Sykosa, Part I: Junior Year Page 14
then switches to similar circles at her entrance. It contracts her kegel like when the doctor hits her knee with that tiny hammer. Though that hammer never numbed her hips or put pixies in her boobs. Soon her forearm seizes (swim tryouts strike again), so she goes tried and true—what’s worked since she was nine, which’s to chokehold a pillow between her thighs, then smother the satin trim with her open vagina.
It was a solid orgasm, but not valedictorian level.
Mackenzie woulda come better.
She is bored.
Good thing homework awaits, tests are eminent and various other things require her attention. Instead, her dress is in her closet and Sadie Hawkins is on her mind. No, that’s dirty. She thinks about boys, and ponders how lame it is to fuck a pillow like a total loser. God, I hate masturbation. Ya know, the safety of her bedroom and this house sorta turns her into a slut. She better get a hold of that. Especially if I’m easing my boyfriend standards. Hm, maybe she should wait. If she dates “a guy,” she might miss “the guy.” And if she misses him, logic would suggest, she’ll miss Prom with him, too.
On that note, she needs to compile a Prom checklist for next year and start looking at dresses, shoes, and handbags.
Also, she should buy sexy underwear for Prom.
And say thank you to Niko!
“Wow, it’s hot, where did you get it?”
“At the Secret. You tried it on already?”
“Of course, it took my breath away.”
Niko laughs. “Are you still wearing it now?”
“Yes!”
On her bed, in fact. The thong’s back up her butt, but the bra is still on the ground and her dark nipples are concealed by her black hair. She twists her waist and scissors, then spreads her legs—to pose this way, then that—before she lies on her tummy to practice her over-the-shoulder glance and its various degrees of open mouth. She gets sweaty. It’s heat from the flash bulbs that she nearly feels—like Kana! It’s hot! At times like these, she realizes if she invests herself, she has real babe potential.
She should try to remember that. She’s too lazy to bother.
And too giddy to suspect the obvious.
Niko talks like nothing. “I have a question.”
One she assumes. “I don’t know why I said I couldn’t go to the party, but my mom wouldn’t have said yes anyway.”
Niko doesn’t believe her. She doesn’t bring it up. “When did we stop telling each other things?”
When your butt joined the Bitches! “I don’t understand.”
“I mean the reason you didn’t ask to go tonight.”
She’s confused. “And what’s that?”
“Your uniform was—”
She interrupts. “It got damp after my shower. That’s all.”
An awkward silence persists. Niko almost bites her upper lip off during it. “I know what happened. I got on the phone and I found out.”
No way did Niko find out. No way could Niko know.
What it was like to approach her swim locker. The room was silent and she felt lightheaded, like the air had been swallowed in anticipation of some great joke. Once she was the punch line, talk returned, as did the oxygen necessary to fully feel it. A tougher kid could’ve handled it. Whoop-dee-shit for that kid. She’s a sheltered, sensitive baby who should’ve been destroyed. Instead, the lingerie took her to la-la land, but la-la land it was, as Niko2.0—the occasional dirt bag—assembled this Care Package only to butter her up.
She buries her emotions, then slides onto her feet. Soon, it’ll be dinner time, so she ties in place pajama pants, and verifies, in the mirror, that, in this thong, her ass imprint isn’t too pronounced. My Mom notices this stuff. “If you knew, why ask?”
“Who did it? Was it Mackenzie?”
She recognizes that tone. That’s who Niko wants it to be.
“I think she knew about it, but she didn’t do it.”
“How do you know?”
“Mackenzie kept me in the shower.”
“How?”
“We were talking about something.”
“What?”
“You.”
That doesn’t surprise Niko. “And when you left?”
This is insensitive.
She gets sarcastic. “Don’t want to ask me if I’m alright?”
