The Program (29 page)

He’s laughing, bits of dirt on his teeth before he sits up and lunges, tackling me. “You’re nuts,” he says. “Oh, and I think you’re hungry.” He’s got me pinned, my ears half-buried in the mud, blocking out the sound of his threats.

He holds up a huge handful of mud, his own face covered nearly completely. He looks ridiculous, his blue eyes standing
out against the dark dirt. He holds the mud over my face, little bits of dirty water dripping on my cheek. “You’re going to eat this,” he says.

“Don’t!” I’m half laughing, half begging, trying to turn my face so he won’t stuff the dirt into my mouth.

James takes both my hands in one of his, pining them over my head as he moves to straddle me, wiping the mud on my neck, smearing it with his fingers.

“Ew!” he says dramatically. “This must feel so disgusting.” He shoves it down the front of my shirt.

The mud is cold and slimy, and I turn from left to right trying to get away from it, giggling the entire time.

“You pushed me in the mud,” he says, grabbing another big handful from next to my face. “Then you threatened my balls. I think you should pay, don’t you?”

“No!”

James lets my hands go, but doesn’t get up. He’s so proud of himself, having pinned a girl half his size, but I don’t point this out. He exhales and throws the clump of mud off to the side, looking down at me as if he doesn’t know what to do with me now.

“You’re a vicious little thing,” James says as he finally crawls off me. “You would have really hurt me if I let you.” His sneakers make a sucking noise as he stands up. When he holds out his hand to me, I look at it doubtfully.

“Truce?” he asks.

“Whatever.” I take his hand and let me him help me up,
even let him hold my arm as we make it across the muddy field, heading toward the back end of the parking lot.

“You’re filthy,” he says, like it’s a surprise, pausing at his car. “You should let me drive you home.”

“And what about our clothes?” I ask, when I stop outside the passenger door.

“If it were my car, you’d have to ride home naked.” He smiles at the idea. “But since it’s my dad’s, I don’t care if it gets dirty.”

I decide to at least take off my cardigan, leaving the muddy tank top underneath. James takes off his shirt altogether, and I try not to notice. I have to try pretty hard. When we sit in the car and turn to each other, we both crack up.

“Maybe you could spray me down with your hose before I head home?” James asks, starting the car.

“Like a dog.”

“You can scratch my belly if you want.”

“Gross.”

•  •  •

When we get to my house, my parents are just climbing out of their car. I forgot it was their support group day and they’d be home early. As we stop at the curb, James laughs. “Good thing you didn’t really ride home naked.”

“Not sure this is much of an improvement.” I flip down the mirror and see my mud-covered skin and then glare at James. “I think you’re a bad influence,” I tell him.

He grins. “I hope so.”

I shake my head and start to open the door. “It might be
weird if I spray you down on my front lawn while my parents watch,” I say. “Although you strike me as an exhibitionist.”

“Oh, I am. But that’s fine. I’ll wash up at home.”

I get out, but before I close the door, James calls my name. “What?” I ask, a smile teasing my lips.

“It was a good day,” he says simply. “Thanks.”

I agree, then close his door, watching as he drives off. I almost wish I’d stayed in the car. That was . . . nice. In a really strange and dirty way.

“Sloane?” my mother calls, her voice tight. When I turn, the looks on my parents’ faces are almost comical in their confusion.

“Sorry,” I say, although I don’t sound it. “I fell in the mud, and James brought me home.”

“James?” my mother says, exchanging a concerned glance with my father. It stops me cold.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s just . . .” My mother pauses as if debating something. “Sloane, you’re not supposed to date after—”

“Oh, we’re not,” I say quickly. “It’s not like that.”

My mother lets out a held breath. “That’s good. We just want to keep you safe, honey.”

Her tone is tense, but rather than press her, I go inside to clean up. I don’t want to ruin my first fun day in what seems like forever. Or at least, the first one I can remember.

I’M SURPRISED WHEN I WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING
to find Kevin waiting at my front door. I thought we’d gotten past the escorting me to school stage of our relationship. “What’s going on?” I ask.

“We just want to make sure you’re not doing anything to jeopardize your health, Sloane,” my mother says calmly. “So I’ve asked Kevin to watch you a little more closely.” I step back from her as if I’ve been slapped in the face.

“You called the handler on me?” I turn to Kevin. “And what did she say? That I was smiling too much?”

Kevin bristles. “She said you were riding around with James Murphy. Is that true?”

My first instinct is to deny it, but I know there’s no use. “So? We’re friends.” My mother tsks next to me as if I’m confirming
her fears. Kevin tilts his head like he’s disappointed.

“This is your warning, Sloane,” he says firmly. “You’re not to have contact with Mr. Murphy anymore. Do you understand?” Kevin looks completely serious, and I think that I’ve killed whatever bond we had. He doesn’t trust me anymore, and like he’d told me before, his main objective is to keep me well, not to help me break the rules.

“Yes,” I say to Kevin, the bitterness clear in my voice. I look over at my mother then, anger rolling over me. “I just got home and already you’re trying to get rid of me?” The minute the words are out, I regret them as her face falls.

