, he’s not. The little psychopath never will be.

  “Niko, can you explain something to me?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you see in him?”

  Niko breaks into a series of expressions that fail to describe an answer. Then she gets distracted by a new bikini. It’s a low-cut bottom with a strapless top that’s checkered black and white on the ass, like a racing flag. Niko wants to try it on, but like the other suits here, even if it were in her size, it wouldn’t fit. Nothing fits. It makes Niko wonder what’s wrong with her body. It shouldn’t take this long to hit puberty.

  Niko could hate herself over it. She often did.

  Then, she found Hazu.

  “He likes me this way.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He likes it when I go goth. He wants me to do it more.”

  I didn’t expect to hear that.

  Nor did she expect this bikini to look so good up close. It’s a bit off the checked flag one. It’s basically strings with a cup of fabric over her bust, then her beaver. She’s usually too shy for this type of suit, but either because of the color scheme or because she thinks she can wear it in a way that other girls cannot, it kinda speaks to her, and dares her to be different.

  She wonders if that’s a good idea.

  She also wonders if she could be more self obsessed.

  Am I joining the Bitches? Or am I becoming my own 2.0?

  She ignores that thought. “I guess that was where you were headed before you joined the Bitches.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  Niko’s quiet. “He likes it when I don’t stuff my bra.”

  Oh my God. Did Niko just admit that? “He does?”

  “He thinks I should stop. And he said if he hears anyone making fun of my breasts, he’ll kick the shit out of them.”

  She freezes.

  “Kicking the shit” out of people is a Hazu solution. It means he’s a terrible boyfriend, but she gets it. Even if deep down Niko knows it’s wrong, it’s hard to forget a boy who’ll stand up for you like that. More importantly, it means that Hazu dislikes Niko2.0. And supports Niko through Kana’s troubles. So despite being a terrible boyfriend, he cares. No, he can’t. He’s a boy, and a jerky one, worse than Mike Holler and his “boys.”

  “So what’re you gonna do?”

  Niko’s gonna change the subject.

  “That’s what he wants to know, but I don’t know, so it’s just how it is.” Niko is close to surrendering to emotion. It never happens. Niko flicks whatever switch is inside of her, then acts
like she didn’t just say her breasts, the ones hanging from her this moment, are fake. “Anyway, I’ve got something for you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I’ve held onto it since I don’t want my mom to see it.”

  “What is it?”

  “If I give you it, you can’t ever speak of it to anyone.”

  A chill runs down her back. “Okay.”

  Niko looks all about, like she worries spies have binoculars pointed at her. Assured, Niko reaches into her Academy skirt, toward the pocket that lines the right side. When Niko removes her hand, it’s a fist, which Niko displays before turning it over, unfolding her fingers like flower petals in sunlight. In Niko’s palm lies a golden key. There’s nothing extraordinary about its surface or its size. It looks like any old key.

  Niko’s face says otherwise.

  “This is the biggest secret in the Academy.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It opens the locked bathroom by the pool, near the gym.”

  I knew it! Donna and Mackenzie were in there!

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Donna.”

  “And no one knows?”

  At that, Niko closes her fist. “Not all of the Bitches have this key, most don’t know about it, but you’re my best friend, so I want you to have it.”

  She feels a bit numb. “Okay.”

  Niko holds out the key. When it’s accepted, Niko doesn’t let go. “I never meant to put a target on you. I mean it.”

  She nods. The key is in her own pocket.

  Meanwhile, her mind has gone back.

  To yesterday at home on the phone, then in the car after tryouts, or in the hallway with the Bitches, to discovering her wet uniform, then stops in the showers. She was being blasted by a full on spray that was half steam when it touched her skin. Because the showers themselves are akin to lampposts with four nozzles pointed in four directions, Mackenzie pushed the tab beside her, which shot more steamy water that Mackenzie stood underneath. They’ve often been icy to one another, so she ignored Mackenzie, but Mackenzie did not ignore her.

  I’ve got to say something.

  “Niko, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  But she does not.

  Kana has returned and looks terrible.

  “Oh, are you going to try that on?”

  Kana refers to the string bikini. And, yes, she is.

  “I just need to find a dressing room.”

  The sales lady shows her to it. She feels a bit dumb since it was behind her, but she forgets it. Bathing suit wearing will do that. Inside, she’s careful with her blouse, then with her skirt, so her mother will not scold her for wrinkles, and just when her bra hits her elbows, she realizes she can hear Kana.

  “Niko, honey, I need to tell you something.”

  “Sure, Mom, what’s up?”

  “There’s a party in New York tomorrow, it’s important I see these people, but then I’m coming right back to be with you.”

  Niko quivers. “But, you said you aren’t leaving anymore.”

  “I have to, honey. It’s a sponsor dinner.”

  It’s tragic.

  When Niko gets hurt, she refuses to feel any of it. It’s Niko’s survival instinct, and it’s exactly what Niko does when she panics. So Niko copies what she did when looking for her mother in the parking lot. “Well, bring back a lot of free stuff!”

  Inside the dressing room, what should be Niko’s tears fall.

  No way is Kana leaving Niko so soon.

  She can’t believe it. She just can’t.

  The bikini sits on the bench. There it stays. Until she’s back in her bra, her blouse, and her skirt, taking time to buckle her shoes. She leaves the dressing room, uncertain how to pretend she doesn’t know. It’s ends up being easy. Kana is so tortured by this that she turns away from Niko. In actuality, puts her back to Niko—then beams!

