The Program (The Program #1)(18)
Author: Suzanne Young

“Has anyone interviewed you?” I ask.

He shakes his head no.

“They pulled me from class,” I say.

James looks over at me. “What happened?”

“They asked about Miller. About you. . . .”

He doesn’t react; instead he just turns back to his food. I miss him so much, even though he’s right in front me. He’s not the same. “No one’s spoken to me,” he says. “I haven’t even seen any handlers today.”

And although that should make me feel better, his statement only makes me more uneasy. Why did they pull me? Either I was the one being evaluated or they were collecting evidence on James. I’m not sure which it was.

“I want to get out of town,” I say. “Do you think you can get away? I want to go camping again.”

James chews slowly. “I can try.”

The emptiness in his voice is killing me, and I’m not sure I can keep this up much longer. “Don’t you want to go with me?” I ask, my voice small.

He nods. “Of course I do, baby.”

I exhale, leaning to put my head on James’s shoulder. Under the table, his hand finds mine and I feel better, like this small show of life can mean something. Movement in the corner catches my attention, and I dart my eyes over there, finding the handler watching me with a smile on his lips.

CHAPTER TEN

THE REST OF THE WEEK IS MORE OF THE SAME. I try to keep up the appearance of normal, especially when I feel him watching us. The handler is in my classes, the cafeteria, always staring. Always a smirk on his face. It’s like he’s willing me to mess up.

They don’t pull James aside for an interview, and I wonder what it means. Did I seem more depressed to the handler? Have they already decided to take James?

When Friday comes, I practically drag James from the building, so relieved that I won’t have to fake it through another day. But oddly enough, I don’t think I want to cry either. I’ve almost convinced myself that Miller really wasn’t our best friend. It’s the only way I can deal.

I prepacked the car so we can head directly to the campsite. James is silent in the passenger seat, staring out the window. My parents seemed a little wary about us going so soon after Miller, maybe even a little suspicious. They asked why James hasn’t been by the house, and I told them he was studying—which is probably why they were suspicious in the first place. At James’s house I’ve been a permanent fixture, whispering to him and pretending like we’re being playful when his dad is around. Really I’m just telling him to hang on. I put him in his bed at night and tell him that I love him and that I won’t let anything happen to him. He doesn’t say it back. I’m scared that he never will again.

• • •

James sits, staring at the fire pit, while I put up the tent, grunting and scraping myself with the poles. I continue to look over at him, but he never looks back. When the camp is set up, I grab my sleeping bag from the car, feeling exhausted. I call to him, tossing the other bag in his direction.

“You can at least bring in your own sleeping bag,” I say, trying to sound light. “You’re making me do everything.”

He doesn’t respond, but he does get up, walking behind me to the tent. He climbs inside as we lay out our bags, his gaze a million miles away.

“Hey,” I say, pausing in front of him to brush back his hair. “Do you want to lie down for a little bit?” His eyes meet mine, but only for a second, and then he nods and kneels down on his bag, spreading out on his back. I chew on my lip as I get down next to him, curling up against him the way he used to like. My thigh over his, my face at the crook of his neck.

I rest my hand on his chest and listen to him breathe. He doesn’t touch me. “I miss you,” I say quietly. “I’m so lonely without you, James. I’m trying to be strong, but I’m not sure how much I have left. You have to come back to me. I don’t think I can get through this alone.” My eyes well up, but James doesn’t move. God, I just want him back. I want to hear his laugh, his sarcastic comments, his fake ego. “I love you,” I whisper, and the tent is quiet.

I’m losing him, just like I lost the others. I sniffle back the start of tears and talk like he’s there with me. “I won’t let you go, you know?” I say. “I’m never going to just give up. So don’t even think about getting another girlfriend.” I smile, pretending he laughed. “I know things are bad right now, but they’ll get better. You’re not like Brady. You won’t quit. You won’t leave me on the side of a river wondering why. You’re stronger than that. I know you are.”

I slide my hand under his shirt, resting it over his heart. His skin is warm, familiar. The beating is slow.

“We should probably get that heart rate up,” I say lightly. “You could use the exercise.” I get up on my elbow, looking down into his beautiful face, his eyes fixed on a point beyond the tent that I can’t see. “Hey,” I whisper. When he slowly drags his gaze to mine, it’s lost and unfocused.

James and I have a million shared memories, but somehow I know that talking about his little-league games or the time he sliced open his foot on a rock isn’t going to snap him out of this. Instead I run my hand down his upper body and over his stomach, stopping when I get to the top of his jeans. And when I slip my hand inside them, his eyelids flutter and he takes a breath, but just a small one.

I think quickly, remembering that I don’t have any condoms. I doubt James brought any, and neither of us, right mind or not, would ever take a chance. Not in this world. But I want him. I want him to forget how sad he is.

“I love you,” I say, but James’s eyes are shut. I lean down and kiss softly at his lips, nearly stopping when he doesn’t respond. Then I kiss his neck, his chest. I undo his button as I kiss his stomach and then lower. And it isn’t until I feel his hand in my hair and hear him murmur my name breathlessly that I know I have him back—even if only for a second.

• • •

“Do you want me to build a fire?” I ask. James is wrapped tightly around me, his cheek against the back of my neck.

“No,” he says softly, holding me. “I just want to stay here with you.”

I smile a little and realize it’s the first real smile I’ve had since Miller died. The thought of him makes the happiness quickly fade. “Miller would want you to be okay,” I whisper.