The Program

CHAPTER SIXTEEN




“BULLSHIT, SLOANE,” REALM CALLS AS I SIT ACROSS from him.

My mouth twitches with a smile. “No way.”

“Show the cards.” Realm narrows his eyes like he thinks I’ll cheat. I look around the table at Tabitha, who’s giggling behind her hand, and Shep and Derek as they yell for me to flip my hand. I roll my eyes and turn them over.

Realm crosses his arms over his chest, looking impressed. “Three queens,” I say.

“Can’t believe you really had it,” Shep says, laughing as he slides the cards toward Realm. When Realm picks them up, he looks me over, studying my expression.

“Guess I can’t tell when you’re lying,” he says quietly.

“Guess you can’t.” I smile.

“I knew she was telling the truth,” Tabitha says, looking proud.

“Did not,” Shep argues.

I continue to grin as we start the next hand, and I feel normal. Maybe the most normal I’ve felt since coming to The Program. My medications have been cut down and my weight has stabilized. The fog that’s been with me since the beginning is gone.

This is real. When I look up, I see Realm watching me, his head tilted to the side. Just like in the garden, he seems a little sad, but I don’t know why. You’d think he’d be happy to be leaving The Program. He should be happy to be almost home.

Over the next few days, Tabitha wins every hand of Bullshit, even catches me lying once. I can’t help but think that none of us should be in here. We’re normal. No one’s talking about suicide, or crying. When I see the new patients come in, they’re a mess—sobbing and fighting. We’re a world apart from them now, and I can’t imagine that I was ever like that.

I’m sitting in my room reading a magazine when there’s a knock at my door. It opens slowly and Realm pops his head in. “Hey,” he says quietly.

I smile. “Hey.”

Realm enters, shutting the door behind him before taking a seat next to my bed, chewing on his lip. “I’m . . .” He clears his throat. “I’m leaving tomorrow, Sloane.”

There’s a heavy pain in my chest. “Oh.” We stare at each for a long minute, and then I hold up my arms and Realm climbs onto the bed to hug me. We stay like that for a long time before he sniffles and wipes his face.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you cry,” I say, my own voice choked up.

“Can I ask you something, Sloane?” Realm’s voice is low like he’s not sure he should.

“Of course.”

He pauses. “Can we see each other again—after all of this is over?”

I furrow my brow, thinking it’s a strange question to ask. That of course I would see him again. But inside, I feel doubt—that maybe I didn’t intend to find Realm. Like there’s something holding me back from him. When I don’t answer right away, he nods, a tear sliding down the side of his nose.

“I should go,” he says. “I’ve got to get back to the boys. They’re having a going-away party for me.”

“And I wasn’t invited?” I ask, not wanting Realm to leave. I feel terrible, like I’m a bad friend to him.

“Sorry, sweetness,” he says. “Guys only.”

Realm stands but I reach out to take his arm, stopping him from walking away. He pauses, looking down at the floor as if he’s afraid to turn to me. I climb out of bed and pull him into a hug, resting my cheek against his chest.

“I’ll miss you,” I say. “I’ll miss you madly.”

Realm squeezes me tightly then, his arm clasped around me. “I’ll miss you, too.”

And when he pulls back, I give him a soft peck on the lips, hoping it’s enough. Hoping it shows how much I care. But by the sad smile on his face, I know it’s not. So I let him leave.

• • •

The nurse gives me permission to take one last walk with Realm, so we go out to the garden. It’s sunny and bright, and I think again how beautiful the flowers look. Realm’s ride will be here in less than a half hour, and then he’ll be gone.

I reach out to take his hand, surprised by how cool it is. He bumps his shoulder into mine, and we walk a little longer.

“Tabitha is leaving on Monday,” I tell him. “She’s got her new haircut, some new clothes. Shep’s getting a new style too—and hopefully some deodorant.” I look sideways at Realm and drop his hand. “How come they didn’t make you over?”

“Maybe there isn’t anything to improve on.”

I laugh. “Well, Dr. Warren says that the return is easier if we freshen up our looks. I think she might be right. I’m thinking of straightening my hair.”

Realm reaches up suddenly, holding a handful of my curls. “No,” he says. “Your hair’s beautiful.” He shrugs. “You’re beautiful.”

I blush, but then back away, letting my hair fall from his palm.

Realm kicks at some pebbles on the path. “Sloane, if things were different, if we weren’t in The Program . . . do you think we could be together?”

Prickles race up my skin, and I’m sure that I don’t know the answer. Realm steps closer and puts his hands on my bare upper arms. “I could take care of you if you want,” he says. “And when you get out of here, I’d be there.”

“I don’t want anyone to take care of me,” I say. “I want to figure out how to take care of myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“I know you,” he says, sounding somber. “And I’d do anything for you, even if you can’t understand why right now.” He watches me for a long moment, no doubt trying to see if I feel something for him other than friendship.

I wonder then how I’ll know when I’m in love, especially if I don’t know what it feels like. Have I ever been in love before? Did anyone love me back?

“If you look for me, Sloane,” Realm says, “I’ll be waiting.”

I’m suddenly choked up, and I lean into a hug, closing my eyes tightly. “Thank you for everything, Realm. Thank you for—”

“Michael,” a voice calls out. We separate. Nurse Kell is waving to him from across the lawn, a blond woman in dark sunglasses beside her. Realm stiffens next to me, and his hands fall away. He meets my eyes one more time and kisses my forehead. Then he moves to pause by my ear.

“They’ll still watch you,” he whispers. “They’ll look for signs.”

“Signs of what?” Fear streaks through me.

