Read Online Schizo by Nic Sheff - Free Book Online

and pleading.
    And then, suddenly, I can see—I can see why she was so eager to have me come down here today. I can see why she gave interviews to every paper and appeared on every news report about the kidnapping. I can see why she remembers it all as clearly as she does. I can see why she has Detective Marshall’s business card on her refrigerator over two years later. And I can see why she continues to blame herself for not having stopped that man from taking Teddy.
    She wants to be a part of the story.
    It’s as simple as that.
    She lives alone here. She works collecting tolls at the bridge. She has her cats, her church, her TV shows.
    Witnessing Teddy’s kidnapping must’ve made her feel, maybe for the first time ever, truly important.
    So of course she would think that God had some greater purpose in letting my brother get taken like that. Because, for her, the greater purpose was that she, finally, got to be somebody.
    They put her picture in the paper.
    She got to be on TV—not just once, but many times.
    â€œI have to go,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
    I start toward the door.
    â€œNo, wait—”
    Her hand reaches out, as if to stop me.
    But I don’t stop.
    I keep on going.
    I open the door.
    And I don’t turn back.

12.
    BY THE TIME I GET home, my mom and dad are out at a movie with Janey, so I’m left on my own for dinner. But in all my nervousness and whatever, I find that I’m really not hungry.
    I’m going crazy sitting here by myself. So I finally decide, like, fuck it, I might as well go to Preston’s party.
    I clean myself up as much as possible and put on what I would consider my coolest clothes—just a pair of jeans and a ripped-up T-shirt over a thermal undershirt—and a big fur-lined army jacket, because it’s freezing outside.
    Of course, I know it’s fucking stupid to be going to this thing, but I go on anyway—walking down the avenues for a couple of blocks, crossing over Lake Street and heading up into Sea Cliff where every house is the size of a fucking castle and no lights are ever on in any of the windows and no music is ever heard on the street. People here are so rich, they’re able to shut the world out completely and to shut themselves out from the world.
    In our neighborhood, at least, people yell and laugh and fight and burn things and have dead chickens hanging in their storefront windows.
    Here it’s all imitation Italian villas and imitation French chateaus and imitation Bavarian estates and imitation Spanish whatever-you-call-them and imitation Japanese-style houses like Eliza used to live in. It’s funny how rich people like to pretend so much. Rich people are like little kids—like Teddy used to be, with his toy cars and action figures and the Superman cape he made out of a bathroom towel. With enough money, they can be anything they want to be.
    I remember Eliza’s dad wanted to be a kind of samurai sushi chef—which is why they had that house like some Shinto temple.
    Preston’s parents want to be crazy bohemians traveling all over the world. And they can do it, too, ’cause they have the money. They can be whatever they want to be.
    While the rest of us are stuck being what we are.
    I begin to see cars parked up and down the street—cars that must belong to people attending Preston’s party—lining the golf course and filling the upper parking lot of the Palace of the Legion of Honor.
    Preston’s always been super popular, and even though I know for sure none of these people are anywhere near as close to him as I am, I can’t help but feel a little jealous—or just annoyed maybe. Because it’s not like any of these kids actually give a shit about him. Not really. All they care about is the fact that he has a nice house and his parents are never around.
    The house
is
nice, though, it’s true: built alone on the jagged cliffs,