The Program

by Suzanne Young

IT’S MONDAY MORNING, A WEEK AND A HALF INTO The Program, and Dr. Warren is sitting behind her desk, smiling kindly. Before the appointment I tried to eat as much food as possible, hoping it would weaken the effect of the drugs. But my body has already begun to feel heavy, making me sag into the chair.

  “Did you and James have a physical relationship?” the doctor asks.

  I laugh. “They don’t have sports at my school.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Sloane.”

  Obviously I know what she meant, but it isn’t any of her business. I don’t trust Dr. Warren. “What’s in the pills?” I ask.

  She sighs. “We go over this every time. And the answer is always the same. They’re just something to relax you.”

  I shake my head slowly. “No,” I say. “It’s more than that. It makes me talk to you, even if I don’t want to.”

  Dr. Warren watches me for a long moment, her eyes scanning me as if weighing out her answer. “Let’s get back to James,” she says. “Isn’t that what you really want to talk about?”

  I wince at his name, reminded again of how much I miss him. The room is becoming transparent, my memories clearer than the world around me. I’d do anything to get back to him. “Yes,” I say, giving up on my question. “James and I had a physical relationship. He’s the physical type.”

  “I can gather that much.”

  I don’t like the way she says it, as if without James I’d still be a virgin and at home with my parents right now, baking cookies. “I’m the one who wanted him, if you must know. He would have been fine with waiting”—I pause at this—“well, he would have been fine with waiting a little longer at least.”

  “Were you careful?”

  I curl my lip. “Yes, Mom. We always used a condom because we would never want to bring a kid into this messed-up world.”

  “Condoms aren’t always—”

  “Look,” I say, “I know the statistics, but I hardly have to worry about it now, do I?” My voice takes on a hard edge, and Dr. Warren glances away. I’m angry at the way she’s portraying James, and I want to set her straight. I want to tell her that she could only dream of having someone like him in her life.

  “Perhaps we can talk about your first kiss.”

  Scoffing, I curl up in the chair. The drugs are loosening my clenched muscles, taking away my inhibitions.

  “Did you kiss him first?” Dr. Warren asks, like she’s my best friend.

  “No,” I say, my heartbeat loud in my ears. “I would’ve been too scared. Too shy. James was so hot-and-cold then. I didn’t know what to think.”

  Dr. Warren leans back in her chair, her arms folding over her chest as she starts to smile. “Tell me about it, Sloane. Tell me everything.”

  I realize that she’s right; I do want to talk about James. And the minute I start, I’m ready to stay with him forever. Even if only in my mind.

  “He would send me notes,” I say. “After he admitted his feelings, he would leave notes under my pillow. Letters that he was writing to me. At first it seemed more like he was yelling at me. He’d comment on how much he hated liking me, but then in the next line explain it was because he spent all of his time missing me. I was never so confused in my whole life. I never wrote back, but his letters kept coming, as if he was arguing with himself. Soon they became less angry. Sweeter. He’d compliment something I wore to school, say how he thought about kissing me.” I laugh. “He talked a lot about kissing me. Said that maybe we could sneak off and see a movie, just the two of us.”

  Dr. Warren writes in the file. “James sounds complicated.”

  “He’s the opposite, actually. He wants things simple, and me and him dating . . . that complicated everything.”

  “How long did the letters go on?”

  “Almost every day for about a month. But after a few weeks of them, I started to stay in the same room with him. We would joke and actually make eye contact again. Brady said he was glad that I was done acting weird, and I felt like he knew. That he had to see the way James and I looked at each other.

  “The first time James and I kissed,” I say, “he told me that from then on he’d always have to kiss me. Just me. I felt so special, so loved. I replayed that moment in my head nonstop. But then I started to worry that maybe I’d read too much into the kiss. I was so afraid of losing him, and he wasn’t even mine yet.

  “A week later James came by to pick up me and Brady for a day at the river, but my brother backed out at the last minute—said he had a date, but that James and I should go ahead. We’d barely waited for him to leave the room before we took off, but I was nervous. James hadn’t mentioned the kiss, and I hadn’t gotten any more letters.

