The Program

by Suzanne Young

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I say. “He probably didn’t even think he was doing anything wrong.”

  Lacey nods at this, and moves over as several students file past us into class. “It’s harder for returners,” she murmurs. “People know more about us than we do. There’s no one to trust anymore. It’s enough to make me . . .” She stops and looks to where Kevin is standing. “Never mind,” she says, waving her hand. “We should go in.”

  I agree and follow behind her. Kevin enters after us, taking his place at the back of the room. I look around again, thinking that everyone seems content, easygoing. But I didn’t take my pill again today, and the fog of treatment is slowly clearing. Just then Lacey looks back over her shoulder at me and presses her lips into a smile. She’s not medicated, not like the rest. I wonder if we’re the only two lucid students in this room right now.

  I begin filling out the daily assessment on my desk, lying on the first question. Because I do feel anxious and overwhelmed. But I’d never tell them that.

  • • •

  As I walk into my third-period math class, I see a list of problems on the board. I take out my notebook after I sit, and jot them down, hoping to be able to figure out at least one. Math is becoming a huge source of frustration for me. I’m lost in a calculation when a chair squeaks next to me.

  I look over, noticing him—James. He looks a little different in daylight, or maybe it’s the fact that my medication has worked its way out of my system, letting images sharpen again.

  He has blond hair, cut close to his scalp. He’s wearing a short-sleeved button-down plaid shirt that doesn’t seem to be his, something about it wrong on him. It also doesn’t hide the white scars on his bicep. I see him look at me from the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t turn. In fact, he just leans forward and then takes out his phone to text, or play a game. I’m not sure.

  There’s a strange mix of anxiety in my stomach as I watch him. I’m about to whisper a thank-you, even though I’ve already told him. I feel like I should say something, but just then our teacher walks in and tells us to take out our books.

  I abandon the math problems from the board, and open to the correct page. I sneak a look sideways to see James continuing to type on his phone.

  “Mr. Murphy,” our teacher calls from the front. “If you wouldn’t mind . . .” She raises one eyebrow at him.

  James doesn’t immediately react, and I shoot a look back to Kevin. My heart rate spikes, afraid that this guy is going to get himself thrown out of class. But before anything else happens, James slips his phone back into his pocket and opens his book, never making a sound.

  When that’s settled, Mrs. Cavalier starts in on the lesson, and I try not to look next to me. When class comes to an end, James is the first one out the door.

  • • •

  Lacey waves me over to her table when I get to lunch. Kevin tells me to go ahead. He doesn’t offer me the white pill anymore, which tells me that maybe I never really needed it in the first place. Maybe they were just to keep me complacent. At home my doses go into the disposal.

  I sit across from Lacey, opening my brown bag. Now that I’m not taking anything, my appetite has returned. I bite into my sandwich as Lacey takes out her cupcakes, sliding one over to me.

  “Evan broke up with me today,” she says conversationally. “He said my rebel ways make him nervous. Which I think is funny considering that he’s the one who’s best friends with a non-returner. That alone is asking for trouble—they’re paranoid and dangerous. Hell, they spread suicide. And truly, Liam is scared shitless of us. I bet he’s the one that told him to end things.”

  “Liam’s not scared of me,” I say, taking the cupcake from the plastic to break it open. “But that other guy might have worried him just a little.” I lick the cream, and Lacey tilts her head questioningly.

  “What other guy?”

  I glance around then, trying to find him. When I see him sitting alone at a table, I don’t mention it at first. Instead I look him over. He’s really cute, in an intimidating sort of way. His light-blue eyes gaze out the window as he drinks from a carton of milk. I wonder why he helped me last night, yet he won’t look at me otherwise. At just that moment, he turns to meet my stare and I freeze.

  Across from me Lacey laughs. “James Murphy,” she says.

  “What?” Startled, I turn back to her.

  She smiles. “That’s James Murphy who you’re currently eye-humping. He’s in my science class, but he doesn’t say much. And when he does, it’s usually obnoxious or combative.”

  I can feel my cheeks redden. “I wasn’t . . .” I stop to laugh. “Okay, not the point. So are you friends with him?”

  “Nope.” She bites into her cupcake. “I’m pretty sure that he hates everyone here. He’s been in and out of the office since transferring. I would have recruited him to my ‘Lacey Against the World’ plan, but he’s too unpredictable. He ended up assigned two handlers because he kept going off the grid. Can’t believe they didn’t send him back. Trying to keep up appearances, I guess.”

  She crumples up her wrapper, and I pick through the rest of my lunch, careful not to look at James again. If Lacey thinks he’s trouble, that has to be saying something. But I might ask Kevin about him later.

  “Wait,” Lacey says, looking up. “Is he the one that scared Liam yesterday?”

  “Uh-huh.” I don’t go into details, but I’m not sure why. It’s like I’m suddenly protective of James’s reputation, even though I barely know him. Still, I owe him for sticking up for me. So I don’t mention that he threatened to turn a non-sick person into The Program. That could get him arrested, I bet.

  Something tickles the back of my mind, but I can’t put it into words, this odd feeling I have. A feeling that has no meaning because I can’t remember what it relates to. It’s like I’m about to discover it when a memory of my brother sitting alone at the table calling out fractions on flash cards echoes in my mind. I blink quickly and try to clear it away.

