The Program (The Program #1)(59)
Author: Suzanne Young

I wait a minute, still taking in what Lacey had told me about being monitored, about nobody telling us who we used to be. I thought being clearheaded would help me figure stuff out, but instead it’s only made it more confusing. Just then Kevin appears at the end of the table.

“Do you monitor me when I don’t know?” I ask quietly.

“Yes.”

Tiny pinpricks of realization slide over my skin, and I nod, acknowledging that I heard him. It’s a helpless feeling.

“But . . . ,” he continues, “I try not to notice when you break the rules—like slipping out of the Wellness Center when you think I’m not looking.”

“Oh.” I feel exposed, but it also affirms to me that Kevin isn’t the bad guy. At least not that I can tell. And if Realm sent him, I should trust that. I should trust Realm.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE MINUTE I GET HOME FROM SCHOOL, I RUN TO my bedroom and begin searching. The place still looks mostly the same as I remember it, except maybe a little cleaner. Although I can tell that things are missing, I have no idea what they could be. I open drawers, push aside the new clothes in my closet, but there are no hints that I ever had a social life. Either I was a nobody, or I had to have the people around me erased.

“Damn it,” I say as I slam the drawer closed. I just wanted something—anything—to give me a clue to what I was like before. I take a minute to look around, see if I missed anything, when I hear my mother call me from downstairs.

“Sloane,” she says. “Dinner.”

I head for the door, disturbed that I didn’t find anything—not even a picture. It’s like someone came in here and swept it all away. What worries me most is the idea that I was ever sick enough to be sent away in the first place. It doesn’t seem possible.

My father is working late, so it’s just my mother and me. I poke at the fried potatoes on my plate. I want to ask her about my past, but I’m afraid that she won’t tell me . . . and that she will. What if knowing really will make me sick again?

“So how was school?” she asks. “Settling in okay?”

“Pretty good, I guess.” I chew slowly. “Mom, what happened to all my clothes?”

“We got you new ones. Do you not like them?”

“No, they’re fine. I just wonder what my old clothes looked like.”

“Pretty much the same. But Dr. Warren suggested that we get you a new wardrobe to give you a fresh start. If you don’t like them, we can go shopping after school.” She smiles. “That might be fun.”

A fresh start. My heart rate begins to speed up. “Great,” I say halfheartedly. “But I was wondering . . .” I swallow hard. “Would you tell me if I asked if I ever had a boyfriend?”

My mother doesn’t noticeably react as she cuts into her chicken. “Sure, honey,” she says, not looking up. “You did date a little, but nothing serious.”

“Oh.” I can’t explain why, but that answer makes me feel bad. “Friends?” I ask. My mother bristles then.

“What’s this about, Sloane? You should be worried about the present, not the past.”

“You’re right,” I say, just to get rid of the crease between her eyebrows. We start eating again, and after a minute, I smile. “Do you know anything about a James Murphy?” I ask, cutting into my meat.

My mother looks up at me. “No. Is he a classmate of yours?”

“We have math together, and my friend said that he’d been in The Program just before me. He sounds kind of bad.” I laugh.

My mother nods, smiling kindly. “Then that should be a real sign to steer clear of him, don’t you think? The last thing you need so soon after returning is more problems. You have to remember that you were unwell, and now you’re cured. You’re not supposed to dwell on the past. You’re supposed to be focused on now.”

“I’m not dwelling,” I say, my face stinging from her scolding me. “I don’t have a past. Can you understand how confusing that is?”

“I’m sure it is. But they took the memories that were corrupted. And if you keep digging around in your head, reality is going to slip away. The doctor told us—”

“How do you know they only took the bad memories?” I challenge. “I can’t remember anything. I don’t even know what happened to Brady, only that he’s dead. What happened to him?”

“He drowned,” my mother answers simply, as if that in itself is an explanation. I knew this already. Dr. Warren had told me in a therapy session. But there were never any details.

“How?”

“Sloane,” my mother says in a warning voice.

“Who’s to say they only erased what they were supposed to?” I ask. “My life has so many holes in it and—”

“This discussion is over,” my mother says quickly. I meet her eyes over the table, and I can see she is in full panic mode. “You tried to kill yourself, Sloane. They told us you were resistant in The Program, too. We could have lost you, just like we lost your brother. The Program kept you alive, and for that I’m blessed. Any inconvenience you may feel now will fade soon enough. And if you just can’t bear it, maybe we should call the doctor and see if there is another treatment available. I can’t go through this again.” She starts to cry. “I just can’t.”

My mother pushes back from the table, leaving her barely touched food behind as she heads toward her bedroom. I feel guilty, as if I’m just a problem that continues to repeat itself.

And so with that, I toss my napkin down and retreat upstairs.

• • •

It’s an hour later when my mother knocks at my door, asking if she can talk to me. I let her in, still hating that I upset her. She looks older than she does in my memories, making me think the way I remember things isn’t accurate at all.

“About your brother,” she says, coming to sit next to me on the bed. “It was a very tragic loss, Sloane. One we’d all prefer to forget.”

“What happened to him?” Chills spread over my body. “Brady was a great swimmer. How could he drown?”

“It was a rafting accident. And your doctors had to take the memory because it was very traumatic for you. They felt it contributed to your illness.”

I hadn’t considered that my brother might have hurt himself. Brady wouldn’t do something that selfish. He loved us. We were happy.