The Program (The Program #1)(23)

And he’s here now, standing at the door of our class with another handler, staring in. Next to me James sits, looking down at his desk. He hasn’t taken out his notebook. He doesn’t move.

“James,” I whisper, hoping to not draw attention to us. “Please.” But he doesn’t respond.

There is a shuffling of feet, and I know it before I even look up, know it by the sound of gasps in the room. My eyes start to water, but I hold back the tears and watch my boyfriend. I know what’s coming next.

“I love you,” I murmur to James. “You’ll come back to me.” My words are barely a breath when the white coats come into my vision. Surrounding him. Grabbing him from his chair.

I almost vomit, but I grip my desktop and keep back my tears. Around me, the other students drop their heads, not wanting to betray their emotions. My James. My James.

The handlers are pulling him to the door, but James suddenly looks back at me, his blue eyes wide. He starts to fight, tearing from their grip. My face nearly breaks with a cry.

“Sloane!” he yells, falling to his knees as they hold him. “Wait,” he says fiercely to them. But they’re not listening. They’re pulling him back, the one handler shooting me a glare, warning me to not respond.

I try to smile, anything to let James know that he’ll survive this. And that I’ll be here when he gets back. I kiss my fingers and hold them up in a wave. He stops, letting the handlers get ahold of him.

Then James closes his eyes, and lets them drag him to his feet and out the door.

When he’s gone, several people look back at me. The teacher stares at me. Everyone is waiting to see my reaction, if I’ll be next. If they’ll come rushing in here any second. But I do nothing. Inside I’m dying, ripping apart and bleeding. I’m so far gone I’m not sure I can get back, but I open my notebook and poise my pencil over it, as if ready to write.

I keep my breaths measured, waiting. And then the teacher starts talking again, going on about the latest math concept. I hear the chairs squeak as the other students give her their attention.

I don’t wipe my face as one tear, one I just couldn’t hold back, hits my notebook with a quiet tap. I close my eyes.

• • •

James has always been terrible at math. Brady used to try to teach him, but it was no use. My boyfriend was completely helpless.

I remember once while they were doing homework, Brady called me into the kitchen. He and James were at the table, books spread out in front of them. It’d been a month since that first camping trip when James caught me staring. I’d spent every moment since then avoiding him. I tried to pretend that nothing had changed, even though I’d see him looking at me strangely, as if trying to figure out if he should talk to me or not. He did still talk, but I never met his eyes. I already felt stupid enough.

“Sloane,” Brady called. “Check this out.”

I walked into the kitchen, taking an uneasy glance at James as he sipped his soda, not acknowledging me. “What’s up?” I asked my brother, nervousness in the pit of my stomach.

Brady pointed his finger to a problem on the page, a math formula with an example. “What’s the answer?” Brady asked, grinning widely and looking over at James—who was continuing to not notice me.

I swallowed hard and then narrowed my eyes, computing the problem in my head. “X equals eight,” I said. “Why?”

Brady laughed and James shook his head, a smile on his lips. James reached in his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill, slapping it on my brother’s open book.

Brady picked up the money triumphantly. “Told you she was smarter than you.”

“I never said she wasn’t,” James answered, finally darting a glance at me. “I already know your sister is smarter. She’s prettier than me too, but I didn’t bet on that. I just wanted you to call her in here so she’d look at me again. It was worth the five bucks.”

Before I could even understand what he’d said, James was flipping though his book, the corner of his mouth turned up in a half grin. Brady handed me the five.

“You deserve this,” he said, “for always putting up with his shit.” Brady laughed it away as if James was just teasing me, and my face burned with embarrassment. Humiliation.

I crumpled up the money and tossed it at James, bouncing it off his cheek. He looked up, surprised, and Brady chuckled. “I don’t want your money,” I said, and turned to go up the stairs toward my room.

“Then what do you want, Sloane?” James called after me, sounding amused, as if daring me to answer. I paused at the stairs, but didn’t turn around. And then I went to my room.

I know James won’t come looking for me this time. Not like he did that day, apologizing. James is in The Program now. The James I know is gone.

• • •

“Sloane, honey?” I hear my mother say on the other side of my bedroom door. I lay listlessly on my bed, willing myself to answer her.

“Yeah?”

“It’s time for dinner. Can you please come down? I’ve called three times already.”

Had she? “Sure. Okay.” I slowly stand, looking down at my clothes. I wish that there were bloodstains or tears, something to outwardly show how hurt I am. But instead it’s just a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt. Something so painfully average that it makes me hate myself. I head downstairs.