Read Schizo for Free Online Page B

along the thick carpeting that still smells new all throughout this floor of the school.
    Her office is small, about the size of a closet, with a desk and no computer and a couch my mom brought in herself from Goodwill. She has pictures of me and Jane and Dad up on the wall. There’re even a couple pictures of our cat, Myshkin. But there are no pictures of Teddy—just as there are no pictures of Teddy in our house.
    I can’t blame her.
    Remembering is painful.
    But, pictures or no pictures, I’m sure he’s with her every second, the way he is with me.
    His picture is projected there on the backs of our eyelids.
    So we don’t need it hanging in a frame.
    I take a seat on the shiny upholstery, and the springs whine and buckle beneath my not-very-substantial frame. My mom sits in her broken office chair that’s been stuck in the lowest position to the ground, so she appears very short, even though she’s a whole inch taller than I am.
    â€œHere you go,” she says, handing me a plastic-wrapped peanut butter sandwich and a small, roughly textured apple. “Would you like some coffee?”
    The lines and creases around her mouth are deep set so that when she purses her lips together it gives the appearance of a dried-up piece of fruit.
    I nod yes.
    She pours black, bitter-smelling coffee from out of the large stainless steel Thermos into a metal camping mug and passes it over. I take a bite of the sandwich made on processed wheat bread with strawberry jelly that leaks out the side. I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my undershirt.
    â€œThanks,” I say.
    She drinks her coffee but does not eat.
    â€œMom,” I start hesitantly, looking down at the scuffed-up toes of my boots. “Mom . . . did you . . . uh . . . did you know Eliza Lindberg was back in school?”
    My mom freezes up, the coffee mug held just inches from her open mouth.
    â€œNo . . . I didn’t.”
    She completes the sip of coffee, and I take a bite of sandwich, talking with my mouth full.
    â€œYeah. I saw her. I guess they’re back from opening that restaurant in New Orleans.”
    My mom sets the coffee down and leans forward, intertwining her fingers on her crossed knees. Her eyes narrow behind her horn-rimmed glasses.
    â€œMiles, I promise, I had no idea. I would have told you.”
    â€œNo, no, I know. I didn’t mean it like that.”
    â€œWell, are you gonna be okay? Have you talked to her yet?”
    â€œNo, I haven’t. But, uh, yeah, of course I’ll be all right. It’s just weird, is all.”
    My mother stares like she’s trying to see something hidden inside me. I stay quiet.
    â€œWell, just be careful, Miles.”
    I laugh, then, at that—though, of course, I know she’s right. Even before Eliza rejected me straight out, I was always getting messed up about her. There was this one time when we were on a class ski trip that all us kids were playing Truth or Dare up in the girls’ bunks in the lodge. Someone dared Eliza to kiss me, and she acted like just the thought of it was the most disgusting thing in the world. She told everyone it made her want to barf. So she never did kiss me on the dare, and I was so crushed, like my insides had all been torn out of me.
    But then, the next day when we found ourselves alone on the ski slope, she came up to me and kissed me very quickly on the mouth. She whispered that she was just completing her dare. Then she skied off. And, of course, I was fucking elated. It’s lame, to say it like that, I guess, but I don’t care. I
was
elated. And I thought for sure it meant she liked me.
    Of course, it wasn’t too long after that she was back being mean to me in front of everyone again.
    â€œYeah,” I say. “I mean, no, you’re right.”
    My mom sits up a little straighter. She takes a sip of her coffee and then leans forward even closer this