The Program (The Program #1)(12)

I lower my head and try to catch my breath, taking my hand from James’s before resting it on the dashboard to steady myself. “He’s okay?” I ask, looking sideways at him. He nods, but there’s something in his expression that keeps me from feeling relieved.

“Do you think they’re coming for him?” I ask.

“I hope not.”

I close my eyes and throw my head back against the seat. “Why did he do that?” I moan. “Why didn’t he just wait?”

“I don’t know,” James says. “But I think we should take off early today, maybe after lunch. We need to keep a lower profile around here.”

“Says the guy who faked a school project at Sumpter.”

“That was different. I was trying to help Miller.”

“It was dumb,” I say. “We have to do better. It’s our fault if they take him.”

“I know that,” James snaps. “Don’t you think I know that?”

We stare at each other, his features taking on a wild edge. James feels responsible for my brother’s death. For my safety, and Miller’s safety. It’s just how he is. And sometimes I’m stupid enough to believe that he can really keep us safe.

“I know everything you think,” I murmur, despair settling in my chest.

James’s expression softens. “Come here,” he says. At first I don’t move, the impending threat on Miller making the space in the car, in the world, suffocatingly small. “Sloane, I need you,” James adds, his voice thick.

And when I hear his plea, I push aside everything else. I lean into him, digging my nails into his back as I clutch him to me. He flinches, and then squeezes me tighter. The minute I turn eighteen, James and I are going to leave town—start over someplace else. But we can’t go yet. They’ll find us, issue an Amber Alert as a way to track us down. We’d never get away. No one has ever gotten away before.

We stay close until James’s hand slides onto my bare thigh just below the hem of my skirt, his breathing deepening. “My lips are tired of talking,” he whispers next to my ear. “Now kiss me and make me forget,” he says.

I pull back to see the sadness in James’s eyes, the mix of desire there. And so I whisper that I love him, then climb onto his lap and kiss him, as if it’s the last one we’ll ever have.

• • •

In economics class, I stare at Miller as he sits next to me with his head lowered, drawing in the notepad he has under his desk. I’m checking his mannerisms to see if there’s anything that can get him flagged. He seems fine.

“Well?” I whisper as the teacher starts walking around to hand back quizzes. “What happened at Lacey’s?”

Miller pauses in his sketching. “I slipped in through her window after her parents were asleep. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t going to hurt her, but she started crying.” He shakes his head. “She thought I was there to kill her or something. Who knows what The Program has told her about me.”

I put my hand on my forehead, leaning my elbow on my desk. This is a major disaster. This is enough to get him taken away for sure. “Did she call for her parents?”

“No,” Miller says. “She told me to get out—even after I tried to explain who I was, she told me to get out.” His tone is flat. “I guess I was hoping that on some level she could still love me.” He looks over, his eyes glassy. “Do you think she could?”

“Yes,” I say, “I do. But Miller, you could have been arrested. Sent away. And then what? What would I do without you?”

“I had to try. You wouldn’t give up on James.”

I pause. “No. I wouldn’t.” He nods, looking sorry that he made the comparison, and goes back to his notepad. “Are you going to keep trying?” I ask.

“No point,” he answers. “She’s not the same person. I don’t even think she’d fall for me again.”

I blink back warm tears. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he says. “I have to move on, right? At least that’s what my mom tells me.” Miller’s mom was never crazy about Lacey in the first place. She hoped her son would end up with someone more on the cheerful side. But in our lives, there isn’t all that much to be peppy about anymore. And those that are have usually gone through The Program.

“Miller, you don’t—”

“Sloane Barstow?” Mr. Rocco calls, and then glares me into silence. Miller’s head is down as he continues to doodle in his notepad under the desk, but I’m relieved that he isn’t planning anything crazy. If we can just keep it together through this latest threat, we’ll survive. And maybe in a few months, when her monitoring is over, we can convince Lacey to hang out with us again.

“James and I are leaving after lunch,” I whisper when I’m sure the teacher isn’t looking. “You in?”

“Hell yes. You think I’m here to learn?”

I smile. Miller sounds like himself for the first time today. Just before I text James to tell him it’s on, I glance once more at Miller, catching what he’s drawing in his notepad. A large, black spiral, taking over the entire page. I turn toward the front, pretending not to notice. In my pocket, my phone vibrates.