The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(69)

My hood is up as I sit in the top row of the bleachers. Even so, a few people turn occasionally to stare at me, and I shift uncomfortably under their gazes. I pay rapt attention to the score, clapping when Isaac comes up to bat but not whistling or calling out like I want to. I can’t draw that sort of attention to myself. I don’t want to embarrass Isaac.

“It’s pretty weird,” a voice says. I turn to my left as a guy slides onto the empty bleacher to sit next to me. “What you do,” he clarifies. “It’s weird, if you ask me.”

I tighten my jaw and turn to face the field. This is exactly the sort of confrontation I was hoping to avoid. “I didn’t ask you,” I say calmly. I unfold my palms over my knees, wishing the guy would leave.

There’s a cheer from the crowd to my right as the catcher tags someone out at home plate. I’ve lost interest in the game, though, and glance up at the scoreboard to check the inning. Top of the seventh; it’s almost over.

“Name’s Nando,” the guy says when the noise dies down. “Fernando, but everyone calls me Nando.” He pauses. “You used to know that.”

I still don’t turn, afraid I’ll find hatred in his expression. I read about Nando in the diary pages. He was good friends with Isaac and with Kyle. And with me, I guess.

“Anyway,” he continues, sounding self-conscious. “I just . . . I wanted to get a closer look, you know? See if you could actually pass for her.”

I debate for a moment and then turn to him, wondering if his interest comes from curiosity or bitterness. But his expression is open and kind. The tension in my shoulders releases slightly as I examine his dark brown eyes, his round cheeks. From what I can tell, he’s not a threat.

I flip back my hood, and the cool airs rustles my hair. I tame down the wild strands, tucking them behind my ear, and smile—the perfect practiced smile that I know almost as well as my own. Nando takes in a sharp breath; his eyes widen. I watch as he studies my flawless makeup—meant to accentuate my features in the right ways. He looks over my short hair, my clothes. I am Catalina Barnes.

Nando scrunches up his face. My appearance is unsettling if you know who I’m supposed to be, and I regret showing him. I quickly flip up my hood, embarrassed that I thought I could be so casual with a stranger.

“Wow,” Nando says, swallowing hard. “You look just f*cking like her.” It’s not a compliment, but it’s not a slam, either.

There’s another loud cheer, and this time when I look up, the dugout players are flooding the field. Isaac’s team lost. Around me the bleachers are starting to empty, and I turn back to find Nando watching me. He smiles sadly.

“What’s he going to do when you leave?” he asks. He doesn’t have to mention him by name, and the thought of leaving Isaac tugs on my heart. I look at the field and find him talking with some of the other players, laughing despite the team’s loss.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “But the hope is he’ll be able to move on. That he’ll eventually be happy.”

“He’s happy now,” Nando says. “I wasn’t sure he’d make it through this. So thank you.” I turn to him, but he’s staring straight ahead. The bleachers all belong to us now. “But after you’re gone . . .” Nando looks at me. “Isn’t he going to mourn you?”

“No,” I say automatically. But I doubt my own words. In regular role play, families get to say good-bye to their loved ones. They move on without ever seeing me as a person. This assignment has been different. I’m a part of this life now. I can’t even begin to think about saying good-bye to Isaac. Or to my family. I just want to stop thinking.

“His therapy’s going well,” I tell Nando, standing up and slipping my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. Nando rises to his feet next to me.

“I’m glad,” he says, seeming relieved. “And no offense”—he smiles apologetically—“but I can’t wait until you’re gone. You’ve kind of been making everyone around here a little crazy. I just want things to go back to normal.”

I nod like I understand, but his words pierce my armor. Normal. That’s not how they see me—I’m distinctly abnormal to most of them. But not to Isaac. Not anymore. I look at the field just as Isaac disappears into the dugout toward the locker room.

“I have to go,” I tell Nando, moving past him toward the bleacher stairs. I take the steps two at a time, trying to disappear from sight as quickly as possible. When I reach the bottom, Nando calls to me from the top step.

“Catalina,” he says. It startles me, and I turn to look at him. He holds up his hand in a wave. “It was nice meeting you,” he says. His eyes glisten with the start of tears, and I can see his grief. He lost a friend; I’m a reminder of that loss. I’m salt in his wound.

“You too,” I tell him. I turn away and walk swiftly toward the parking lot.

* * *

Isaac has his duffel bag over his shoulder as he approaches his truck. I’m leaning against the passenger door, and he smiles, looking me up and down. “I gave you that shirt,” he says, nodding to it.

“You did?” I ask, glancing down at it. Isaac drops his bag at his feet and scans my face.

“Yeah,” he says with a slight edge. “Don’t you remember?”