She would joke of La Cosa Nostra, and it’d be funny since it’s partially true. Once you’re in this community, you never really get to leave, and many don’t even try. That’s why you never piss off the Administration. They’re too powerful.
And they were pissed about last year.
And we got lucky.
Niko remains defiant. “What they think doesn’t matter.”
“It should.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t change the world, you’ll only get kicked out of school. I mean, you’re just like Mike Holler or Donna and the rest of them. You can’t do whatever you want.”
Niko hates it when Mike Holler is brought up. Because, like, Mike’s not the answer and, whenever he enters the equation, the problem skews. And no one seems to get that, most of all Veeps. Like a gullible twerp, he fashions himself a crusader for justice, but what he seeks is not what he imagines, and should he find that out, his dissatisfaction over his failed conquest will leave him thirstier for the next.
Maybe they all, Niko included, lied to prevent a bigger war.
That is why Niko concedes now. “You’re right.”
Niko means that. She knows it.
“You’re gonna have say something nice to Ass Girl.”
“I will.”
“And Mackenzie’s gonna have to be there to hear it.”
“I will.” It seems like enough, so Niko forgets it, then ashes her smoke before one-handing her bra through her sleeve. She tugs on her sweater vest to see if her tits make any impression. I’m never gonna make the list. Speaking of lists, Niko reaches into her knee sock. “I got it, by the way.”
Niko always gets this stuff!
“I don’t care.”
“Your butt got a 10.”
Wow, a 10? “I’m not interested.”
“Your tits got a 10.”
Another 10! “Boys are sick.”
“And your face got a 10.”
Wow, three 10s! “Wait, how did I end up eleventh?”
Niko giggles. “You got a 2 on the slutiness scale.”
Sweet! “Well, at least boys get some things right.”
“You’ve never made a list before.”
“Yeah, I wonder why.”
Niko has her thoughts. “People know, but they don’t, about you and Tom. It’s kinda up’d your profile with the other boys now that they think they have a chance.”
That’s gross, more than what Niko said.
On the other hand, Tom snagged himself a 10.
Good for him!
“It’s a stupid list anyways.”
“Still, it’s a problem. It reeks of the Bitches.”
It does? “How so?”
“They wanted Ass Girl #1.”
“Why would Ass Girl want that? It doesn’t seem like her.”
“She probably didn’t, but Jessica did.”
Niko is smart. She should do Model UN.
When Donna disappeared, only Jessica and Mackenzie were left to lead the Bitches, and they don’t possess the punch Donna did. Ass Girl changes things. Sure, positively nothing is Machiavellian about Ass Girl, but Ass Girl needs only to be a figurehead to—oh, the irony—threaten Niko’s Queens in the same way Niko threatened Donna’s Bitches. The way it looks, Ass Girl’s popularity will keep rising, and it’s obvious Niko will be powerless to slow it, and it seems like, unless Ass Girl checks herself or Niko backs off, the Academy could be in for another turf war.
In fact, it’s already begun.
In some ways, I’m more vital to the Queens than Niko. Her undying loyalty to Niko is the glue that keeps the others stuck. Jessica knows this, and it explains why Ass Girl is so interested in shopping for dresses or sharing limousines.
“I’ve noticed that they want to separate us.”
“That’s old hat. We can deal with that. But, this list…”
Here comes a sad, totally un-feminist truth about life.
If you don’t have boys, you don’t have anything.
“I think I get it.”
“The Bitches are stockpiling penises, and who knows who we lost while we were partying in Coeur d’Alene this weekend. I mean, I’ll always have the Stars, but have we paid enough attention to the spillover from Mike Holler’s old gang?”
This is gonna break Niko’s heart.
“Are you sure you have the Stars?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hazu is dating Ass Girl.”
Niko is serious. “He would never double-cross me like that.”
How love makes one blind, and it’s blinded Niko too long.
