Sykosa, Part I: Junior Year Page 8

  She gives an uncertain look. “I’ll know when my parents get back, but I’ll probably be going either way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My father’s strict, but he’s also a yes-or-no person. He said I could go and that means I can, whether I meet his conditions or not.” She says this and notices that she no longer feels any turmoil about being alone with him this weekend. She’ll forget that five seconds after he’s gone. What she won’t forget is that if she goes to his bedroom, they’re still gonna talk about stuff. He doesn’t see it as a sex dungeon or anything strange. “That’s how it is. But, if a teacher,” like our American history teacher who might be upset that you screwed off all morning, is what she’d like to say, but doesn’t, “trashes on me, who knows?”

  He does appear relaxed in that chair and happy. She recalls his shoulders at her locker. This weekend really matters to him. She wonders why he invited Mackenzie. She doesn’t ask, but he validates her impressions. “I can’t believe this worked out. Yesterday, I was doing nothing this weekend, and now it’s looking like it’ll be the best weekend of the year. Good things come like that though.”

  Aw, that’s so cute that he would say that.

  Good things do come like that.

  Like him, for instance.

  Still, Mackenzie’s in her mind. It’s at times like these, she thinks, there’s no way he loves Mackenzie. He loves me. It’s so obvious she can hardly question it, but she doesn’t know how to talk about it. “I agree, good things are like that.”

  “I spoke with Niko and worked out the details. I never heard it in real life, but on the phone, Niko talks as fast as light.”

  “Yeah, it can be tough to keep up—”

  He interrupts. “I think her boyfriend is driving us up.”

  “Yeah, his name is Timmy.”

  “Is he cool?”

  No. “I’ve only hung out with him a few times.”

  “How long have they dated?”

  Since Ass Girl moved to town. “A few months.”

  It takes him a while to speak. “Niko… She seems a bit crazy sometimes.”

  You have no idea. “She’s better now.”

  “Better?”

  “Yeah, she was really out of control last year.”

  “When that thing happened with her mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  He’s stopped caring, kick-spinning the chair and stretching his arms behind his head. “M and I are driving to Niko’s after school tomorrow. She said I can leave my car in her driveway and it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “It won’t. You see, by ‘driveway,’ Niko meant ‘parking lot.’ By ‘house,’ she meant ‘hotel.’”

  “Niko lives in a hotel?”

  “No! Her house…it’s so big it’s like a hotel, ya know?”

  “I’ve never been. Isn’t she like the richest girl in school?”

  “Mackenzie may be richer.”

  “Her father’s that guy. He owns all those companies, right?”

  “Something about shipping, I’m not sure.”

  “And Niko’s mother…of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He will have to leave soon. They know that. And they don’t talk about it. Once they’re out of things to discuss, they lie on her bed. He stays on his side and she stays on hers. Does he already have a side? Her head’s propped up by her hand. The reception of her TV is poor. That’s alright. His tongue is in her mouth. His feet are at her feet. And his boxers are full of jizz from humping her butt. He really needs to go and Friends will be starting. She thanks him for fixing her. It’s hard to describe, but she didn’t feel the blackness the whole time he was here. And that’s great, as she now knows that if she goes to his bedroom after school, he’ll be as good as taking care of the blackness there as he is at taking care of it behind the chapel. Of course, he says he doesn’t understand. She kisses him, watches his SUV drive off and then, in her bedroom, after a minute or two of doing nothing, humps a pillow much the same as he humped her. She doesn’t have to deal with the jizz part. The new Friends is an old Friends so she doesn’t call Niko. She studies instead. Then she shaves her pussy. And studies for her test again, right after she smokes a few.

  VII.

