The Program (The Program #1)(38)

I don’t like the way she says it, as if without James I’d still be a virgin and at home with my parents right now, baking cookies. “I’m the one who wanted him, if you must know. He would have been fine with waiting”—I pause at this—“well, he would have been fine with waiting a little longer at least.”

“Were you careful?”

I curl my lip. “Yes, Mom. We always used a condom because we would never want to bring a kid into this messed-up world.”

“Condoms aren’t always—”

“Look,” I say, “I know the statistics, but I hardly have to worry about it now, do I?” My voice takes on a hard edge, and Dr. Warren glances away. I’m angry at the way she’s portraying James, and I want to set her straight. I want to tell her that she could only dream of having someone like him in her life.

“Perhaps we can talk about your first kiss.”

Scoffing, I curl up in the chair. The drugs are loosening my clenched muscles, taking away my inhibitions.

“Did you kiss him first?” Dr. Warren asks, like she’s my best friend.

“No,” I say, my heartbeat loud in my ears. “I would’ve been too scared. Too shy. James was so hot-and-cold then. I didn’t know what to think.”

Dr. Warren leans back in her chair, her arms folding over her chest as she starts to smile. “Tell me about it, Sloane. Tell me everything.”

I realize that she’s right; I do want to talk about James. And the minute I start, I’m ready to stay with him forever. Even if only in my mind.

“He would send me notes,” I say. “After he admitted his feelings, he would leave notes under my pillow. Letters that he was writing to me. At first it seemed more like he was yelling at me. He’d comment on how much he hated liking me, but then in the next line explain it was because he spent all of his time missing me. I was never so confused in my whole life. I never wrote back, but his letters kept coming, as if he was arguing with himself. Soon they became less angry. Sweeter. He’d compliment something I wore to school, say how he thought about kissing me.” I laugh. “He talked a lot about kissing me. Said that maybe we could sneak off and see a movie, just the two of us.”

Dr. Warren writes in the file. “James sounds complicated.”

“He’s the opposite, actually. He wants things simple, and me and him dating . . . that complicated everything.”

“How long did the letters go on?”

“Almost every day for about a month. But after a few weeks of them, I started to stay in the same room with him. We would joke and actually make eye contact again. Brady said he was glad that I was done acting weird, and I felt like he knew. That he had to see the way James and I looked at each other.

“The first time James and I kissed,” I say, “he told me that from then on he’d always have to kiss me. Just me. I felt so special, so loved. I replayed that moment in my head nonstop. But then I started to worry that maybe I’d read too much into the kiss. I was so afraid of losing him, and he wasn’t even mine yet.

“A week later James came by to pick up me and Brady for a day at the river, but my brother backed out at the last minute—said he had a date, but that James and I should go ahead. We’d barely waited for him to leave the room before we took off, but I was nervous. James hadn’t mentioned the kiss, and I hadn’t gotten any more letters.

“James drove us out there, and we didn’t speak on the way. I was wearing my bathing suit under a T-shirt and shorts, even though I didn’t plan to go in the water. It was like we were pretending to still go through the motions of a normal Saturday. When we got there, James laid out a beach blanket for us, dropped a few snacks from his backpack on it, and then stripped to his suit. He went swimming, leaving me there.”

“But why did he act so cold when he’d already kissed you?” Dr. Warren asks.

I meet her eyes. “James . . . as strong as he is, has serious abandonment issues. When he was eight, his mother left him in her car at the train station.” I swallow hard, feeling his pain. “She never came back. Instead someone had heard him crying, called the police. After that, I’m not sure he trusts anyone. Only me and Brady.” I sniffle. “And Brady failed him too.”

Dr. Warren nods as if she understands, but I don’t think she does. No one understands James except me.

“And what happened at the river that day?” she asks softly.

“While James was in the water,” I start again, “I considered hiding his clothes—a little joke to put us in a good mood, something to break the awkward silence. So I grabbed his shorts and stood, ready to run off with them. But then something fell out of his pocket and landed in the grass.”

“What was it?” Dr. Warren asks, looking riveted.

“A ring. A stupid, plastic ring with sparkles. I’d held it in my hands, wondering what he was doing with it. I sat back down on the blanket and examined it, jealous about the girl it must have belonged to. Then I felt a drip of water and saw James standing above me, running a towel over his hair.”

I let the memory unfold as Dr. Warren listens, my words tumbling out without my permission. Inside, I can see it all, I can remember every second.

“What do you have?” James asked. When he saw the ring, he tossed his towel aside. “You going through my pockets, Sloane?”