The Stars get into some uncool shit. It could be described as “juvenile delinquency,” but that overlooks how, a lot of times, they’re outright criminals. One weekend it’s graffiti, another it’s small-time dope dealing, the next illegal racing, and the one after that, petty burglary. They’re a gang after all, and while no single member is pathologically evil, it feels like—when assembled—the Stars are solely destructive.
And Hazu only gives a fuck about himself.
“If you’re sure you have him.”
“I’m sure.”
The first bell rings.
“You go to class, I’ll be along.”
Niko hits off her smoke again. “Don’t worry about it.”
She insists, reminding Niko of her demerit situation. Not like she’s a Niko-level super-genius, but last year, Niko won after bankrupting, for their swim team antics, Donna and Mackenzie’s creditability before the Administration. If Niko loses all her leeway, the Bitches will have all the leverage.
Niko agrees, but isn’t worried. “It’s one class. Besides, I’m not going anyway.”
She’s not? “Where’re you going?”
“Hazu and I are going to hang out.”
“Niko…”
Niko smiles. Her smoke is squished and her book bag slung over her shoulder. “We’re only friends this time! I mean it!”
Niko’s gone. Soon her own cigarette is, too.
Being late to bed last night, or what was technically early this morning, meant she woke up later than usual, so her person is a bit dirty and her hair knotty (for Asian hair, anyway). It’s better this way. If she had woken up with time to preoccupy herself, she’d have thought more about it. The one-year anniversary of last year. As it is, ignoring it hasn’t been hard. The second bell hasn’t rung and she’s certain the names, “Mike,” “Donna,” and “Lonny,” won’t even be spoken (by anyone other than her). Her mother mentioned nothing. Niko did the same. As you heard, the other girls were mum. Of course, the Academy followed suit. And Tom’s not even here to not receive the plaque no one’s giving him.
Turns out that’s the price for being a hero.
Everyone pretends you died anyway.
She won’t.
Unlike this weekend, the blackness doesn’t own her anymore. She got home and got in her bed and she ate a good breakfast and… Tom may be her hero, but nothing beats home and nothing beats Mom and Dad. She feels safe and totally stable. And thus she’s free to show Tom how important he is to her—without actually saying it. All he has to do is show up for school. Since he hasn’t, he won’t be in American history, so she doesn’t want to be either. She exits the secret bathroom, then cuts along the courtyard. The pathway to the chapel is empty, so she walks it, and at the chapel, hides behind it. She smokes a cigarette she only half-finishes since subsequent cigarettes never give her as powerful a buzz. The isolation works for her, though. It drops her into a deep meditative state.
When he arrives, it takes a while for her to break it.
“I saw you weren’t in class.” “I thought you might be here.” “I left before class started.” “Look, I know things were strange yesterday.” “Some of that stuff I said at the foodmart, I’d like to say it again, but differently this time.” “I thought about it a lot, I’ve got a lot to say.”
She listens. “Like what?”
He holds out h
is hands.
“You’re right about everything. I’m wrong about everything. Whatever happens because of how I’ve handled Mackenzie and our relationship, it’s my fault. I’m sorry you think I don’t love you. I asked you to Prom and I told you I love you and I told Mackenzie we’re dating because I want you that badly.”
She smiles. Boyfriends are wonderful sometimes. Anyhow, his apology is still appreciated. As well, his timing—for once—is impeccable. This way, when she takes off her clothes for him next, she won’t question it.
“Okay.”
“‘Okay’ like okay or ‘okay’ like not okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She chuckles. “Okay!”
“Alright, then.”
He steps forwards, so does she and she ends in his arms. It’s a good hug—nothing to write home about, but it suffices. She pulls away and he kisses her. She uses her tiptoes to reach and she stumbles. She’d have never fallen. But, he still grabs her, then yanks her in close. When the kiss ends, she’s crushed against him, and his arms are using tremendous force to ensure that she stays that way. He only need do it for a minute—soon, her cold body matches his warmth, and her muscles go limp, then just mold. She can hear his heartbeat and she recognizes that her own heartbeat is in progress to matching it.
She smiles.
(Boys are such narcotics!)
“You didn’t go to mass this morning?”
