The Complication (The Program #6)(36)

“Wait, are you saying I shouldn’t take his advice?” I ask.

“I’m saying I don’t know,” Nathan responds. “I’m not going to rely on his word. And you know how hard it is for me to admit that you might actually belong with Wes.”

He laughs, but I don’t join him. He turns to see why, and I feel tears sting my eyes. I quickly blink them away. “I remembered,” I say.

“Remembered what?”

“What happened that night,” I say. “After I left your house, I went to Wes’s, and I cussed at his mother.”

Nathan takes a casual sip of his drink, then, as if he misheard: “I’m sorry. What?”

“I remember going there,” I say. “I knew about Wes and Kyle, and I went there to beg him . . .” I stop, too embarrassed to explain it. I wish I had been stronger. Braver. But I can’t change the past. Apparently, it can be rewritten, though.

“I went there to talk to him,” I say self-consciously, “but Mrs. Ambrose called The Program on me because I was unwell. She told me to stay away from Wes. And now that I know, now that I’ve relived it . . . I think she’s right about us not belonging together.” I shrug one shoulder, miserable. “So I’ve let him go, Nathan. Wes and I are over.”

Nathan swallows hard. “That’s probably the biggest lie you’ve ever said to my face.”

“Not true,” I say, sniffling. “There was also the Adjustment.”

“Shit, you’re right,” he says with a sad smile, and when the moment goes on too long, he pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says, finally acknowledging the gravity of my statement.

“So, that was my night,” I add when I pull back. He whispers again that he’s sorry.

“Will you come with me to the Adjustment office later?” I ask. “I need to confront Dr. McKee.”

I expect Nathan to point out this is a dangerous idea, but he doesn’t. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

I thank him, and we turn to stare across the front lawn of the school. On the grass, there are a few guys playing Frisbee, flinging it with full force, even this early in the morning. Nathan says he admires their commitment to looking douchey despite the hour.

“Not to change the subject,” Nathan says, drawing my attention. “Did you finish your essay?”

“Essay?”

“Damn,” he says. “I was planning on copying yours.” He hikes his backpack higher up on his shoulder. “First hour. We should get in there and write it before Miss Soto arrives. At least tell me you read the book.”

To this, I smile. “I always read the book.”

“Excellent,” Nathan replies. “And I have a pencil. Together we’re like one full brain.”

I loop my arm through his with a laugh, and we head toward the building to go work on our papers.

? ? ?

Nathan and I make a plan for later. I’ll go to my appointment with Dr. Warren at two thirty, and then Nathan will meet me at the Adjustment office at four. We’re going to demand answers. I’m glad Nathan’s coming with me. He’s my magic feather—my confidence booster.

Wes isn’t in class when I arrive, so we don’t have the awkward “Hi. I slept in your bed last night, and it was a huge mistake” conversation, but he does show up near the end. He smiles at me before sitting down, and I hear Nathan groan behind me. This isn’t going to be easy to untangle.

There are no class interruptions today, no sign of Dr. Wyatt. There is one kid absent, Robert Rodrigo. I heard a rumor that he’s in the hospital, but when I asked about it, his friend quickly brushed me off.

What’s concerning about that piece of information is that Robert is a returner. And the past few weeks have returners dropping like flies—whether by a meltdown, an aneurysm, or . . . self-inflicted trauma. Two or three just opted out of school altogether. The assessments are dredging up bad memories for all of us.

I realize that I’m part of this high-risk pool now. I’m in danger because I’m a returner too. And I guess that’s something I’ll have to bring up to Dr. McKee, among my other questions. Why exactly are the returners crashing back?

I’m not sure he’ll answer. And even if he does, I don’t know if he’ll tell me the truth.

? ? ?

Wes doesn’t wait for me after class, and I check my messages to see if he replied to my somewhat dramatic good-bye this morning. But he didn’t. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. At some point, he’ll want to talk about it. Then again, he might realize we shouldn’t—not if he wants to keep his blissful ignorance.

The morning passes quickly, and I’m surprised when Foster asks us to stay in for lunch with him, claiming that in just a few weeks, we’ve lost the “purity of recess” by spending half the time driving. He said he wants us to get back to our roots.

We agree to this plan over group text, and Nathan tells us Jana won’t be there. Neither Foster nor I ask why, and Nathan doesn’t offer an explanation.

Wes doesn’t contact me, so either he changed his mind about lunch, or he’s honoring my good-bye text.

I push through the doors to the courtyard and find Nathan is already at the half wall, our old spot, and he has an array of snacks from the cafeteria laid out for us. None of us had packed a lunch, so he told us he’d take care of it.