But instead of apologizing, I straighten my back and walk out, leaving Kevin to trail behind me.

•  •  •

My handler takes the seat next to me in math class, blocking my view of James. I’m so surprised by Kevin’s change in demeanor that I don’t bother talking to him. He’s like a real handler now.

I wonder if James has been warned as well, especially with how severe a reaction Kevin is having. Then again, if they’d ordered James to stay at least fifty feet away from me, it’d probably make him want to talk to me more, so I smile. I’d thought that maybe he was a jerk, or difficult. But after yesterday, I feel light. As if James reminded me what it was like to have fun again.

After class, I walk down the hallway with Kevin carrying my books like I’m helpless, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m not sure who would text me other than my mother, and I definitely don’t want to talk to her. But then I see James
down the hall, leaning against the lockers. He’s got a phone in his hand, twisting it between his fingers as if he’s waiting for something.

“I have to run to the bathroom,” I say to Kevin, catching him by surprise.

“But—”

“Does The Program limit how many times I can relieve my bladder now?” I ask.

Kevin smiles. “No,” he says. “That still belongs to you. I’ll wait for you though.” He stands at my locker and I cross the hall, rushing into the girl’s bathroom. Once inside a stall, I take out my phone.

I THINK YOU HAVE AN ADMIRER. HE LOOKS GOOD IN WHITE.

I don’t recognize the number, but I know it’s James. I lean against the wall and respond:
WELL, APPARENTLY YOU’RE BAD NEWS. NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK YOU AGAIN. EVER.

I bite my lip, wondering how he’ll answer. If he’ll say that maybe they’re right, that we shouldn’t be around each other. But my phone vibrates instantly.

YEAH. THAT’S PROBABLY NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. WANT TO SKIP OUT?

I laugh, thrilled at how quickly he dismissed the idea.
HOW?

I’LL DISTRACT YOUR BOYFRIEND. MEET AT MY CAR IN TEN?

God, James is going to get me flagged. But at the same time, I can’t help it. I really, really want to leave with him right now. And my mother . . . How dare she turn me in. I’m so mad at her I almost want to get caught just to spite her.

But I push that idea away, knowing that I don’t want to go back to The Program. I couldn’t do it again, especially without Realm. I close my eyes, my heart racing in my chest. I want to go with James. But it’s too early to use another pass. They’ll be suspicious.

I CAN’T RIGHT NOW,
I type back.
ANOTHER TIME?

James doesn’t answer right away, and I worry that he’s annoyed or that he’s already started some elaborate plan to get us out. I wonder how much longer I should wait when a message pops up.

ANOTHER TIME.

•  •  •

“Your handler looks like he’s got a stick up his ass today,” Lacey says. She reaches into her lunch bag, but instead of taking out cupcakes, she holds a shiny red apple. When she sees me notice, she bites into it. “Need to watch my figure.”

“You look great,” I tell her, but she waves me away.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she says. “What did you get busted for? I’ve seen him crowding you today.”

I sigh. “It
might
have been because I was with James Murphy yesterday. And when he dropped me off he was shirtless and covered in mud. But nothing happened.”

“Clearly.”

I smile, but soon it fades as I think about how Kevin found out. “My mother betrayed me,” I say quietly. “She called the handler on me.”

“Whoa,” Lacey says. “That’s pretty harsh.” We don’t talk
for a while as I pick at my food and Lacey polishes off her apple. When we’re both done, she meets my eyes from across the table. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what I’d do if my parents did something like that to me. It’s . . .” She exhales. “I’m just sorry.”

I smile gratefully and let the conversation ease back into normal things. Lacey is going out of town this weekend with her new, older boyfriend. I’m a little envious, but I’m glad she seems happy. I run my eyes over the cafeteria until I find the spot where James always sits, but today the seat is empty.

James is nowhere in sight.

•  •  •

My mother doesn’t speak to me at dinner, which is just as well because I don’t want to talk to her. My father looks between us helplessly, but neither me nor my mother bother to explain. When I’m done, I dump my plate in the sink and go to hide out in my room.

I read over James’s texts a dozen times, thinking that he’s definitely flirting. He made it sound like they couldn’t keep him away from me, and that in itself is incredibly romantic. Unless I’m reading too much into it, which is entirely possible. Maybe he just likes the challenge of getting around The Program. Or maybe he just wants to piss them off.

I wonder how he got my number. Like Realm, he might break into things, steal files. I definitely wouldn’t put it past him. James is bad. And that makes him sort of good.

There’s a noise from downstairs, like a plate breaking. It
startles me, and I turn toward my door. My father’s voice is loud, carrying up the stairs as he tells my mother to stop. That she’s causing it. I hold my breath when he says that it’s her fault.

Are they talking about me?

I’ve never heard my parents argue before, but it feels familiar somehow. Tears begin to well up in my eyes as emotions flood me, emotions I can’t remember and yet they hurt. They sting. My mother’s voice is barely audible from here, so I ease to the door to listen more closely. Then it hits me—a sudden pain in my head.

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.

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.