Niko grinds her teeth, then scrunches her cheeks. She never intended to be rude. It’s… In the hallway, she asked Mackenzie about tryouts. Mackenzie had to notice she didn’t know about what happened. It worries Niko. Donna can’t find out she’s losing the trust of her Asian friends, it’ll fuck up everything and so, yes, sometimes she loses herself in the political crapola.
She has no choice.
It’s simple: Niko can’t fake it all any longer.
Her room is a fantastic example.
On one side, all about her slept-in bed are her Rule-following outfits—mostly skirts and tops, shorts and tee’s that are vanilla in flavor and pastel, Easterly in color. On the other side, upon her desk, dresser, chair, or floor, lie skater pants, racer backs, combat boots, and arm warmers of a predominately black motif. In between it all is Niko. Spread out like a corpse on the carpet, her limbs blown out in all directions like she had just survived an explosion, wearing only black, leather chaps, a dog collar and eye makeup so thick that her eyes are ultraviolet. In those same eyes are her fingernails, which Niko’s painted green on the left, then black on the right.
Before Niko is a choice.
Donna will be here soon. It’s up to Niko who Donna will see, but either way, if Niko is to stay in front of this uniform thing, she needs the details…now. “I’m sorry, are you alright?”
No. “I guess. I mean, like, it was hard. Everyone knew. They tried to get out of there as fast as they could.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Her neck falls over. “Do you care? Or am I a pawn to you?”
“No, I care. I want to help, but you’ve got to let me.”
“Help? You caused it!”
Niko is offended. “I caused it? How so?”
Repeating herself makes her feel like Niko didn’t listen the first time, which is probably true. “You used me for your plans, even though I said, ‘Don’t put a target on me.’”
“Hello—the plan was always to get you on the Bitches.”
“Not like you got me on.”
“But, there was no other way!”
“Then, you shouldn’t have done it!”
Niko snaps back. “Well, I’m so sorry to have misread you, your majesty! I guess I’m just not as good at that anymore.”
It bothers her.
Niko used to “know” stuff about her like those kids who tell rumors “know” she’s gay. Except Niko knew stuff that was true and those kids suck ass. That brings back her moodiness. She forgets it as she packs up Niko’s duffle bag in order to hide it beneath her bed. “Just forget it, Niko.”
Niko tries to fix it. “Hear me out, swim may be the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Nice try. “How so?”
“It can get you stuff you want, like—”
She interrupts. “Making things about school doesn’t work.”
Niko is annoyed. “Did I say that?”
“No.”
“Let me finish.” Niko pauses, then sits up. As Niko does so, she touches her abdomen. While Niko recognizes that she has no boobs, she’s got a nice stomach. It’s one of her few parts she approves of, so she often feels the muscles create subtle definition in her skin. Once Niko’s enjoyed it, she talks. “You have a free pass to pimp this shit. I mean, how did we miss it? You need a haircut. Swimmers can’t have hair that long. Your Mom has no choice.”
Holy shit.
How did I miss that? “You’re right.”
Niko liked that tone. “And Mackenzie still has her slumber parties for swim team where, just like when we were younger, all the girls use the pool and the hot tub.”
Oh, baby.
“And you’d have to go shopping with them…”
Let’s clarify something.
She hates Mackenzie. She wants to be Mackenzie.
Over the years, Mother Superior, her parents, and what feels like society at large, have conditioned her to view Mackenzie as the gold standard. Thus, it was natural when, given the gross levels of nudity that’re allowable when team sports are introduced, she compared herself physically to Mackenzie, who has thin ankles, a staunch butt, zero stomach fat, tart titties, and those damn elf ears, which, despite being a genetic deformity, look cute. By no surprise, she wants thinner ankles, a stauncher ass, a fitter stomach, firmer breasts and… forget the ears part. But, there’s more! She needs Mackenzie’s Heather’s hair, her fancy pearl earrings, her doll-like undies, a similarly shaved crotch and—if it’s vain, vapid, bad for her psyche, and Mackenzie already has it, then she needs it too.
