Sykosa, Part I: Junior Year

by Justin Ordoñez

“Yes.”

  “Wow, I wonder why he did that.”

  “I don’t know, he did. He said that, like, he wants everyone to know we’re seeing each other, even Mackenzie.”

  “That’s what you wanted, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he’s your knight in shining armor…” Niko lets the words trail off to see what response might surface. “So?”

  “I moved my stuff to his room.”

  “You did?”

  She stands there, vulnerable, and receives only a look that feels sorta mixed. Like, “I’m happy, but I’m sad,” and, “I’ll miss you and I love you,” but, “I want to be happy and I’ll support you no matter what.” To ice the discomfort, she hides behind the shower door, a silhouette like Niko. When she pulls the nozzle, four showerheads, situated at different heights and angles, kinda help it slip away and her hands peacefully work conditioner into her hair like two sticks starting a fire.

  It helps.

  “I love these shower heads.”

  “I’ve taken showers in there that’ve lasted an hour.”

  “Oh, I believe it!”

  “Try turning the top one to rain.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “The controllers are on the wall.”

  She finds the electric keypad. “If I die, leave me in here!”

  “If you’re gonna die, you need the 411 on Clyde first.” This is another best friend thing. Niko provides boy bulletins. “While you were off with Tom, he was talking about you. He said that you were hot, so he might make a move tonight.”

  “He mentioned he might play some songs for me.”

  “If you listen, tell him it’s good or you’ll be sorry!”

  She shouts. “I know! He blew up at me for no reason!”

  “Be warned, it gets worse!”

  She laughs. “Whatever.”

  For Niko, that “whatever” didn’t sounds like “whatever.” It was like, “Clyde doesn’t matter, my mind is 100% made up.” That turns Niko protective, like she wants to steal Sykosa back. It might seem confusing, but Niko never thought Sykosa would actually have sex. Even ten seconds ago, she had her doubts. Sykosa can’t open a can of Spaghetti-Os, but she’s gonna have sex? The notion of it was too absurd to take seriously and suddenly too scary to contemplate.

  “Are you sure about Tom?”

  Yes. “Why? What do you mean?”

  Niko is annoyed. “You don’t owe him anything.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Simple truth, she owes him.

  Last year, he saved her. And got all his scars. Tonight, she imagines she’ll get her own. Don’t be so crazy! You’re every guy’s worst nightmare! Cause here she is under this miracle of warmth, unable to accomplish the simplest of tasks. It’s weird that her vanity chose now to disappear. Like it matters. He probably won’t notice if she’s not extra special. But, I will. It’s enough to get her started. Her heel rests on that same triangle to lather her sloping thigh, then slide that same razor, careful around her knee, and bent over like a sack to her ankles. Her armpits are next and lastly she touches up the “big one.”

  She feels slightly better.

  If the blackness ruins my first time, I’ll hate myself.

  Since her eyes are on her pussy, she might as well note that, while her bush was never as industrious as Niko’s, it was still its own masterpiece. A black turf like an island all her own. It was big. It was strong. It sometimes made her hungry. She thinks that’d be something Tom’d be interested in, yet she just knew he wasn’t, and she knew she had to shave it. It was stronger than intuition. It was actually observation. You see, Tom likes Mackenzie, and last year, on swim team, she saw tons of Mackenzie’s vag.

  And it’s bald.

  Ah, nothing is getting done!

  The water dies in drips and she smacks her hands against her hips (nothing jiggled!) to reach out from behind the door. Her voice echoes like a walkie-talkie. “Can I have a towel?”

  “You’re so private! It’s not like I’m a dyke or anything.”

  “I wish I could be so sure!”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, I was kidding.”

  “Don’t say that, that’s disgusting what you said.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not comfortable like you are, ya know?”

  “Yeah, it’s cause my mom took me backstage to those shows when I was young. It’s not cause I’m a carpet muncher.”

