The Program (The Program #1)(7)

“Not reassuring.”

“We’re going to pretend to be on a field trip.”

I raise my eyes to his. “Seriously?”

“Well, I’d let you slap me in a jealous rage to get attention, but that sort of hostile behavior is frowned upon.”

“James, I still don’t—”

“What are you two doing here?” a deep voice cuts in. I jump, but James is collected as he turns sideways to the handler glaring at us. Several returners stop, noticing us. Their eyes are wide and curious—innocent expressions that makes me feel sorry for them. Dana Sanders stands in the background, not remembering that she dated my brother for over a year.

I keep my mouth shut and let James do the talking.

“School project,” he says smoothly, reaching into his pocket. “Dr. Ryerson said that we could monitor the parking lot to see how well-adjusted the returners are. He’s really proud of the strides The Program has made in behavior modification.” James takes out a paper, signed by “Dr. Ryerson,” who I’m sure not only doesn’t exist, but is also untraceable.

The handler looks over the note as my pulse continues to pound in my ears. Behind the guy’s shoulder I finally see her, and every one of my muscles tenses.

Lacey Klamath—my best friend other than James and Miller—is walking across the parking lot with textbooks pressed to her chest. Her hair is now pale blond and tied up in a high ponytail. She wears jeans and ballet flats with a short-sleeved cardigan buttoned at the waist. She looks so completely different that I’m ready to scream. That’s . . . that’s not my friend.

“We only need a few minutes,” James says. “Maybe a few interviews?”

I feel a touch on my arm and swing my gaze to James as he smiles at me, as if I’m part of this conversation. “So,” he continues to the handler, “do you mind if we hang around for a bit?” James sounds like the most stable person in the world, but his fingernails are digging into the underside of my arm, and I know he’s seen Lacey too.

“No,” the handler says, shaking his head. “You can speak with them at the Wellness Center. This is a private school, and any official statements should come from—”

I glance past him again and see Miller. He’s walking directly toward Lacey, and when he stops in front of her, I hold my breath. Her head snaps up as he says something.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the handler says to James and me. “Now.” He then takes out his radio, and calls in a code I don’t understand.

“What if we don’t talk to them?” I ask quickly, trying to buy us another minute. A second handler crosses the lot, and I’m afraid he’s going for Lacey and Miller, but instead he notices us and changes direction. We’re out of place here, and I think suddenly that this risk is too big.

“No,” the handler says. “And I’m not going to ask you to leave again.”

Fear spikes through me because I don’t know what to do next. Just then Miller pushes through the crowd, his face downturned. “Let’s go,” he says to me and James as he continues his path toward his truck.

“Who is that?” the handler calls, pointing toward Miller’s back.

“He’s our ride,” James says, and takes my hand. “Well, thanks for your help.” He backs us away, nodding to the handlers. We turn, our steps fast but not too fast. When we’re almost to the truck, James tilts his head toward mine. “Don’t look back at them,” he says. “Never look back.”

Miller’s waiting at his truck, his hat pulled low to protect his face. He doesn’t want to be recognized as Lacey’s ex-boyfriend. We’re not sure if the handlers guarding the returners are privy to that sort of information, and it’s best not to take the chance. I hope they don’t know who we are.

The parking lot starts to empty, and the handler that was talking to us is gone, but I see the other one with Lacey. He holds the door as she climbs into the passenger seat of a car, then he slams it shut and eyes us suspiciously as he walks around.

Behind the window, Lacey’s eyes find us, staring blankly. The handler asks her something when he gets in the car, and she pauses for a minute before shaking her head.

I look away then, feeling broken. Lacey doesn’t know us. Not even me.

None of us speak as her car pulls away, the new Lacey leaving us behind on the asphalt. When she’s gone, Miller leans against the hood of his truck with an unreadable expression.

“Well?” James asks.

Miller lifts his head, his brown eyes glassy. “Nothing,” he answers. “She remembers absolutely nothing.”

James swallows hard. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought that maybe—”

Miller exhales. “You know what, man, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

James nods as they stand there impassively, but I can’t take the quiet and step between them. I don’t want to give up on Lacey, but I feel lost. Lost and helpless. “And now?” I ask Miller.

“Now,” he says, leveling his stare on me. “Now we go swimming and pretend that today never happened.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’m going to run home and get my trunks,” Miller interrupts, turning away. “I’ll see you guys at the river.”