“I’ll help you any way I can,” he continues. “Don’t forget that.”

I think it’s a crazy thing to tell someone in The Program—don’t forget. That’s what we’re here for. Forgetting is how we’ve all gotten better. Tears fall down my cheeks as Realm backs away, looking helplessly at me as he does. When he turns around, his sneakers crunch the gravel. I watch him walk out of The Program. And out of my life.

• • •

It’s a little over a week later when I’m sitting in Dr. Warren’s office, my hair newly cut and straightened. The mess of dark curls are now smooth and reach just below my chin. She smiles the minute she sees me.

“You look fantastic, Sloane,” she says. “You have truly been a model patient.”

I nod as if I’m thanking her, but in truth I don’t remember any of our sessions beyond the final few. We spent our last meetings piecing together my memories. She reminds me of the sequence of events because it occasionally gets jumbled in my head. She fills in the things I can’t remember, like about my family.

“You’ll be happy to know that The Program has a one hundred percent survival rate, and that very few of our subjects ever relapse. But there are some precautions you’ll have to take. There will be weekly doctor visits for the first month, then bimonthly until the final evaluation in three months. You’ll have access to therapy and medication if you need it, but it won’t be forced unless you start to exhibit symptoms again. For the first week, we ask that you take the supplied relaxant, just to help with the transition to your new school.

“You are not allowed to fraternize in any serious way with nonreturners. Although you’re cured, you are still considered high-risk pending your final evaluation. After that you’re free to talk to whomever you want.” Her mouth twitches and for a second I don’t think that she means it. But I’m so close to going home now, I don’t mention it. I just nod.

Dr. Warren purses her lips and puts her elbows on her desk, leaning forward. “We want you to live, Sloane,” she says. “We want you to have a full, happy life. We’ve given you the best chance possible by removing the infected memories. Now it’s up to you. But know, if you get sick again, you will be flagged. And then you’ll be required to stay in The Program until you’re eighteen.”

I swallow hard, thinking that my birthday is still seven months away. That would be a long time to be stuck here, especially without Realm. “I understand,” I tell her.

“Good.” She looks relieved as she straightens. “You’ll have a handler assigned to you for the first few weeks, helping you out at school and accompanying you outside of your house. This is a precaution because of your fragile state. Take it easy, Sloane. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’ll try my best,” I say, looking at the clock on the wall and knowing that my parents will be here any minute. I’m leaving. I’m really leaving.

Dr. Warren stands then, walking around her desk to embrace me. We hug awkwardly, and when she lets me go, she rests her hand on my shoulder. “At first,” she says almost in a whisper, “you may be a little distant—a little numb. But that will eventually go away. You will feel again.”

I meet her eyes, doing a quick evaluation of my emotions. I’m complacent and calm, but I wonder how I should really feel.

There’s a quick knock at the door, and Dr. Warren says to come in. Nurse Kell stands there, her cheeks rosy. “Your parents are here, Sloane.” She beams, looking proud. “And the boys wanted me to give you this.” She holds out a small wrapped package, and my eyes water.

“Why didn’t they give it to me themselves?” I ask, walking over to take it from her hands. Both Derek and Shep are still here, but Dr. Warren promised me they’d be going home soon.

She laughs. “Because they said you would probably cry.”

I unwrap the paper and smile at what’s inside. It’s a deck of cards, but the back design says BULLSHIT. I reach out to hug Nurse Kell. “Tell them thank you for me.”

It’s all so surreal. I stand for a moment looking around the office, the time I spent in here a complete fog. I don’t know what I was like before, but I feel okay now. I guess The Program works.

I say good-bye to Dr. Warren and follow Nurse Kell out, a handler trailing us with a small duffel bag. I don’t remember what I wore when I came into the facility, but The Program has provided me with a few outfits—ones I didn’t pick out—to send me home with. Right now I’m wearing a yellow polo shirt, the collar stiff and itchy.

The halls are empty, but I hear a spirited game of cards being played in the leisure room, new members taking our places. When we get out onto the lawn, I see my dad’s Volvo parked near the gate. He steps out, my mother scrambling to get to his side. I pause, looking at them from afar.

“Good luck, Sloane,” Nurse Kell says, brushing my hair behind my ear. “Stay healthy.”

I nod to her, and look at the handler who tells me to go ahead. And then I run across the grass. When I get close enough my father rushes forward, swooping me up into his arms, tears streaming down his face. Soon my mother is hugging both of us and we’re all crying.

I’ve missed them. Missed my dad’s smile and my mom’s laugh. “Dad,” I say when I can finally pry myself away from him. “First things first—let’s get ice cream,” I say. “I haven’t had any since I’ve been here.”

He laughs, a painful sort of sound, as if he’s been waiting to do it for a long time. “Anything, sweetheart. We’re just so happy to have you home.”

My mother touches adoringly at my hair. “I love this,” she says earnestly, as if she hasn’t seen me in years. “You look just beautiful.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I hug her again. My father takes my bags from the handler and puts them in the trunk as I have one last look back the building—back at The Program.

Something catches my eye, and my smile fades. There’s a girl in the window, sitting on a chair with her arms wrapped around her knees. She’s pretty and blond, but she looks lonely. Desperate. And I can’t help thinking that she reminds me of someone.

“Here we go,” my father says, opening the back door for me. I tear my eyes away from the window and climb into the car, the smell of it bringing me back to the times when Brady and I used to argue over who got to pick the radio station. My brother’s gone now, but we’ve made peace with that. Our family got through it and now we’re all better. I’m better.

My parents climb into the car, glancing back at me as if they expect me to disappear at any moment, and I smile. I’m going home.