Don’t like it? Take it up with God.
Looks matter, and what hurts her most is how Mackenzie is effortlessly high class, instinctively feminine, and tremendously virginal.
And me, and my mutual masturbating childhood, are not.
“Okay, I get what you’re saying.”
Niko again sounds like the know-it-all she sounded like in-the-car. Niko is also Niko2.0 again. She’s at her desk where she first did her nails, except now she applies nail polish remover, then rubs them to normal. On her bed, she’s already chosen a skirt. “Remember, Mackenzie’s against you, but I asked around and all the other girls like you, but, you know, even though they like you, they’re not standing up to Donna.”
Niko’s right.
She sits beside the duffle, then bends over to her knees. Her super-long hair touches the floor. She motions her head back and forth like a broom. “Okay, I get it.”
“And can I ask you something else?”
“Sure.”
“I need you to cut me some slack.”
She stops sweeping. “I know, it’s—”
Niko interrupts. “I invited you to Coeur d’Alene and to meet Scott tonight.”
She’s up again, throwing hair over her face, then patting it down her neck. “Sometimes your trying feels like you’re trying for yourself.”
“Look, you can’t imagine how pissed Donna was when I went to Sadie Hawkins with you instead of the Bitches.”
Formals are, for all intents and purposes, the biggest part of her life. If she applied the time she spent daydreaming about dances, then, well, she’d be a lock for valedictorian. Knowing that, she skipped Homecoming. Niko was new to the Bitches. I was too afraid to go without her. It drove her to delirium, so when Sadie Hawkins came, she expressed this to Niko. She was prepared for Niko2.0. “I’m in the Bitches, but you’re still so popular!” or “Ask the boy yourself! It’s good for you!” Anything so Niko could seem supportive, but not really be supportive.
She was surprised when Niko not only agreed, but taught her how to ask out a boy. Actually, Niko asked. Once Niko knew, I sorta asked. It was very flattering, but she shoulda known Niko wasn’t propelled by her plea for friendship. Niko had a secret. When Niko visited her locker, there were notes left in the slip. None of them trashed Kana. When Niko checked her phone, a new message was waiting. It never insulted Kana. When Niko went out, a certain someone found ways to whisper in her ear. It was not about Kana. Niko had an admirer. A sophomore boy named Hazu who Niko ruthlessly blew off.
For one, dating him broke the Rules.
And two, Niko has no sensitivity for boys who love her.
In Niko fashion, against all her signals, she asked him to go.
“I know and I appreciate it, but stuff like these rumors, they’re getting out of control.”
Niko feels like a broken record. She snaps a bit, then blows on her nails. “I’m trying to stop that!”
“I know you are.”
Niko tells a joke. It’s how Niko redirects. “You know about BJS because of me! That’s sisterhood!”
She laughs. Niko laughs.
BJS is an abbreviation for Blow Job Sounds, which consists of the guy’s moans in conjunction with the girl’s slobbering when she, A) swallows spit, or, B) loses suction, popping like Tupperware. It’s a terminology exclusive to Niko and herself, sorta like the * or JBF in their note passing.
She can’t stay mad at Niko after a joke.
“Alright, I believe you.”
“So, are you gonna tell me?”
Of course, she is. When does she not?
Her hand, which was petting her hair, tugs at it, then fists it and twirls it like spaghetti. “Someone poured water through the ventilation diamonds of my gym locker. It soaked everything. I didn’t get it, but then you told me how you got me on the team. Mackenzie musta been pissed.”
Niko is focused. “You’re sure it wasn’t an accident?”
“I’m sure.”
“How?”
“They left the bucket behind.”
Niko is resolved. Her voice sounds slightly less convincing, but her throat’s getting snagged by her collar. Since it buckles, she gets asphyxiated when she removes it. “Well, that does it. They broke the Rules.”
“What?”
“Donna agreed my friends were off-limits.”
Niko got her own Rule? “What does that mean?”
