The Program (The Program #1)(20)
Author: Suzanne Young

Before I could even understand what he’d said, James was flipping though his book, the corner of his mouth turned up in a half grin. Brady handed me the five.

“You deserve this,” he said, “for always putting up with his shit.” Brady laughed it away as if James was just teasing me, and my face burned with embarrassment. Humiliation.

I crumpled up the money and tossed it at James, bouncing it off his cheek. He looked up, surprised, and Brady chuckled. “I don’t want your money,” I said, and turned to go up the stairs toward my room.

“Then what do you want, Sloane?” James called after me, sounding amused, as if daring me to answer. I paused at the stairs, but didn’t turn around. And then I went to my room.

I know James won’t come looking for me this time. Not like he did that day, apologizing. James is in The Program now. The James I know is gone.

• • •

“Sloane, honey?” I hear my mother say on the other side of my bedroom door. I lay listlessly on my bed, willing myself to answer her.

“Yeah?”

“It’s time for dinner. Can you please come down? I’ve called three times already.”

Had she? “Sure. Okay.” I slowly stand, looking down at my clothes. I wish that there were bloodstains or tears, something to outwardly show how hurt I am. But instead it’s just a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt. Something so painfully average that it makes me hate myself. I head downstairs.

My parents sit at the dining room table, pleasant smiles plastered across their faces. I try to return a smile of my own, but I’m not sure I pull it off. My father’s brow creases.

“I made your favorite,” my mother says. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

I know the homemade sauce took her forever to make, so I say thank you. I take a seat and wonder what sort of pills I can find in the medicine cabinet, wondering if I can find something to help me sleep.

“James’s father called,” my mother says softly. “He told us James was sent to The Program today.”

My stomach twists around her words, and I reach out to sip from my water. The ice cubes rattle in the glass as my hand shakes.

“He’s going to be safe now,” my mother adds. “We’re all so grateful for The Program. We hadn’t even known he was ill.”

I’d known. But now I also know that he’s gone, and when he comes back, I won’t be a part of his life. He’ll be wiped clean.

“Sloane,” my father says in a low tone. “Your mother is talking to you.”

I look up at him, the anger clearly on my face because he straightens in his chair. “What would you like me to say to that?” I ask, my voice barely controlled. “What is the appropriate response?”

“That you’re happy that he’s going to get better. That you’re happy he won’t harm himself.”

“They took him,” I snap. “They came into class and they dragged him out. There is nothing happy about this.”

“Sloane,” my mother says, sounding startled. “Did you know he was sick? You didn’t try to conceal it, did you? He could have . . .” She stops, looking horrified.

I can’t believe they don’t understand. I wonder if it’s because adults would rather forget about their problems, the thought that ignorance is bliss. But The Program steals our memories. They reset our emotions so that we’re brand-new, never having been hurt or heartbroken. But who are we without our pasts?

“James would have rather died than gone to The Program,” I say, picking up my fork. “And now I know why.”

My mother tosses her napkin onto the table. “He’s going to get help, Sloane. Isn’t that what matters? I wish we would have gotten to Brady in time.”

I cry out, the rage inside me too much to contain. “Are you really that stupid?” I shout at her. “Do you really think Brady would have wanted his memory erased? Nobody wants this, Mom. No one wants to be numb. They’re killing us!”

“No!” she yells back. “You’re killing yourselves. They’re saving you.”

“By taking away everything that made my life worth living?”

“Is this just about James? Honey, I’m sure when he comes back—”

I throw my fork across the room, banging it off the wall. “It’s not just James! They’ll take out parts of me. Parts of Brady. I won’t even know my friends. I won’t remember why I love going to the river. . . . It’s because that’s where James first kissed me. Did you know that? That’s where he first told me he loved me. And now they’ll take that from him and he won’t remember. He won’t even know who he is.”

“If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again.”

I scoff. “I hate you,” I say, tears streaming from my eyes.

I told my mother that once before, after my brother died. She threatened to send me to The Program and I never said it again. Now I stare at her, all my emotions spinning into a dark spiral.

“Actually, I take it back,” I say to her, smiling sadly. “I hate myself more.” And then I run for my mother’s car in the garage, needing to get away. From her. And from everything.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I DRIVE THROUGH THE COUNTRY, THE LONG ROUTE that James and I used to take. I don’t turn on the radio; I don’t turn down the blasting heater. Instead I let sweat race down my back. It’s suffocating and thick in here, but I don’t care. I slow down when I get to the stretch of farm where there is nothing but cows. Them and me.

When I’m on the side of the road, I put the car in park and stare down at my hand. At the purple ring that James gave me. It doesn’t take long for me to dissolve into tears, screaming until my voice breaks completely. I’m practically hyperventilating when the thought hits me. When the clarity of it is too much to resist. It’s like a sudden calm, erasing my pain. It’s peacefulness. I wipe absently at my face and sit up straighter, shifting the car into gear.

I know what to do. What James would have done if I’d let him. There’s no way I can hide my despair. They’ll come for me soon enough, if they’re not planning to already. They’ll take me away, mess with my mind, clear away my memories of James, Miller, and possibly even Brady. They’ll take away everything that makes me me, and send me back clean. Empty.

I almost smile as I swing onto the road, driving too fast. Not caring if I crash. Almost hoping I do. But if I don’t, it’ll be okay.