  Time to move on. (Before you see some unflattering stuff about Niko). Still, Niko’s reaction is defendable, as Niko’s equally bothered by the gay rumors. What bothers Niko more is how a few shitty rumors have altered their entire friendship. It’s not worth hashing out at her cottage, so Niko provides a towel, then skips (boobs in skip with her) to the red icebox. Seconds later, there’s the clank of a bottle and two shot glasses, which Niko bobbles as her foot kicks shut the fridge.

  “What’s that?”

  “Grey Goose, I wanted us to drink together.”

  “Vodka straight?” Not her style, but it’s booze and maybe, like her wine, it’ll wake her from this lethargy. She hesitates, though. It was a tough night of partying, and it’ll be tougher still. Her mind changes when, at her overnight bag, she sees her turquoise undies. Oh yeah, I’m losing my virginity. This is real. “Pour me a shot!” Hey, at the very least, it’ll dull the blackness. Once she’s in her undies, and covered up by a cami, she slams the drink. It tastes like nothing until her throat gags as it back spills over her tongue and burns out her nostrils. “Shit, I shoulda chased that.”

  “A-haha! I love you, Sykosa.”

  It was Niko, but she heard Tom, and her privates contracted at it. That’s embarrassing. It’s also progress. Perhaps this, further alcohol consumption and her panties will build the momentum and then, like, her vanity will be here. By the way, her shot glass is full—bottoms up! to inebriation, to watch Niko chug the bottle like a street wino. She wants to tell Niko to slow down. She tells herself to “shut up, please” and her self-centered moping retreats.

  And she remembers!

  Niko needs her own boy bulletin.

  “You don’t think Scott’s gonna show up tonight, do you?”

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “I was shocked to see him. It’s been so long.”

  “You were shocked? I nearly fought him.”

  “I’m glad we’ll have fun without him, but I wanted to ask, does Timmy know him?”

  “No.”

  Interesting, cause she swore the person holding Niko back was Timmy and that he seemed apologetic, and not to Niko, but to Scott. “Why were they talking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you think that—”

  Niko interrupts. “It was a party, people talk. Beside, he already agreed never to talk to Scott again.”

  “Cool, I just don’t want anything to happen, you know?”

  “I know, I know!”

  Scott is a stressful topic. He also brings on the blackness.

  I should’ve remembered that.

  It’s easier to cope now that another shot prances numb feet about her cheeks while she stares at Niko’s still topless body, particularly at the beautiful sparkles that line Niko’s neck. You know, we’re not gay. People just like to see people naked. (So begins a long evening of drunk talk). Who knows when Niko attached it, but its chain is a white gold with randomly set diamonds until the dip in her collar where more diamonds—of different shapes, spaces, and angles—bunch like a bouquet. The price tag is beyond sanity and, outside of her 7, it’s Niko’s prize possession.

  “Your necklace is even more beautiful than usual.”

  “I totally forgot!” Niko nearly drops the bottle, but saves it, drinks from it, then leaves it on the counter as she scurries to a closet where she removes a jewelry box from a safe. “I took this from the vault when I found out you were coming.”

  It’s a gold necklace with a giant rock at her breastpla
te.

  “I can’t wear this.”

  “Oh, good, you like it!”

  “Of course I like it, but—”

  Niko interrupts. “Just when you go to sleep, put it in your pocket or in the safe. It’ll lock when you close it.”

  It’s cold on her chest. And it feels heavier than her breasts. I look…beautiful. She feels guilty as this entire time Niko was being her best friend and… I was being a jerk. “I’m sorry I did not want to ask my father to come this weekend.”

  “It’s alright.”

  “It’s been fun, and this place is great, and I’m happy we’ve spent time together. And I know Tom feels the same way, too.”

  “Tom’s a nice guy. I mean, he’s an idiot, but as far as boys go, I suppose he’s almost good enough for you. I remember how messed up he was after that fight last year, at least—at least he cared, and he’s so innocent! Always dashing into the fray like some hero.”