“It means the gloves are off.”
That sounds bad.
Also, her room smells of kitchen. She needs to wrap this up, do the two-step with her parents, and get to her homework. In the bra, she cycles through tops until she finds one where her boobs aren’t too “out there.” She has none. She keeps the bra on anyway. Maybe it’ll give her courage to ask her mom for a haircut, a bikini, and a boyfriend, but before she does that, she needs a minute to accept she’s in the Bitches, then determine her stance with Niko2.0.
Our friendship is so messed up right now.
Between all this, she ponders her responsibility. She hates it when Niko2.0 keeps secrets. But I’m keeping a secret. And like Niko2.0 often does, it’s by omission. It’s true. She did talk with Mackenzie in the shower, and at her locker, her uniform was soaked. She withheld the topic of discussion. She needs to tell Niko about it. And it feels like the last thing she should do.
For now, she forgets it.
“I gotta go. I’ll call you back when Friends starts, alright?”
Niko grunts, struggling to strip the leather from her sweaty legs. “Oh, I forgot it’s Thursday! Donna’s coming over early for the party. I mean, I’ll tell Donna to wait and—”
She interrupts. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
No, she isn’t. But it’ll have to do.
“Tomorrow, Kana comes home. Let’s not be fighting for it.”
Niko is timid. “Donna would never do that.”
“What?”
Niko speaks up. “Donna wouldn’t do that. She’d ruin it.”
That should be obvious, but since it isn’t, she thinks of it as a compliment. “I know she would.”
“Are you hanging with my mom and me tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’d like to.”
Niko verifies. “Post-Prom and the sleepover are still cool?”
“Don’t worry. It’s different from the party.”
Niko sounds satisfied. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Are you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“I’ll get my dad to tape the episode for you.”
Niko is excited. “You’re the best friend ever!”
“It’s no problem.”
“Please tell your dad thanks for me!’”
“I will.”
4.
Dinner is two rice balls, a salad with carrots and apple slices, gravy drenched pork and Coca-Cola. The soda fizzles in her neck while her stomach warms from what meat did not stick to her molars. Her tongue digs at it and fails, so her fingernail digs further. She does so shameles
sly since no one knows of the dried vagina, which tastes a bit like salad dressing, on her fingertips. She would’ve washed, but upon reaching the table, she was instantly sick with hunger. This swim crap and Care Packages kept her from her after school routine of swallowing a handful of everything in the pantry.
I’m gonna be so fat when I’m grown up.
Eating together is a staple in her home and it’s as predictable as always. Her father, alongside the paper, recounts the details of his day. He offers so few specifics that it’s almost like he has no job at all. He’s thinking, “How long will they keep buying this?” Her mother buys it, then diverts into the nuances of homemaking, and outlines the meticulous steps involved in addressing all the (apparently) broken stuff in the house.
It’s her turn.
“Dad, I need you to tape Friends for Niko.”
Her father agrees, then says, “How was school?”
“School was fine.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“Nothing really.”
“Nothing?”
Occasionally, she debates confiding in her parents.
“Today, Niko got me into an way exclusive clique named the Bitches, but one of the leaders soaked my uniform. It scared me so I lied to Mom about my homework to skip a party.” The dialogue remains internal. It’s too hard to frame that discussion, as she only wants her parents’ advice, not their intervention. For its effectiveness against her mother, the silent treatment fails for her father. He needs her to be excited about school, life, anything, and she wants to support him, so she spills until he seems happy. “I began a chapter in math, there’s a big test next week. And we watched a movie in Spanish!”
“A movie?”
Her father fakes like he’s choking. It’s part of a long running Daddy/daughter joke where, in an exasperated tone, he acts upset about how he pays all this money in tuition for her to, in this instance, watch movies.
“Well, the movie was in Spanish!”
His joke is cut off. Her mother wants the spotlight.
“Tell your father about the team.”
Ugh, it begins! “I got on swim team.”