“I had a doctor’s appointment.”
“What for?”
He holds up his scarred hand. “One-year checkup.”
“Is it okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
It doesn’t feel fine.
She wants to ask a question. “Can it happen again?
“Can what happen again?”
“What happened last year. Can it happen again?”
He is definite. “No, it can’t.”
“Well, not here, but somewhere else—in a different school.”
His tone is the same. “It won’t happen anywhere else.”
If she could have anything of his, it’d be his courage. She tries to have it. “If you need to talk about it, I understand.”
He knows she didn’t mean it.
“I’m starving. Let’s go before the cafeteria stops serving.”
“Okay.”
She breaks away from his grasp, then tosses her cigarette butt into the brush. All the while, he fills her in on what specifically he thought about last night, and how he thinks this weekend was fun, but maybe it’ll be a while before they do anything like it again, and she agrees with everything he says. It gets to the part where she knew it would get to, and she’s glad that he brought it up now.
“After school, do you want to meet back here?”
“Where else would we meet?”
“Well, my mom doesn’t get home until six or seven.”
He means: “We can have sex in my room.”
Good thinking on his part. They need a place.
“Okay.”
He kisses her. She kisses him back.
They both put their hair behind their ear.
This is her story. This is her life.
It’s sex. And it’s what we do now.
An Open Letter From Niko:
I just finished Sykosa. Let me tell you, I am awesome! I knew I was cool, but wow, I’m mammoth! And not to be too critical of the author—who’s clearly trying too hard—but Ass Girl is way ugly, and that bimbo poses no threat whatsoever.
My Queens are untouchable!
Did you like Sykosa? She’s neat, but she buries her feelings, and maybe for good reason. One-on-one, few would shame her for being herself, but one-on-anything-over-three, and the opposite is true, which is why, ta-da!, she buries her feelings.
(See! I’m a good writer, too!)
For reals, this is why you probably heard of Sykosa when a friend whispered about her in your ear like she were a dirty secret. It’s cool, she appreciates your discretion, especially about the parts where she’s *’ing, but you gotta understand, if you don’t support her, then no one will, and she’ll disappear, cause she’s not the type to rebel by singing bad, yet addictive, pop music in her underwear.
She can’t even be in her underwear around me!
I speaketh the truth, so if you love Sykosa, be a leader and…
TELL-SOMEONE-ABOUT-HER!!!!!!
It’s not hard, and it’s kinda awesome to be that outgoing.
I’ll see you for Part II!
(That’s what these next few pages are! ^_^)
Arigato,
Niko
P.S. Donna Harly bites.
P.P.S. I’m really freaking cool!
An Excerpt from Part II.
Prologue: When It Started.
He’s dead.
That’s her first thought.
She just saw a person die—right now.
And Mike Holler and his cohort, Lonny, are not beating down upon a boy who needs to learn a lesson. They’re beating down on a dead body. It’s… People don’t bleed this much. Yet, it’s seemingly everywhere. From the moment that boy’s fist smashed the third pane of glass, the glass—which never cut so bad on TV—ripped him in two. The uniforms at the Academy, for the boys, include a sorta dirty white button down, not quite gray, but dirty white—but his shirt is dirty red. That same red that gets into the floor tiles, like the grout, things that conventional cleaners won’t be able to wash.
It’s starting to smell.
(What feels like minutes has been probably seconds).
She looks around.
Donna Harly’s on the floor. She got tackled hard, like one does in a football game. It knocked the wind from Donna and she huffs for air like she cannot breathe. Half of her face is black. All around Donna are people who are watching. They occasionally say things like, “Oh my God” or utter some half-scream. Mostly, everyone’s just has the same face they give the TV. Save for one. (The biggest phony of them all). He’s in his suit and tie and it’s cut tight and he rushes the hallway, compelled to action.
Veeps.
There’s a hiccup, though—as there’s a choice.
There’s the boy. There’s Donna. And there’s something else.
It’s not a perfect world.
She repeats:
It’s not a perfect world.
Sykosa, Part I: Junior Year Page 31