  White shimmers graze a polished cherry oak table, the length lined by a white slip presenting an arrangement of food stuffed fine China. Tomato sauce drowned pasta bowls browned on a stovetop in melted Swiss are built around an open grill where shish kabobs and crab cakes simmer. Wine corks fire like cannons across a sea of battle! Pouring from the thick necks of their clear-green bottles to the bellies of long-stemmed glasses. One of them belongs to Fievel, who balances atop his highchair by the rounded question mark of an umbrella. “I propose a toast! To prosperity! To friendship! To everything that’s good in life! I say, here is not a toast for one, but a toast for all!” He stumbles, wine split onto his wrist. Princess Cindy excuses his poor demeanor. Her Fievel’s such a show-off when he’s drinking. And the guests are overjoyed—already raving that this night is the best night that has ever come and not near as best as the nights that will follow.

  She sits at the opposite end in a Victorian dress with bunchy shoulders and a taffeta skirt, before a fountain of ice carved into an angel amongst a series of serving cups whose spouts overflow fudge upon ice cream and pickles.

  She is lonely.

  Her alarm clock is buzzing. Her face is washed. Her books are collected. Her #10 foundation is applied. Her uniform is over her body. Her weekend bag is thrown in Niko’s trunk. Niko’s driving when it hits her. That dream wasn’t a very good Prom premonition. The bell towers are seconds from sounding. She stands at her locker. He’s by her. “I can’t remember anything M taught me! I’m back on academic probation for sure!”

  Poor, poor Tom. That’s a lie. She’s happy. Elated. Ecstatic! She wants to disrobe to reveal some super-villainous costume.

  Sin-exy Sykosa. Mwhaha! She rips off the rooftop like it were only one toothpick in a line of many and then, after some contemplation, squishes a fleeing Mackenzie with the inverted depression of her thumb. Mwhaha! That little tramp and her cute promises, her cute mannerisms, her cute promises…yeah, those promises! Nothing—nothing—could help him pass his test. Not Mackenzie. Not her American history teacher. Not Mr. Wizard. Nor the Pope. And certainly not Mackenzie.

  Useless bitch.

  “I’ll go over the review packet in class. You can pass it.”

  “No offense, but it might be too late.”

  She wants to punch his arm. “Hey, I can do it.”

  “It’s not you. I don’t think I can remember it.”

  “Well, you better. You’ll put me in a bad mood if you don’t.”

  And I care about why? “You’re coming this weekend?”

  “Was there ever any doubt?” She wants to kiss him on the cheek. Instead, she wiggles her pointer finger through his belt loop and pulls him toward her. She likes his belt loops. Good things to latch onto. “Not to sound like Mackenzie, but can you call me again sometime?”

  “What?”

  She slips her other finger through. “Call me.”

  He straightens his posture and salutes her breasts.

  “Of course, I will!”

  “I had fun yesterday, even though we had little time.” She lifts onto her tiptoes—he’s so tall!—and kisses his aloe shaven cheek. Her heels find the floor as his hair gel lingers by her nose. It happened. Some non-shame inducing affection. Who knows, maybe he’s ready to go public with their relationship. Maybe I’m ready, too! “You’re the first boy to see my room.”

  “Hopefully I’m the first who has seen that g-string.”

  She laughs. “You were.”

  At lunch, she visits her American history teacher’s office. On the wall are posters of FDR, MLK, Our Lord and Savior, and whom she thinks is Karl Marx. His desk is scattered with mini-relics. A novelty size statue of David. Neil Armstrong in space gear. And a dark creature bathed in a
red cape longer than his body, bearing guns of a governmental nature.

  His smile is surrounded by a peppered goatee. “Come in, what can I help you with?”

  “My mother wants to see my test right away. My parents are upset about my grades and they’re keeping an eye on me.”

  “Yes, your father mention you’d visit. Hang on, let me find it.” He shuffles through a folder in his bag, killing time. He wants to reinforce the grades bit. “I also share your parents’ concern about your grades. Is everything alright?”

  She nods—reinforce the re-enforcement. “Everything’s fine! I’m going through a busy semester of school.”

  “Keep your focus. A student as bright as you should be well.”

  She dismisses it with a smile. “No, my father’s watching my grades closely now. I won’t have the chance to give up.”