  “James drove us out there, and we didn’t speak on the way. I was wearing my bathing suit under a T-shirt and shorts, even though I didn’t plan to go in the water. It was like we were pretending to still go through the motions of a normal Saturday. When we got there, James laid out a beach blanket for us, dropped a few snacks from his backpack on it, and then stripped to his suit. He went swimming, leaving me there.”

  “But why did he act so cold when he’d already kissed you?” Dr. Warren asks.

  I meet her eyes. “James . . . as strong as he is, has serious abandonment issues. When he was eight, his mother left him in her car at the train station.” I swallow hard, feeling his pain. “She never came back. Instead someone had heard him crying, called the police. After that, I’m not sure he trusts anyone. Only me and Brady.” I sniffle. “And Brady failed him too.”

  Dr. Warren nods as if she understands, but I don’t think she does. No one understands James except me.

  “And what happened at the river that day?” she asks softly.

  “While James was in the water,” I start again, “I considered hiding his clothes—a little joke to put us in a good mood, something to break the awkward silence. So I grabbed his shorts and stood, ready to run off with them. But then something fell out of his pocket and landed in the grass.”

  “What was it?” Dr. Warren asks, looking riveted.

  “A ring. A stupid, plastic ring with sparkles. I’d held it in my hands, wondering what he was doing with it. I sat back down on the blanket and examined it, jealous about the girl it must have belonged to. Then I felt a drip of water and saw James standing above me, running a towel over his hair.”

  I let the memory unfold as Dr. Warren listens, my words tumbling out without my permission. Inside, I can see it all, I can remember every second.

  “What do you have?” James asked. When he saw the ring, he tossed his towel aside. “You going through my pockets, Sloane?”

  “No, I . . .” But I stopped, feeling jealous. “Whose ring is this?”

  James laughed and then sat down next to me, his thigh pressed against mine as he reached to pluck the ring from my hand. “You shouldn’t snoop,” he murmured.

  “You’re not going to answer?”

  He looked sideways. “It’s for you, stupid,” he said with a smile. “I got it for you.”

  I stared at him, trying to decide if he was telling the truth, but then he took the ring from my hand and slid it onto my finger. James leaned forward, pausing when he got really close to me. “Can we kiss now?” he asked. “Is that okay?”

  I close my eyes as I sit across from Dr. Warren, remembering how warm James’s mouth was on mine, how his tongue touched my lips before I opened them, letting him in. Letting him lay me back on the blanket as his mouth found mine, again and again, always gentle, yet urgent.

  I’ll never feel that passion from James again. I’ll never be that girl again. Tears start to stream down my cheeks as I cry, missing James. Missing myself. I wish everything could just go back to the way it was, but instead I’m slowly losing everything—I’m witnessing my own death.

  Dr. Warren doesn’t say anything, but she hands me the yellow pill. I take it gratefully, wanting to sleep. Wanting to feel better.

  But never wanting to forget.

  •
• •

  “Wakey, wakey,” a voice whispers in my ear.

  My eyelids feel heavy as I try to lift them, and when I turn to the voice I feel warm breath on my face.

  “You’ve been out too long, Miss Barstow. They asked me to come retrieve you.”

  My eyes fly open, and I see the dark-haired handler leaning over my bed. I reach out to push him away, but he catches my wrists. “Don’t fight,” he soothes. “I’m not going to hurt you. I only like the willing.”

  I yank my arm from his, accidently hitting myself in the mouth. I wince and touch at my lip, seeing a bit of blood there.

  The handler tsks. “You should be more careful.” He walks over to my closet and pulls out a clean pair of scrubs and my robe, laying it over the bed. “Help you get dressed?”

  “Hell no,” I say, sitting up in the bed. “And I’m pretty sure this is sexual harassment.”

  He smiles. “How so?”

