The Program (The Program #1)(21)
Author: Suzanne Young

Because I’m going to the river. I’m going for a swim.

• • •

I don’t go to our usual spot. I go to where my brother died, and stand on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the rushing river water. It’s barely after five, the sun’s high above me, and I’m still in my perfectly normal clothes. In a way, I wish I’d worn something that meant more to me, like one of James’s old sweaters, or Brady’s T-shirts that we never got rid of.

I lift up my hand and look again at the purple heart ring. It seems like a lifetime ago that he gave it to me, and I realize it was. It was Miller’s lifetime ago. I start to cry.

Bringing the ring to my lips, I kiss it, thinking of where James could be. We know nothing of The Program, what it really does to people. On the news a few months back, they did an investigative report, but the story was overshadowed by the rising number of deaths. Any small violations they found—overuse of pills, patients being tied down—were pushed aside and the focus was on the results. No one in The Program died. They all went on to graduate, turn eighteen, disappear off the government radar.

I lower my arm and watch the strong current below me. The drop is nearly twenty feet. The river is deep enough here that I won’t smack the bottom, but I will get pulled under. I will be swept away, just like Brady was that day. And like him, I won’t fight it. I’ll let the darkness take me.

Closing my eyes I silently apologize to my parents, to everyone I’ve let down. And then . . . I fall forward.

The wind rushes over my face and the feeling of dropping flutters my stomach and makes me gasp in a breath just as I hit the water. Sharp coldness envelops me and fills my mouth, and I swing out my arms as I’m plunged deeper, pushed forward. It’s dark and icy and all at once I’m terrified—lashing out for something to grab onto. I fight to breathe, but take in a mouthful of water instead, gagging as my body convulses. Oh, God. I’m drowning! The pressure closes in on my chest, and I realize that I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die here!

Just then my body slams against a rock, hoisting me halfway out of the water. I hold on to it, vomiting up river until I’m sure I’ll pass out and die anyway. My throat burns, my lungs ache. My arm is numb and I think it may be broken. I’m focused on trying to breathe, even though my throat feels too tight. My adrenaline is keeping me conscious, but beyond that is a fear I’ve never known. Vulnerability I’ve never felt—and never want to feel again. I start to whimper.

The river rushes by, my legs pulled downstream, but I hang on, listening to the sound of my shallow breaths. My eyes feel swollen and raw, and I blink as I see the world around me. The green of the leaves, the gray of the rock, the glistening of the setting sun on the water.

I lay my head on my broken arm, my clothes stuck to me as I stare at my ring. I couldn’t kill myself, couldn’t let go like so many others had. I wonder if in their last moments they’d changed their minds, but there was no boulder to grab on to. I start to sob as I think about Brady and about how I should have gotten to him in the water sooner. Maybe he wanted to live. Maybe it’s my fault that he didn’t.

I cling to the rock, crying until the thoughts fade and my body’s spent. When I feel empty, I gather my strength and climb across the boulder, dragging myself to the shore. My legs are so numb from the cold that I can barely feel them touch the ground. My arm starts to throb at my side, and one of my shoes is lost in the river. It’s dark when I finally make it back to the car. I’d left my key in the ignition, and when I turn it, I crank the heat to slowly thaw underneath the warm air.

I stare through the windshield and think about how James will return from The Program. They might not let me near him for a while, but they will eventually. And James isn’t like other people. He’s smart. Resourceful. What if he doesn’t get hollowed out? What if he comes back and remembers me? If it were me, if I’d been sent to The Program, I’d do everything I could to remember him. I’d find a way. I have to believe that James will too. I have to believe in him.

• • •

My father is sitting on the porch stairs when I pull the car into the driveway. He jumps up immediately, rushing toward me. I shut off the engine and wait until he wrenches open the door.

“Sloane!” he calls, and then stops when he sees me. “What happened?”

I slowly drag my eyes over to his. “I was trying to learn to swim,” I say, and shrug. But when I do a sharp pain tears through my arm. I wince and look down at it.

“Are you hurt?” He leans in to touch me but I shrink away.

“Don’t touch it,” I say. “I think it’s broken. The current was too strong and it—”

“Helen!” my father yells over his shoulder, calling to my mother. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says to me, gently taking my uninjured elbow to help me out.

“Where were you?” My mother’s voice is frantic as she jogs from the house, her skin pale in the light of the front porch. Her hands search me, brushing back my wet hair, looking at the cuts on my cheek.

“I was trying to swim,” I say, and meet her tired eyes. “I know I’ve been horrible to you lately, and I thought maybe this could make up for it.” My mother has always wanted me to learn how to swim, even though I was scared of the water. Once my brother was gone, I vowed never to learn. But I hope this lie makes her feel better. “I’m sorry,” I add, lowering my head.

“Oh, Sloane,” she says, hugging me. “You can’t do things like this. I was so worried, I almost called the police to look for you.”

I stiffen. “Did you?” I’m suddenly terrified that she used the number on the pamphlet next to the phone. That my own mother would turn me in.

“No,” she says. “Your father said you’d be back. That you were just . . . venting.” She pronounces the word as if she can’t remember what it means. I shoot a look at my father, but he keeps his eyes downcast. I wonder exactly how much he knows about where I’ve been.

“It was an accident,” I say to my mother, trying to sound as peaceful as possible. “I thought it’d be great to learn, something to surprise James with when he comes back. But then I got pulled downstream. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“We should probably get you to the emergency room for that arm,” my father cuts in. My mother gives him an alarmed look, as if he’s stealing me from her.