The Program

by Suzanne Young

  I moan against it, staggering back. It’s like a screwdriver to my frontal lobe, and I nearly collapse. Am I having an aneurysm? Am I dying?

  I don’t know what’s happening, and I’m terrified as I try to get to my door, to call for help. Then an image fills my mind—a brightly colored memory among all the foggy ones. I see myself holding something in my hands, lifting my mattress and stuffing objects in a slit there. There’s a slit in my mattress?

  The pain fades to a dull ache, and I collapse against my closed door, trying to catch my breath. Is it possible that I remembered something? I slowly climb to my feet and walk around the side of bed. I get down on the floor.

  I lift the heavy mattress. I feel around underneath it, disappointed when I find nothing. I’m about to drop the mattress when I brush a bulge under the fabric. My heart leaps with anxiety and excitement. I duck my head down to look, my arms starting to shake with the weight. And I see it, a small slit cut in the fabric.

  It’s real. I rest the corner of the mattress on my shoulder and pull out the objects. What the hell?

  There’s a plastic purple ring and the white backing of a picture. Why are these in my bed? And why do I remember hiding them?

  I drop the mattress and then sit on it, setting the ring aside as I flip the picture over. When I do, shock floods my body.

  It’s a picture of Brady—possibly just before he died, but I don’t remember. And next to him . . . Next to him with his arm around him is James. James from my math class is standing with my dead brother. Smiling.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FROM THE DOORWAY OF OUR NEAR-EMPTY CLASSROOM I see James sitting at his desk, his notebook open as he appears to be drawing. I turn and look at my handler. “I forgot my book,” I say, having left it in my locker on purpose. “Any chance you could grab it for me? I don’t want to be late.”

  I walk purposely toward my seat in the front, pausing there as if reminding Kevin that he’s already taken care of my problem of oversocialization. He nods and says he’ll be right back. But the minute he’s through the door, I stomp over to James’s desk. He doesn’t look up, just continues to shade in the picture of a figure with long, curly hair that he’s been drawing in his notebook.

  I pull the picture of him and Brady from my pocket and slam it down on his open page, startling him.

  He sits back in his chair, staring up at me. “What the hell?”

  “How did you know my brother?” I ask, poking hard at his image on the picture. James’s blue eyes are confused, and when he looks down at the picture of him and Brady, he pales considerably.

  James pulls the picture from under my hand and examines it. “I’ve never seen this before,” he says.

  “And my brother?”

  James swallows hard. “I don’t know him.”

  “Then why are you at the river together? Why is your arm over his shoulder? My God, were you friends with him?”

  James continues to study the picture and then hands it to me, rubbing roughly at his face. “Go back to your seat before the handler comes in,” he says, no emotion in his voice.

  “I need to know if you—”

  “Later,” he snaps. “Now go.” James’s face is hard, and I know he’s not going to tell me anything more right now. Our teacher enters the room, and I stuff the picture into my pocket and hurry toward the front, angry that I’ll have to wait for answers.

  Just as I slide into my chair, Kevin walks back in and lays the book on my desk. He goes to the back to stand watch, making sure no one interferes with me. But I feel like I’ve already started to unravel.

  • • •

  I haven’t told Lacey about the picture, intent on confronting James first. Could that be why he’s really been talking to me? Did he have something to do with my brother’s death? I feel deceived, and I’m not even completely convinced I should—not if James doesn’t know the answer either. But more than anything, it’s almost like I can get part of my brother back. I just need James to fill in the gaps in my memory.

  I barely pick at my food and nod at Lacey at all the right times. I wait for James to sit at his table, but he doesn’t come to lunch again. I want to scream and run out looking for him. Glancing over at Kevin, I see him chatting with a teacher, and I take out my phone. I scroll through to find James’s last message and hit reply.

  I WANT TO TALK. NOW.

  I hold my breath, setting my phone on the table as I wait for him to respond. I glance at the clock and see there are only ten minutes left of lunch. My fingers are actually trembling. The phone vibrates, and I nearly knock over my Diet Coke trying to get to it.

  “Holy hell, Sloane,” Lacey says. “You doing okay?”

  “Fine,” I tell her, and pull up the message.

  BASEMENT. NEAR STORAGE ROOM.

  Oh, yeah. That sounds like a fantastic idea. I wonder if he wants to get caught. I take another cautious look at Kevin.

  “What’s going on?” Lacey asks seriously, leaning toward me. “You’re doing something devious. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I need to get out of here,” I whisper.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “No, I mean, I need to get out right now. Do you think I can?”

  “Oh!” She peeks over her shoulder, finding my handler still talking with the teacher. Lacey nods her chin to the back stairwell. “There,” she says. “If you move quickly he won’t notice the door open.”

  I bite my lip, not sure if I can get away with this. Wondering how long it’ll take Kevin to find me. But then I decide that I have to take the chance. “Hey,” I tell her, smiling weakly. “If I get dragged away, try and remember me okay?”

  “You got it. Now go.”

  I back out of my chair, walking slowly and calmly toward the exit. When I’m close, I look at Kevin. His back is to me. My heart racing, I escape the cafeteria.