  I’m not sure if making my skin crawl is enough of a reason to file charges, but I won’t mind taking the chance. “Get out or I’ll call Nurse Kell,” I say, motioning to the door.

  The handler shrugs. “If you want.” He starts walking that way and then stops, looking back at me. “But what if I can offer you something?”

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Not even a memory?”

  I pause, but then push back the blankets to climb out of the bed. “What do you mean?”

  The handler beams under my attention. “If I can save you a memory, something you could take out of here with you, would it be worth it?”

  I swallow down the sick feeling in my stomach. “Would what be worth it?”

  His eyes narrow deviously then, scanning over my body. I instinctively fold my arms over my chest and step back from him. “Being friends,” he says, but the tone is nothing short of sinister.

  “Just leave,” I snap, pointing behind him.

  He nods, not looking fazed in the least. “You think about it, Sloane. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “Drop dead.”

  He opens the door, but as he walks out, he says nonchalantly, “Wonder how much you’ve lost already.” And then he’s gone.

  I stand there, staring at the closed door. What I’ve lost? I look suddenly to my hand, but the finger is naked. The purple heart ring that I always wear is at home in my mattress. I wouldn’t forget that. James gave it to me when . . . I stop, thinking. A spike of fear rushes over me. He gave it when . . . Oh, God.

  I cover my mouth, realizing for the first time that a memory is gone. I stumble back against my bed, my mind racing over everything I can think of. The ring. How did I get the ring?

  There’s a quick knock at the door. I’m sure it’s the handler, so I yell out for him to go away. The door opens, and Dr. Francis is standing there, his eyebrows pulled together.

  “Sloane,” he says carefully, “Roger said he couldn’t get you to come out of your room. Is something the matter?”

  Yes, there is so much the matter that I wouldn’t know where to start. But I can’t turn in Roger for being a creep. Not yet. Not in case he can help me. I clear my throat and straighten, putting on a calm exterior. Let’s see if Dr. Francis can call bullshit.

  “He woke me up and I was cranky,” I say. “I think my medication is too strong.”

  Dr. Francis purses his lips as if thinking this over. “Maybe you just need to get used to the dosage.”

  “Maybe,” I respond, my voice bitter. He nods then, stepping away from the door.

  “It’s time for lunch, and the staff is concerned that you’re not eating enough. Nurse Kell tells me you’ve lost four pounds since arriving.”

  “No fast food,” I respond. “Bring on the chicken nuggets, and I’ll eat the hell out of them.”

  He laughs then, looking relieved that I can make a lame joke after all. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “And I’ll adjust your medication dosage. We want you to feel comfortable. I know this is a difficult transition.”

  I smile, clenching my teeth so hard I’m afraid they’ll break. A difficult transition? Yeah, that’s a fair assessment. Dr. Francis waits as I go in the bathroom and change into my clean scrubs, wrapping my robe tightly around me. I still try to search my mind for the story of the ring, but I know it’s gone. I’ve lost a piece of James and it’s so devastating that I have to stare at my reflection for nearly a minute before I can pull myself together.

  As I head out behind the doctor into the hallway, I keep my mind trained on a single thought, holding it close to me. James, James, James.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AFTER TIME IN THE EXAMINATION ROOM WITH DR. Francis—just a basic physical and blood test to make sure I’m taking my meds—I’m sent to lunch, where I sit alone in the corner. I drink some juice and take bites from an apple, but don’t bother with anything else. I’m too upset about the ring. When I leave and find myself in the mostly deserted leisure room, I sit again at the window and stare out.

  I continually take cautious glances around for Roger, wondering when his slimy self will show up, asking for a trade. Wondering if I could say no when it means keeping a part of myself.

  “Psst . . .” I look over my shoulder and see Realm by the door, holding something behind his back. No one else notices him, and I feel myself smile. Come here, he mouths.

  I’m not sure I should go, but the room is quiet and I’m bored. I get up to find out what he’s doing. Realm grins madly when I approach, and I follow him into the hall. “Wait here,” he says, poking his head around the corner toward the nurses’ station.