  “Well, it seems to have worked.”

  He hands her a test with no red marks, save the corner where there’s a one, two zeros, and a percentage symbol. She folds it between her fingertips.

  I guess this is it. Tom and I are going to…

  It’s not something that worries her.

  Nothing about this day has really worried her. It’s him. His visit really cheered her up. No one takes care of the blackness like Tom does. After he left last night, to right now, she finds she just “does” things. She packed her bag like it was nothing. Got dressed this morning like it was nothing. And treated her test the same. Now I’ll have sex like it’s nothing. Ugh, that was not a good thought. It’s nothing she thinks too long about. She can’t. Niko’s gone…Niko-like when she hands Niko the test.

  Promptly, Niko suggests ditching the rest of the day, then leads the way to her 7, mall-bound after slinging off her bra.

  I left my bra on.

  In a chilly dressing room, she unlatches her skirt and drops her panties. It agitates her vagina. She’s sensitive there today, and cold! She examines the follicle runway, a headstone to her former bush, which now resides somewhere in the city sewer. The process began with scissors, but was ended by a razor that swiped between her lips, around her entrance and further back by her asshole. In all, it took forty minutes, but as the hot water tank became empty, so too did her crotch become bare.

  In reflection, it felt like déjà vu.

  This whole thing with him does. It’s like the pull that got her to shave her vagina was the same pull that got her to jerk him off or, predating that, him humping her. Actually, humping’s a perfect example. She consented because she worried some slut would blow him or something. It wasn’t a very rational fear, as Tom’s not a ladies man type, but at the same time, it was. She knows she thinks about sex with Tom, and in some way, deep down where Mackenzie has feelings, Mackenzie thinks about sex with Tom, which means other girls, whom she’s not aware of, think about sex with Tom, and the longer they met behind the chapel, the more sure she became some girl would see his value, then act on that impulse.

  And I’d have to match her.

  Or they could start humping.

  Like, she weighed his pluses up against the risks of ignoring the erection problem (and she learned fast, if you’re gonna kiss boys, it’s “hard” to ignore the erection problem) with all the stuff Mother Superior’s told her about sex and, like, humping may not have been ideal, but as far as sins go, it wasn’t so bad. It also kept all her clothes on and it minimized the amount of sexual pressure he asserted on her as-yet-unwilling self. It was an all around practical solution. For a long time, it worked. That’s changing for him, and she gets that and always knew it was likely, but what confuses her is how it’s changing for her, too. No joke, the humping’s for him. She gets nothing from it. Or she didn’t. Like, yesterday when he humped her, he also humped certain sensitive body parts into her comforter. It was like a five alarm fire and she ground her teeth to maintain control. Worse, she masturbated after he left! Sure, she does that daily, but not in the “I’m an animal, I must hump” way.

  Okay, maybe she read too far into it, but it’s like…

  I’m gonna have sex this weekend. I’m so crazy.

  Niko’s a room over, documenting the nine imperfections on her face. “Does it look good?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it on yet.”

  “What’re you doing in there?”

  “Nothing, I’ll be ready in a sec.”

  Niko slips her legs into a jean skirt that caught her fancy since it has leather patches sewn onto the ass. Then, she holds up a shirt and her shoulders collapse. Why, oh why, am I so flat? “Like I thought, I look all Little House on the Prairie.”

  “Maybe you’ll find a shirt somewhere else.”

  “I suppose. Are you changed yet?”

  “Almost.”

  The bathing suit—the one from the magazine with the pretty white girl—is on a special hanger with a plastic bust. Her feet thread through the bottoms and she scrunches her kneecaps to lift the short-shorts. Next, she ties the top behind her back before she does around her neck. She jumps on her toes. Her boobs bounce like sexy boobs and stay in her suit, unlike her old bikini, which seemed cut to promote mammary slippage.

  Niko’s getting impatient. “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna buy it.”