  Two things. 1) She finds it both strange and expected that Niko would say this. There is always a .01% factor of zero logic in Niko think. 2) “Dashing into the fray” is the right way to say it, so much so that even Niko—a woman full of sycophantic tendency—cannot deny him such prestige. Okay, three things. 3) Subconsciously, she fetched her #10 foundation and has already turned half her face flawless. And 4) Thank heavens this topic has been brought up.

  She needs to talk about sex.

  “I gotta confess something.”

  “What?”

  Her wrists are inverted on the counter, and her shoulders are perked like indecision into her neck. She gets a peek at Niko that, like Kana occasionally does, stops time. Niko has collapsed in a wicker chair, her left leg laid provocatively over the seat arm, her calf swinging like some bored goddess—her servants fanning her browned body and eyeing the areolas of her bare breasts. For some reason, she mentally disrobes Niko’s bottoms, to see that same bush, except this time it stretches to the floor and intermixes with the vines that hang from the ceiling.

  “It’s that lately—”

  Niko interrupts. “Can I ask you a leading question?”

  Yeah, that’s Intro to Law talking. “Sure.”

  “Why’re you sure Tom wants to have sex with you? I mean, I know you guys were fooling around, but it’s—”

  She interrupts. “That’s what I wanted to confess.”

  “What?”

  “I have, uh…‘worked’…” Her hands make quotations. It’s cute. “…him…to…” And one more time! “…‘completion.’”

  Niko is slack jawed. “You’ve actually, like, touched it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can see why you’re worried.”

  “You can?”

  “Oh yeah, they get a taste of that and it’s over.”

  Maybe she shoulda talked to Niko a long time ago. And the fact she didn’t… It’s over, isn’t it? This is now a world where she jerks Tom’s dick. If she—for instance—quit swim team, she quit swim team. She can’t quit Tom’s dick. It’s something she’s done. It’s permanent. Wow, that’s a lot to take in. And it takes her to the chapel, to the times he’s asked her for her hand. I don’t mean marriage. He’s so persistent. He plows through all the potential consequences. His tunnel vision is awful.

  And such a turn-on. At least for her.

  “Is it a boy thing for them to get weird when they’re turned on, but when it’s over, they’re normal again?”

  Niko takes a big slug off the bottle. “I think I’ve determined it’s caused by these damn pornos they watch.”

  Tom watches… “Porn?”

  “Yeah.”

  Yeah, she knew that, or she figured it.

  Mike Holler’s old gang convinced her all boys watch porn.

  “Yeah, but maybe it’s—”

  Niko interrupts. “It’s not like the one I own.”

  Surprise! Niko owns a porno where women have sex with men they just met. It’s hidden in her closet with her dildo.

  “It’s not?”

  Niko moves to the edge and hunkers her shoulders. “Timmy showed me a tape where a girl sucked off a bunch of guys, and they, I don’t know, shot on her.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now that’s all he wants—on my face too.”

  She also knows about that.

  It’s outside of her sexual repertoire, but when Donna found out Niko’s plan to start the Queens, she instantly dubbed them the “Bukkake Queens,” a name which has stuck and has been used to describe both Niko and herself.

  That said, it’s gross.

  “You don’t let him do that, do you?”

  Niko’s quick. “Of course not.”

  A little too quick. “Niko, you didn’t really let him…”

  “I said I didn’t, didn’t I?”

  Then, Niko breaks into giggles.

  She’s played this game long enough to know where it goes.

  “He has done it?”

  Niko collects herself, then turns a bit smug. “Hazu used to do it all the time.”

  Not a surprise. There’s nothing Niko won’t do for Hazu.

  “That’s so gross, Niko!”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” Is all Niko says and all Niko offers. “My turn! How many handjobs?”

  “Two.”

  “That’s all he’s asked for?”

  “No, that’s all I’ve given him.”

  “Has he fingered you?”

  She tightens up. “I’m not answering that.”

  Tons of people would read that as, “Yes.” Niko knows it’s, “No.” “You’re gonna sleep with a guy you won’t let finger you?”

  “I don’t see them as one and the same.”

  “You don’t want to feel good?”

  “I don’t see sex as being about feeling good.”

  “What’s it about?”