  “Did it look good?”

  She shrugs. “Not really.”

  “Really? You seemed so sure you’d like it!”

  “It was alright, I guess.”

  Kana fears the silence. “I’ll buy it for you.”

  “It’s okay. My mother wouldn’t—”

  Kana interrupts. “I insist—for taking care of Niko.”

  She blinks over to Niko, who faces a rack of swimsuits.

  “Thank you.”

  Kana has her hand in her purse.

  “And don’t worry about your Mom. It’ll be our secret.”

  8.

  Things have reached a critical level.

  On her bed lay her yearbook, it’s opened on the page where the blue eyed boy, whose eyes are chrome, is crammed into a tiny rectangle. Never worry, he’s still pretty. And he puts heat in her. It’s fine. She’s well-ventilated. For while she did swap her wrinkly, floor-discarded uniform for a camisole, she forgot pants. It leaves her free to pull aside her panties, which allows maximum application to the pillow that’s jammed into her.

  She hasn’t masturbated. (Not to climax, anyway). She just likes the pressure. It feels like the hug that should be his arms.

  Or it did.

  Maybe a minute ago, when her lungs got cloudy and her chest struggled to operate, sex fantasies encroached on her love. Like, it was reckless of her to run with those books. He agrees. She’s been a “bad girl” and he needs to confiscate her blouse. (It makes sense since he liked her boobs). Some other stuff happens too, but it’s too naughty to share, and disgusting like the stuff Hazu tells Niko. I can’t stop thinking it. My brain won’t… She was excited when her boobs got grabbed, but this is different. She doesn’t know what to do—with her hands, her mind, her feelings…

  They all want to explode. As does her door.

  It’s her mother. And her mother knows something’s up.

  “What’re you doing?”

  She has ripped aside her pillow, herself white as a ghost.

  “Nothing.”

  Her mother is too much of an ass to accept that.

  “Where are your pants?”

  Or her mother can’t understand.

  She did rat me out for masturbating. “I was changing, but I had an idea for a project and I was afraid I’d forget it, so I tried

  to find it in the book.”

  Halfway through her fumbled lie, she set aside the yearbook, facedown. It’s too thin and too big for a text book, but it might pass the sight test. Her mother’s uninterested in it and talks while she, behind her cabinet door, slips into pajama pants.

  “Did you have fun?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “Is Kana doing better?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “I imagine Niko was excited.”

  Yes. “Not really.”

  “What did you three do?”

  Stop asking so many questions! “I’m afraid to answer.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  This is why she never confides in her mother.

  Like Niko destroyed her lingerie escape, her mother destroys this boy escape. Kana would not ask about this afternoon. No, she’d ditch me for a party. What she means is Kana, unlike her mother, can read things like body language. And hers says. “Leave me be!” At least until she processes. She’s serious, that boy was all that was helping. If there’s one thing worse than her wet uniform, it’s hearing that Kana’s ditching Niko.

  Her anger at Kana has somehow become anger at her mom.

  I wonder how often that happens.

  “You.”

  “I asked what you did, that’s all.”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t smuggle anything into the house.”

  By instinct, her mother scans the area—for shopping, duffle, or any other type of bag. While there’s nothing visible, her mother knows it’s there, yet she practices restraint, choosing to hang the crumpled uniform. “I want to trust you, but every time I think I know what’s going on, it changes. Whether it’s what you wore yesterday or the makeup you put on at school.”

&
nbsp; Ah! “None of that is about you!”

  “You’re playing games with me and—”

  She interrupts. “And what game is that?”

  “Is this haircut, that underwear, even about swim?”

  She rolls her eyes. “God, you’re paranoid!”

  “You’re trying to get a boy to like you.”

  “I…”

  Her mother gloats. “I was a young girl once, too.”

  It stings.

  A boyfriend has been the priority. It’s hard for one not to be since she thinks boys aren’t as bad as their reputations. But maybe her mother is right. Boys are bad and school is good. Fuck that. She wants to wear a thong, not be a stripper. She wants a haircut, not a Mohawk. She tires of these extremes. And she’s a hypocrite! Look at her! Done over in her Connie Chung hair and her fancy clothes.

  Her mother never leaves the house!

  “So what? What’s so wrong about that?”

  “Your grades are lower and you quit Model UN.”

  She defaults into the silent treatment. Her mother leaves. She’d sulk longer, but in ten minutes the fight will resume. In the interim, she has some safe pillow time, so she wedges it in her clitoris. Instead of pleasure, she feels frustration, over how this picture and its crappy resolution blurs his distinguishable features. Looks like everything at the Academy is first-rate but the God damn yearbook cameras.

  Hey, he may be in the student directory.

  (206) 333 Ð 1952.

  What a stupid idea. She’s already picked up the phone five times. One time, she entered half his digits. Five more minutes on the pillow and she’s determined to call. To say hello. Or to thank him for his help. It’s only when a male, clearly young, answers that she realizes he never introduced himself, so this implies she was spying on him and that’s creepy…

  It’s also stalkerish. Something Hazu would do.

  She hangs up. The phone rings back.

  He *69’d me!

  What to do? Pick up and hang up? What if he calls again? Answer? No! If she lets it ring, will he give up? What if he doesn’t? Then, her answering machine identifies the last name of the residence, so if he searches his own yearbook…

  It’s too late.

  The phone’s been answered. And her father is shouting!

  “You know it’s for you! Why didn’t you pick up?”

  She can’t speak, so she listens.