The Program (The Program #1)(78)

“I have to run to the bathroom,” I say to Kevin, catching him by surprise.

“But—”

“Does The Program limit how many times I can relieve my bladder now?” I ask.

Kevin smiles. “No,” he says. “That still belongs to you. I’ll wait for you though.” He stands at my locker and I cross the hall, rushing into the girl’s bathroom. Once inside a stall, I take out my phone.

I THINK YOU HAVE AN ADMIRER. HE LOOKS GOOD IN WHITE.

I don’t recognize the number, but I know it’s James. I lean against the wall and respond: WELL, APPARENTLY YOU’RE BAD NEWS. NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK YOU AGAIN. EVER.

I bite my lip, wondering how he’ll answer. If he’ll say that maybe they’re right, that we shouldn’t be around each other. But my phone vibrates instantly.

YEAH. THAT’S PROBABLY NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. WANT TO SKIP OUT?

I laugh, thrilled at how quickly he dismissed the idea. HOW?

I’LL DISTRACT YOUR BOYFRIEND. MEET AT MY CAR IN TEN?

God, James is going to get me flagged. But at the same time, I can’t help it. I really, really want to leave with him right now. And my mother . . . How dare she turn me in. I’m so mad at her I almost want to get caught just to spite her.

But I push that idea away, knowing that I don’t want to go back to The Program. I couldn’t do it again, especially without Realm. I close my eyes, my heart racing in my chest. I want to go with James. But it’s too early to use another pass. They’ll be suspicious.

I CAN’T RIGHT NOW, I type back. ANOTHER TIME?

James doesn’t answer right away, and I worry that he’s annoyed or that he’s already started some elaborate plan to get us out. I wonder how much longer I should wait when a message pops up.

ANOTHER TIME.

• • •

“Your handler looks like he’s got a stick up his ass today,” Lacey says. She reaches into her lunch bag, but instead of taking out cupcakes, she holds a shiny red apple. When she sees me notice, she bites into it. “Need to watch my figure.”

“You look great,” I tell her, but she waves me away.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she says. “What did you get busted for? I’ve seen him crowding you today.”

I sigh. “It might have been because I was with James Murphy yesterday. And when he dropped me off he was shirtless and covered in mud. But nothing happened.”

“Clearly.”

I smile, but soon it fades as I think about how Kevin found out. “My mother betrayed me,” I say quietly. “She called the handler on me.”

“Whoa,” Lacey says. “That’s pretty harsh.” We don’t talk for a while as I pick at my food and Lacey polishes off her apple. When we’re both done, she meets my eyes from across the table. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what I’d do if my parents did something like that to me. It’s . . .” She exhales. “I’m just sorry.”

I smile gratefully and let the conversation ease back into normal things. Lacey is going out of town this weekend with her new, older boyfriend. I’m a little envious, but I’m glad she seems happy. I run my eyes over the cafeteria until I find the spot where James always sits, but today the seat is empty.

James is nowhere in sight.

• • •

My mother doesn’t speak to me at dinner, which is just as well because I don’t want to talk to her. My father looks between us helplessly, but neither me nor my mother bother to explain. When I’m done, I dump my plate in the sink and go to hide out in my room.

I read over James’s texts a dozen times, thinking that he’s definitely flirting. He made it sound like they couldn’t keep him away from me, and that in itself is incredibly romantic. Unless I’m reading too much into it, which is entirely possible. Maybe he just likes the challenge of getting around The Program. Or maybe he just wants to piss them off.

I wonder how he got my number. Like Realm, he might break into things, steal files. I definitely wouldn’t put it past him. James is bad. And that makes him sort of good.

There’s a noise from downstairs, like a plate breaking. It startles me, and I turn toward my door. My father’s voice is loud, carrying up the stairs as he tells my mother to stop. That she’s causing it. I hold my breath when he says that it’s her fault.

Are they talking about me?

I’ve never heard my parents argue before, but it feels familiar somehow. Tears begin to well up in my eyes as emotions flood me, emotions I can’t remember and yet they hurt. They sting. My mother’s voice is barely audible from here, so I ease to the door to listen more closely. Then it hits me—a sudden pain in my head.

I moan against it, staggering back. It’s like a screwdriver to my frontal lobe, and I nearly collapse. Am I having an aneurysm? Am I dying?

I don’t know what’s happening, and I’m terrified as I try to get to my door, to call for help. Then an image fills my mind—a brightly colored memory among all the foggy ones. I see myself holding something in my hands, lifting my mattress and stuffing objects in a slit there. There’s a slit in my mattress?

The pain fades to a dull ache, and I collapse against my closed door, trying to catch my breath. Is it possible that I remembered something? I slowly climb to my feet and walk around the side of bed. I get down on the floor.