The Program (The Program #1)(87)

“Dad,” I say softly, tears beginning to stream from my eyes. “None of us are happy.”

He doesn’t deny it, doesn’t even try to pretend that our family is pulling through. Instead, he stands up, touching the top of my head as he leaves the room.

When he’s gone, I curl up on the bed with my misery, alone and heartbroken. I want to know what happened to my brother, and I want to know what I used to be like. But most of all, I just want to be happy. After a short pity party, I go back to my room and find Lacey’s number where she scribbled it into my notebook. A headache has begun pulsing in my head, so I take a large dose of Advil before picking up my phone.

• • •

Lacey is grinning from ear to ear when she pulls up to the corner at nine. “You’re becoming such a rebel,” she says, as I climb into her neon-green Bug. Fast-food bags are crumpled at my feet, all of the drink holders full. Lacey’s wearing a plain, yellow blouse, but her makeup is dramatic—very nonreturner-like. It’s awesome.

“Are you sure you want to go to the Wellness Center?” she asks. “I thought you hated that place.”

“I do,” I say. “But my handler is gone, and no one’s watching me anymore. Maybe I’ll enjoy the experience this time.”

“Sloane,” Lacey says in low voice. “They’re always watching. Never forget that.”

After a long pause, Lacey turns on the radio, filling the car with a pop song about love, its lyrics sickeningly sweet. I have to clasp my hands in front of me to stop from shutting it off and telling her all about James, about my brother. But I don’t want to depress her.

In my pocket, my phone buzzes with another text message, but I reach to turn up the volume of the radio instead of checking it.

The Wellness Center is crowded when we walk in. With the popularity of The Program growing worldwide, there has been a new push for assimilation—I saw it on MTV. Handlers line the walls, but between them, people are laughing, playing games. There’s a new section with computer stations; a group of guys are crowded around one of them. They’re all dressed in preppy clothes, and I glance down at myself and see that we match. It’s like the uniform of the returners. I unbutton my shirt to the line of my bra, and then follow behind Lacey as she makes her way to the couch.

I can’t believe I came back here, especially after vowing not to. But I needed to get out of my house, and this is the only place where people my age hang out anymore. At least, the only place where people like me, who have no other friends, hang out. Lacey collapses into the cushions, scanning the room as if looking for someone.

“Who is he?” I ask, nudging her with my elbow.

She widens her eyes innocently. “No idea what you mean. I swear I’m not searching for the guy who promised he’d be here tonight.”

“Oh,” I say, smiling. “So I finally get to meet your mystery boyfriend?”

Lacey turns to me. “I think it’s about time.” Her expression is more serious than I expect, but before I can ask for more details, I catch a black shirt out of the corner of my eye, the color shocking within this room. It’s Liam.

“I’ll be right back,” I say quickly, jumping up.

Liam weaves through the crowd before slipping out the door to the back patio. When I get outside, the night air is crisp around me. Liam’s facing away as he stands at the railing, looking toward the parking lot. We’re alone out here, but I want to ask him about that first night I came back. How he knew me and James.

“Hey,” I say, drawing his attention. When he turns, I’m startled. Dark circles ring his eyes, and his hair is matted. Unwashed. It strikes me then that he’s sick. Oh, God. He’s sick.

“Sloane.” His mouth pulls into a sneer, anger and hatred painting his features. “Did they send you to collect me? Are they recruiting returners now?”

My heart begins to thud in my chest, the idea that Liam’s dangerous backing me slowly toward the door. “No one sent me,” I say. “I just wanted to ask you something, but never mind. It’s not that important.”

Liam lunges, his shoulder banging against the door to stop me from opening it. I gasp and step back.

“I’d love to hear your question,” he says, his eyes wild and unfocused.

“I just want to go inside,” I say softly. “Move and I won’t—”

“Won’t what? Report me? Of course you will.”

He’s right. I will report him the first chance I get. He’s infected. He can infect others. “Let me through, Liam,” I say.

He stares at me, and then leans closer as if whispering a secret. “Do you remember me?” he asks.

“I remember you calling me a freak.”

He smiles. “Before that.”

There’s a twist in my gut. “No.” Just then the handle of the door turns, but Liam keeps his weight on it, preventing it from opening. I think about calling for help, or running, but at the same time, I don’t want to draw that kind of attention to myself.

“We dated,” he says, a bit of satisfaction in his voice. “Nothing serious, but they took that memory anyway. What else did they take? Don’t you see what you are? You’re empty. You’re nothing. And I’d rather be dead than be like you.”

My lip begins to quiver as I’m filled with shame and humiliation, but mostly anger. I reach out to push him, only succeeding in making him stagger a step. He laughs, and then coughs, bringing his hand to his mouth. When he pulls it away, there’s blood smeared across his fingers.