  Love. “I don’t know! Stop it with the questions already!”

  Niko hands over the bottle.

  “Then, don’t worry over Timmy. He’s a sweetheart.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “You said it yourself, he goes back to normal.”

  So she did. “Makes you wonder if it’s worth it.”

  The statement is immense and of no more importance than the fresh cigarette between her fingertips. She is too drunk to stand, and she sits on the floor, half of her horrified and the rest absent. Unable to resist the fear that last year will replicate itself. Maybe for the guilt. Maybe for the pain. Maybe as an excuse to visit that stall in the secret bathroom again. Although, one has to argue that, eventually, negativity becomes the appropriate lens. But, it’s too late. She remembers Niko with Scott, with Hazu, and with Timmy, then remembers her own boy, her test score, and how, last year, he bled on the Academy floor, beaten nearly to death.

  And it’s…

  The strain of inevitability.

  (Or as she knows it: the “pull.”)

  That means she’s going to * him. Her mind has already made the decision and this is the part where she freaks out.

  The big bash will commence soon. She needs to get ready.

  The anger surfaces slightly. She plays it off as discontent, or boredom, or “being a girl.” Typically, this provokes the Pep Squad. Perhaps her breath might be heavy. Her eyesight could mix. Then, behind the chapel, she can rebel with him. She thinks again of Niko3.0’s big, hairy overcompensation. Can you keep a secret? Niko2.0 had no bush. She was bare, as was Mackenzie, and all the Bitches. I did it too. It was a Rule. Cause Donna was primarily a drug addict, but she was also a pervert. And she made Niko do some…uncool stuff. So you can see why she thought the density of Niko’s bush meant something, that her own meant something.

  She sees things clearer now.

  Shave your crotch. Don’t shave your crotch.

  Wear makeup. Don’t wear makeup.

  Dress up or dress down.

  It’s all the

  @@rf

  same. And her desire…her need to make it make sense, to m
ake it focus, is false.

  Tom fucked me a year ago.

  She was too selfish to let him do it. And the void inside her is a void because her virginity, outside of her intact hymen, no longer exists. It belongs to him.

  And he deserves it like he always wanted it.

  From a girl who loves him.

  From a girl who lusts for him.

  From a girl who would die for him.

  She knows it now.

  Tonight, I’m gonna be pretty.

  Just-you-watch.

  XI.

  Yeah, vanity won.

  Got her to get that rosiness on her cheeks, that obedience in her hair, lips lined in that shiny shade of fruity pink, nails painted like cherry blossoms and dressed in a skirt which stops far short of her knees, strappy sandals and a white formfitting long-sleeve that’s too long in the sleeve. It bunches at her wrists in a way that makes her appear clumsy and child-like while the neckline dips in a near fatal v like a runway to her chest. In fact, it seems, be it clothing or carriage, she’s become obsessed with the presentation, or the various color schemes, of flesh itself.

  That is for later, however.

  For now, she sits in a French Provincial loveseat, trimmed and legged in mahogany and upholstered in a textured fabric of white flower bouquets. Lost in the glare of a fifty-some inch TV with peculiar dimensions. Niko says it’s a “widescreen.” It’s supposed to be a big deal, but as far as she can tell, it turns thin people fat.

  Click!

  Past CNN, MSNBC, Mtv and E!

  Unable to find a program nearly as interesting as the show playing within her gaze. Tom and Mackenzie standing by a keg, driven in from town, which rests in a steel tub amongst pounds of ice. “M, can you believe it? I told her I loved her!” “She believed you?” “Yeah, she totally bought it!” “Tom, I can’t wait until we’re finished destroying Sykosa’s life, then we can be together.” “I can’t wait, either.” That was the conversation in her brain, and it is with the blackness. It’s circulating inside of her. An anxiety she is too practiced to let show on her face. When did I become so practiced? It goes unanswered, as the whole thing is overplayed. It’s unlikely Tom’s saying anything

  of the sort to Mackenzie. In fact, his mood appears somber, and whatever’s happening, Mackenzie’s not happy about it.