  She changes back into her uniform, buys it, and then shops some more. At the Secret, she searches through a display of clearance panties, taken by a low riding one with “Dangerous” written on the rear. Forgotten for some solid colored thongs, the kind with a thick rear that lays over the divide of her ass instead of between it.

  It makes a difference.

  She shoplifts four of them.

  Niko holds up a high-cut, cut-up club shirt. The kind that girls are only comfortable wearing when they’re on drugs. “Do you think I have the tummy for this?”

  “I wouldn’t wear that for my life and you shouldn’t either.”

  “Are you kidding?” The shirt falls to a wrinkly mess at her feet. “Midriffs are in! I have to lose ten pounds before the summer or else I can’t wear all the shirts I bought.”

  On a good day, Niko’s 5’1”, 99lbs, soaking wet.

  So Niko’s exaggerating, as Niko often does. She decides not to play into it. “You look better when you’re dressed sexy.”

  “If I knew, I’d buy that stuff!” Niko’s discarded the shirt to examine—in disgust—those same thongs. “Those things are so uncomfortable.” That’s a very Niko thing to say. Or it’s a very Niko3.0 thing to say, as Niko3.0 dislikes thongs, bras, and will, on occasion, grow out her armpit hair. But, last year, Niko2.0 embraced all this shit, and while those days are gone, Niko3.0 acts like they never existed. “Why do you wear them?”

  “Cause I like them, and they’re not uncomfortable.”

  The girls return to the 7 and Niko encroaches on the rear of an elderly driver. “Why can’t people follow the speed limit?” The car swerves and her feet stomp around. “Timmy should be at my house already. He has all the alcohol with him. Plus, my parents got stuff out there.”

  “How much was it? I got ten bucks I could give you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” After Niko cuts across several lanes and clears herself to a space of open road, she spins the dial on the radio to hear the weather report. “Did you hear that? It’ll be in the seventies! It’s April, but who would have thought we’d have such a perfect weekend! I bet you’ll get to wear your new suit and everything.”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not thinking about it. I just hope this test gets my father to lay off.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have flaked so much! And for the sake of our continued existence as friends, your grades need to stay up. If you lose your shot at valedictorian, your mother will never let you see me again!”

  The puppet master.

  For the record, Model UN is slightly more important.

  She forgets it.

  “I’ll get them up, I will.” Glares bounce off the paint of the cars this zooming coupe has caugh
t up to, then left in its trail. Their intensity forces her to squint, which forces her to focus on her thoughts. They’re the sexually anxious type. That forces her to focus on Niko—the only non-virgin, besides SS1, she knows. “Niko, when you did it the first time…” The tires squeal and butts slide as the stick is jammed forward. The landscape is like a merry-go-round. The seat belt locks and she curses. “Why do you always do that? You know the gate to your home is closed. You’re gonna get in an accident one of these days.”

  “No, I won’t! Hazu says I have excellent control for a girl.”

  Oh, you have no idea how much that sounded like Hazu.

  “For a girl?”

  “You know boys. They think they’re good at everything cause they have muscles. Fuck that, I can work the clutch better than he can. He doesn’t want to admit it.”

  “The clutch?”

  “It’s this pedal here on the left.”

  The grind of machinery pumps as a wrought iron gate—the sole entrance to the property as the perimeter’s surrounded by a castle-like wall—rumbles open. The gate is imposing and its once pitch-black bars have been replaced by an almost green rust and large floppy leaves that’ve nearly swallowed the structure whole. When it’s open, Niko drives a winding street to her home and stops, sanely, in the circle drive. She removes her sunglasses and flings her hair to see her poor friend pouting like a lost puppy.

  “Okay, what is it?”

  Not only are her lips pouting, but so are her shoulders, and her knees are turned inwards. “Well, Tom came over yesterday and I told you how he’s been rubbing against me.”

  “Yeah, he’s dry-fucking you.”

  That’s…one way to put it.

  Her throat’s a bit dry. “Yeah, we did that, but we were on my bed, and we were kissing, too, and I had… I had this feeling like we should start doing things together.”