  • • •

  The storage room door is heavy, and it creaks when it opens. It’s freaky, and I debate whether I should be in here at all. It’s dark.

  “Over here.” James’s voice comes from the corner, desks and old boxes stacked around him. I can’t see him well, but I keep moving. When his hands touch my upper arms, I jump, making a soft sound. “Sorry,” he says. “I can’t find the light.”

  I stare until his outline starts to come into focus; the place so dark it’s like we’re the only people in the world. God, I’m an idiot for being here. I cross my arms over my chest, even though he can’t see me. Just then the room fills with light, and I find James near the wall with his hand on the switch. When he looks at me, my expression is deadly serious.

  “How do you know Brady?” I ask.

  “I told you that I don’t. I’ve never seen him before. Did you ask him?”

  His words sting, and I step back, the air pushed from my lungs.

  “Well, did you?” he asks.

  “James,” I say, the tears thick in my voice. “My brother is dead.” And the fact that he doesn’t know him—that my brother is gone from his memory—makes me break down. Seeing the picture has stirred up the pain, the grief I must have felt but don’t remember. I put my face in my hands, and then suddenly James pulls me to him as I quietly sob into his shirt.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I had no idea. I’m an asshole, okay?”

  “You are,” I agree, but don’t move away. I’d wanted James to know Brady. I wanted him to tell me about him. And now it’s like I’ve lost my brother all over again.

  “Stop crying,” James says softly. “You can’t go back to class like that.”

  “I’m not going back,” I say, straightening from his arms. “I hate this place. I hate everything.”

  “Believe me, Sloane,” he says. “I can relate. But I don’t want you to do anything stupid. How do you plan on getting out?” James tucks my hair behind my ears. I let him, but lower my eyes.

  “Not sure.”

  “I can help,” he offers. “I’ve made skipping class into a fine
art. I have the clearance code of a Program doctor. The office won’t know it’s expired unless they check into it and see he’s retired.”

  “Really?” I sniffle and wipe at my cheeks.

  “I’m not an amateur,” he says. “Technically I’m at therapy right now. But if I sneak you out, do you want to grab lunch or something? I’m starving.”

  I wait, still wanting to be mad at him for not knowing my brother, but realistically knowing it’s not his fault. “It depends,” I murmur.

  “On what?”

  “Do you think . . . Do you think we can get our memories back?” I ask.

  “No,” he says sadly. “I’ve asked everyone. Researched it. And from what I can tell . . . No.” His voice takes on a hard edge, and I like it. I like the anger there.

  “But do you want to try?” I ask. “You can come by my house, look at Brady’s stuff and see if you remember anything?”

  “Will you make me a sandwich?”

  I smile. “Yeah. I guess.”

  James is quiet, and I think he’s going to refuse, but then he takes out his phone and dials, dissolving into the voice of an old man—pretty expertly, I must admit. And when he’s done he looks nervous, as if coming with me might start something he’s not sure of. But we leave anyway. Together.

  • • •

  “Your parents coming home anytime soon?” James asks as we pause on my back porch.

  There is a tiny burst of butterflies, even though I try not to notice them. “No, not for a little while.”

  Kevin had rushed off campus after James called in an emergency at the other high school, so luckily I didn’t have to lie to his face. The office bought the phony call without question. I’m almost scared at how good James is at getting around the rules.

  “Will they be able to tell if we go through their stuff ?” James asks, as we step inside my cluttered kitchen. The pots from last night’s dinner are still on the stove, dishes next to the sink.

  “I hope not.” I push the door closed behind us, and lock it. James looks around the room, taking it in and then glances back at me.

  “Familiar?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Sorry. No.”

  I’m definitely disappointed as I lead James upstairs, wishing he could tell me what he knows about Brady. I want to find out if he has any details about how my brother died. How I survived it. But he’s nothing short of confused as he follows behind me. We pause at a door.

  “This was my brother’s room,” I say quietly. Tears start to itch behind my eyes, but I blink them away.

  James passes me and walks inside, looking over the room as if he’s hoping it’ll just hit him. But as the minutes tick by, it seems less and less likely. When his blue eyes finally meet mine, the apology is in them. I turn and walk out into the hallway.

  It doesn’t seem real, how part of our lives can just be wiped out. How James and I can share a connection and yet not even know what it is. He knew Brady. How could he forget him? I’m starting down the hall, James behind me, when I hear him stop.

  “Your bedroom?”

  I turn and see him standing at my door. “Yep.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  I should say no and lead him out before my parents get home, but it’s nice having him around. It’s nice knowing I’m not the only person feeling helpless. James walks into my room and wanders around, looking though the pile of junk on my dresser, testing the softness of my bed. When he sees me watching him, he smiles.

  “I know I’m loathsome. You don’t have to say it.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  He laughs then and gets up. “Can I see the picture again?” he asks. I’m leaning against the doorframe when I take the photo out of my jeans, and then James is right in front of me. Close.

  He takes the picture from my hand, studying my face as he does. My breath catches and I don’t say anything. “He looks like you,” James murmurs, glancing again at the image.