  “What’s behind your back?” I ask, trying to look over his shoulder between him and wall.

  “Hey, hey, sweetness,” he says, glaring at me. “No peeking.” He checks one more time and then does some weird hand signals like we’re in the military.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Run.” He rushes ahead of me, and we dash down the hall and through the stairwell door. He eases it shut and I stand there, sort of shocked.

  “That was close,” he says.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Hiding out. I have contraband.”

  “But if they find us—”

  “They won’t. No rounds for another twenty minutes. Sit.” He points to the stairs behind me.

  Since I’ve already broken the rules by coming out here, I sit down on the concrete, crossing my legs as I stare at him. “Now will you show me what you have behind your back?”

  He smiles broadly and pulls out a white bag, the logo on the side unmistakable.

  “No way.”

  “A little birdie told me you wanted chicken nuggets.”

  “Realm! How did you—”

  “Shh . . . ,” he says, looking toward the door. “This isn’t on the menu, so if they see it, they’ll take it. Now do you want it or not?”

  My brother and I used to beg our parents for McDonald’s every Saturday. We’d have to clean our rooms, do the dishes, all sorts of chores that we totally blew off, knowing our parents would get it anyway because my father was hooked on the fries.

  And here in this stairwell, I’ve never been so happy to see greasy food—almost like a little piece of home, which I guess is sad in a way.

  Realm comes to sit next to me, reaching in the bag to take out a napkin, which he lays on the stair. He pulls out a box of McNuggets, folding back the cardboard and then dumping some fries in the top.

  I immediately dive in, even though I have a ton of questions. “How did you get this?” The food is a little cold but still so good. Better than the mashed and bland starches we’ve been getting here.

  “I have a friend who has a friend.” He smiles and puts a fry into his mouth.

  “What? Realm, can you get us outside?” I ask, my mind suddenly flooded with dreams of escape. He widens his eyes at my reaction.

  “No,” he says. “Of course not. My charms go only so far, and sweet-talking my way into
some drive-through isn’t the same as a jailbreak. I just thought . . .” He looks down. “Shit, Sloane. I thought this would cheer you up.”

  I feel horrible and ungrateful, and I reach out to touch his hand to get his attention. “Sorry,” I say. “This is awesome. And it does cheer me up.” I force a wide, overly enthusiastic grin. “See?”

  Realm chuckles, a soft smile staying on his lips as we go back to eating.

  “So how did you know about the chicken nuggets?” I ask, pulling my leg underneath me and settling in.

  “Finally got my hands on your chart. Imagine my surprise when Dr. Francis noted that you were craving them. Did you really tell him that?”

  “Yes.” I laugh and slap his shoulder. “But you can’t read my chart!”

  “I can, but I definitely shouldn’t. You won’t tell on me, will you? Are you a rat, Sloane?” He looks at me suspiciously.

  “I’m not going to sell you out, but you have to tell me what you read.”

  He stiffens at this, and then scratches his chin. “Um . . . not much.”

  A wave of sickness washes over me. “You’re lying.”

  Realm’s eyes meet mine. “Who’s James?”

  The tender way he asks makes me nearly fall apart. How can I even explain who James is to me? “He was everything,” I say. “And now he’s nothing.” I close my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I hear Realm say, feeling him touch my knee. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  I sniffle and wipe away the tears just as they start to brim over. “It’s okay,” I say. “I’ve just had a bad day. And—”

  “I reminded you how much life sucks. I really am sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I whisper. “James is my boyfriend, but—” I stop, not wanting to admit that James didn’t remember me. As if it proves that I didn’t mean that much to him.

  “He was in The Program too,” Realm says quietly. “It’s in your file.”

  I nod. “They came and got me about a week after he returned.”

  “Did he know you?” Realm asks, sounding anxious.

  “No.” Saying it is like a punch in the gut.

  Realm doesn’t try to say it’s okay or offer any hope of James remembering. Instead he points to the last McNugget. “You going to eat that?” he asks.