The Program (The Program #1)(21)

Oh, God. “Mm-hmm.”

“And how is he doing?”

“James is fine. He’s strong.”

“Are you strong?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at me.

“Yes.”

The handler nods then. “It’s only our hope to keep you well, Sloane. You know that right?”

I don’t respond, wondering what James will say under these questions. If they’ll know from one look that he’s sick.

“There is voluntary admittance into The Program if you start to feel overwhelmed. Or if you just need someone to talk to.” He reaches out then and pats my thigh, a move that catches me off guard, and I jump.

The handler stands up and walks around my chair as if he’s leaving. Instead he stops behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder. His fingers tighten on the muscle. “Have a good day, Sloane. Something tells me I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

And then he drops his arm and walks out, leaving me alone in the darkened room.

• • •

I practically run to lunch, terrified that James won’t be there. I stop, swaying on my feet when I see him at our table, drinking from a carton of orange juice.

“You’re okay,” I say when I reach him, practically collapsing onto his lap as I hug myself to him. He doesn’t hug me back, but he doesn’t push me off, either. I press my face to his neck.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m okay.”

I pull back and look at his face, trying to gauge how damaged he is. His skin is pale and his mouth is sagging, like he’s forgotten how to smile. I run my fingers over his cheek, and he closes his eyes when I do. “I was so worried,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move, and I hug him again, holding him tight like I want him to do for me, but he doesn’t. After a while I let him go, and he starts to eat, taking small bites of his food. He stares across the cafeteria, but at no particular point. Just away.

“Has anyone interviewed you?” I ask.

He shakes his head no.

“They pulled me from class,” I say.

James looks over at me. “What happened?”

“They asked about Miller. About you. . . .”

He doesn’t react; instead he just turns back to his food. I miss him so much, even though he’s right in front me. He’s not the same. “No one’s spoken to me,” he says. “I haven’t even seen any handlers today.”

And although that should make me feel better, his statement only makes me more uneasy. Why did they pull me? Either I was the one being evaluated or they were collecting evidence on James. I’m not sure which it was.

“I want to get out of town,” I say. “Do you think you can get away? I want to go camping again.”

James chews slowly. “I can try.”

The emptiness in his voice is killing me, and I’m not sure I can keep this up much longer. “Don’t you want to go with me?” I ask, my voice small.

He nods. “Of course I do, baby.”

I exhale, leaning to put my head on James’s shoulder. Under the table, his hand finds mine and I feel better, like this small show of life can mean something. Movement in the corner catches my attention, and I dart my eyes over there, finding the handler watching me with a smile on his lips.

CHAPTER TEN

THE REST OF THE WEEK IS MORE OF THE SAME. I try to keep up the appearance of normal, especially when I feel him watching us. The handler is in my classes, the cafeteria, always staring. Always a smirk on his face. It’s like he’s willing me to mess up.

They don’t pull James aside for an interview, and I wonder what it means. Did I seem more depressed to the handler? Have they already decided to take James?

When Friday comes, I practically drag James from the building, so relieved that I won’t have to fake it through another day. But oddly enough, I don’t think I want to cry either. I’ve almost convinced myself that Miller really wasn’t our best friend. It’s the only way I can deal.

I prepacked the car so we can head directly to the campsite. James is silent in the passenger seat, staring out the window. My parents seemed a little wary about us going so soon after Miller, maybe even a little suspicious. They asked why James hasn’t been by the house, and I told them he was studying—which is probably why they were suspicious in the first place. At James’s house I’ve been a permanent fixture, whispering to him and pretending like we’re being playful when his dad is around. Really I’m just telling him to hang on. I put him in his bed at night and tell him that I love him and that I won’t let anything happen to him. He doesn’t say it back. I’m scared that he never will again.

• • •

James sits, staring at the fire pit, while I put up the tent, grunting and scraping myself with the poles. I continue to look over at him, but he never looks back. When the camp is set up, I grab my sleeping bag from the car, feeling exhausted. I call to him, tossing the other bag in his direction.

“You can at least bring in your own sleeping bag,” I say, trying to sound light. “You’re making me do everything.”

He doesn’t respond, but he does get up, walking behind me to the tent. He climbs inside as we lay out our bags, his gaze a million miles away.

“Hey,” I say, pausing in front of him to brush back his hair. “Do you want to lie down for a little bit?” His eyes meet mine, but only for a second, and then he nods and kneels down on his bag, spreading out on his back. I chew on my lip as I get down next to him, curling up against him the way he used to like. My thigh over his, my face at the crook of his neck.