  “We were related.” But my heart isn’t into the sarcasm, and it just comes out sad. James seems to notice.

  “I’m sorry he’s gone,” he whispers, examining me once again. “And I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

  It breaks my heart to hear him say that. I don’t even know if he and Brady were that close, but the ache that I have tells me that they had to be.

  Without thinking, I lean forward and hug James, making him stagger backward against the other side of the doorway. At first his hands are awkwardly at my hips as I rest my head on his chest. His arms wrap around me protectively, the shock of his touch almost jarring in its comfort.

  “I’m sorry,” I say suddenly, and straighten up. I back away, not sure there is anything I can tell him to make the impromptu affection less awkward. But James grabs my wrists and pulls me to him again, this time hugging me tightly like he’s the one who needs it.

  We stand like that, his heart pounding against mine. James rests his hand under my hair at the back of my neck. “I like this,” he says. “And it’s weird because we don’t really know each other, but . . .” He trails off and I don’t try to fill in the words for him because I know what he means.

  Me and him, together like this. It’s the strangest feeling, full of things I don’t understand, both comfort and agony. But the one thing I am sure of is that I feel is safe.

  “James,” I say.

  “Sloane.”

  “I think we’ve done this before.” I’m so certain, and yet, I’m not sure what to think about it. How can I feel so close to someone I don’t know?

  A long silence passes and then James moves me back, his hand still on my neck. “I should go,” he says. “I’ll . . . I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” His face is a mask of uncertainty, and I wish I hadn’t said anything, hadn’t insinuated that we’d been more than friends. He looks completely freaked out.

  “I’m sorry—” I start to say, but he shakes his head.

  “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” he answers, sounding kind. Polite. He turns then, walking out into the hall, and all I can do is follow him. My eyes are stinging with the start of tears. I don’t want him to leave.

  When he gets to the back door, he pauses, holding it open, but not looking back. “I really am sorry about your brother, Sloane,” he says.

  And I don’t have time to answer before he leaves me standing alone in my kitchen.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I LIE IN MY BED, THE PURPLE RING ON MY FINGER. Why would I save something like this? It’s just a cheap plastic ring. I bring my hand closer, praying for some clarity. But it doesn’t come.

  Turning on my side, I examine the picture again. It makes my heart ache to see how happy Brady looks, and to know I’ll never see that expression again. And next to him is James, just as carefree.

  I’m confused and hurt by how James treated me today. I don’t understand if I said something wrong, pushed him too far. I thought he was having the same feelings, but I guess not. I can’t wrap my brain around his behavior, and more than that, I feel rejected.

  I’m just looking for what I lost.

  • • •

  I avoid James when I go back to school, which is just as well since Kevin seems to be constantly at my side. I half expect to find him in the bathroom with me when I brush my teeth at night. But when I hit week two of recovery, he pulls me aside in the hallway after math class.

  “Here,” he says, handing me a small piece of paper. I look down at the address on it, and then at him.

  “Michael will be waiting for you.” Kevin nods toward the paper. “But Sloane,” he says cautiously, “they’ve pulled me off your case. I’m not sure if you’ll get a new handler or . . . what is going on. That’s why I’m giving you Michael’s contact info.” He exhales then, as if he’s truly sad to leave me here. And although I’m glad to not have him watching me anymore, I hope they don’t give me another handler.

  “Be careful,” Ke
vin whispers as he backs away, watching me until he turns to leave.

  I wait a beat. Kevin seemed nervous about something, but Realm will know what’s going on. He always seems to know everything.

  “Sloane?”

  I’m staring blankly into my locker when he says my name. James is next to me, and I immediately roll my eyes. “Go away,” I say. “I’m not in the mood for your hot and cold affection today.”

  “You’re saying you want my affection?” He grins, but I don’t return it.

  “Look,” I tell him. “Just because I said that I thought we’d”—I lower my voice—“comforted each other before, doesn’t mean I was propositioning you. You didn’t have to run off and make me feel stupid like that.”

  His smile fades. “I know.”

  I wait, but he doesn’t expand. “You know? Wow, thanks for the apology. Nice talking with you, James.” I move to walk away, but he reaches out to take my elbow.

  “Wait,” he says quietly. “Don’t be mad. I have my reasons.”

  “And you don’t care to share them?”

  “Not really. But maybe I’m not as tough as you think.” I’d say he was repeating some cheesy line he’d heard in a movie except for the fact that he looks miserable when he says it. I gently take my arm from his grasp before people notice.

  “So what do you want now?” I ask him seriously.

  “I wish I knew, Sloane. But I am interested in finding out more about your brother. About . . . you. I mean, we could have all been friends.”

  I nod. “You looked pretty happy in the picture.”

  “I just wish we could get our memories back.”

  It occurs to me then that Realm might know what to do. He’s always been one step ahead, always known more about The Program than anybody.

  “There is someone,” I say. “He was my friend in The Program, and he’s really smart. He might know what to do.”

  James looks me over as if trying to decipher some secret code, but then he shrugs. “Okay, who is he?”

  “His name is Realm, and I have his address. I’m going to show up and see if he can help.”