  “Well, who knows then,” Lacey says, not noticing my temporary distraction. “Maybe he’s not a total tool. So . . . do you remember having any boyfriends or anything? Evan is the first that I can remember. How sad is that? He uses way too much tongue.”

  “Ew.” I pop the tab on my Diet Coke. “Not sure I needed to know that.”

  Lacey leans her elbows on the table, the smile fading from her lips. “They watch you, you know. They monitor us all the time, even when we don’t realize.”

  A chill runs over me as I stare back at her. Her dark eyes are painted with blue shadow, the liner dramatically cat-eyed. Her blond hair is flipped up at the ends, very preppy—almost comically so. It occurs to me suddenly that this is not how she wants to dress. That this is fake.

  “Are they watching right now?” I whisper, suddenly paranoid as I lean closer to her.

  “The place isn’t bugged or anything, but they take note of who we interact with. Where we go. They’re looking for signs of failure.”

  “And if they find it?”

  Lacey straightens then. “We don’t know. No one has failed. Yet.”

  I lower my eyes, thinking that I don’t want to be the first person to get sent back to The Program. I don’t think I could bear being locked up there alone. I feel fine—a little confused, but not depressed. Although to be honest, I’m not even sure what depressed would feel like.

  “Anyway.” Lacey sighs as if wanting to go back to the easy conversation. “If you want me to introduce you to James, I can.”

  I shake my head, trying to relax the tension that is now squeezing my shoulders. “That’s okay,” I say. “I doubt he’s my type.”

  Lacey snorts. “How would you know? I’m sure they’ve wiped out your dating history, too.”

  She’s right. I don’t know anything about myself anymore. I don’t even know if I’ve had a boyfriend before.

  “Maybe you like dudes on motorcycles.” Lacey grins. “Or supernerdy guys.” She
giggles, but it’s deep and throaty. “I’ll tell you one thing, now that I’m free to date, I’m going to try all thirty-one flavors. It’s like I have a clean slate. I’m a born-again virgin.”

  “Just remember that some of those thirty-one flavors will be disgusting,” I say. “Like, who would be the pistachio cream?”

  Lacey smiles. “Already had him.”

  I laugh again, shaking my head. “Have you ever asked anyone about your past? About who you dated before?”

  Lacey seems to freeze at this. “I did actually, and my parents nearly died when I brought it up. They wouldn’t tell me a thing. Everyone else ignored the question because they didn’t want to get flagged. You know that, right? If anyone tells you about who you were, what you did before The Program, they can get flagged or arrested for messing with a returner.”

  I lower my eyes, the thought troubling me. The fact that The Program has such complete control of what and who we’re exposed to.

  Lacey continues. “After all the strained glances between my parents, I finally just went to search my room, looking for anything—a picture, a birthday card. But it’s all gone. Probably a good thing, though. I mean, how healthy could my past relationships have been if I was suicidal?”

  She has a valid point. “Still,” I say, “I’d like to know. Just seems weird that other people can know and not tell me.”

  Lacey pushes her lunch bag away and levels her stare at me. “It is weird. And trust me, it doesn’t get any less weird. But there are a lot sick people out there. You and me, we’re not like them anymore. Sure, I get a little irritated when I can’t remember something, but I’m not trying to slash my wrists, either. The Program worked. For better or for worse. Truly,” she says, looking down. “I’m not sure which it is.”

  The expression that crosses her features is one of regret with a touch of sadness. I glance over at Kevin, hoping he hasn’t noticed Lacey’s change, but he’s watching us. He’s clearly seen.

  “I did meet a guy while I was at The Program,” I offer, completely downplaying how complicated my and Realm’s relationship was to make it sound like gossip. With that, Lacey’s lips twitch with a smile.

  “Really, now? That is scandalous, Sloane. A boyfriend?”

  “No. Just a friend.” Lacey crinkles her nose as if I’ve disappointed her. “But,” I add, “he was the type of friend I’d sometimes kiss.”

  The bell rings overhead, and I straighten, glad I snapped her out of whatever she was thinking about. She smiles broadly at me.

  “I have to go,” she says, standing. “My chem teacher is giving me a hell of a time about not catching up. Maybe she’ll eventually take the hint that I hate science and have no plans to ever catch up.” She sighs and then waves before turning to leave.

  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.”
<
br />   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.

  “I miss him,” I tell my mother, looking at her.

  She blinks back her tears and smiles sadly. “I miss him too. But we had to move on as a family. Your brother drowned in that river and it devastated us. Still, we’ve found our peace again. Please don’t make us relive the pain. Do you promise?”

  There’s a tightness in my chest, and I think what she’s asking is unfair, especially because I can’t remember losing my brother. I need a little more closure, a chance to grieve now that I’m home. But instead, I just nod, and she pats my thigh.

  “Now,” she says as if everything is cleared up. “Tell me again about all these friends you’re making.”

  “Oh . . .” I furrow my brow, surprised by the subject change. “Well, it’s only one friend. The girl Lacey I told you about? She’s really nice. I think you’ll like her.” I’m not sure that’s true, but I’m hoping it’ll make my mother less cautious with me. “I was hoping that maybe she could come over for dinner one night.”