The Program Page 0,80
take a sharpened pencil from my bag and stare down at the questions on the daily assessment. They seem vaguely familiar.
In the past day have you felt lonely or overwhelmed?
NO.
I fill in the rest of the ovals, pausing when I get to the last question. Has anyone close to you ever committed suicide?
NO.
I pick up my paper but wait a beat, feeling like I did something wrong. I look over the questions again but can’t find a mistake. At that moment, my teacher walks in, nodding politely at us as she does. When she sees me, she smiles.
“Sloane,” she says. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
The entire class turns to stare at me, curious expressions on their faces. The day has taken on a dreamlike quality as I float to the front to put my paper on the pile. But unlike the other student’s assessments, my teacher stops to look over my answers. When she’s done, she smiles.
“Good girl,” she says. And then she turns to write on the board.
• • •
Kevin leads me to lunch and decides to pick out my food for me. He says that I need to keep my weight stable, even though a side effect of the medication is loss of appetite. As he tells me this, I realize that he’s right. I can’t remember the last time I was hungry.
I sit at a table, alone, and peek out at the cafeteria. Kevin is leaning against the wall, silently taking in the room. There are three other handlers in here, watching their charges. Dr. Warren told me that a handler would shadow me for a few weeks after I’m released, and then monitor me for six after that. I’m on day two.
“Can I sit?”
I jump and see a girl standing there. She’s pretty and blond, and I recognize her as the girl from my first-period class who said hi to me. “Sure,” I say, although she’s already sat down across from me.
“I’m Lacey,” she says, her voice deep and raspy like an old-time movie star. In front of her, she unrolls a brown paper bag and pulls out a package of orange cupcakes. I look down again at my lunch tray and the slab of meat on it.
“You’re Sloane, right?” she asks.
I must look surprised that she remembers, because she shrugs. “New-kid thing,” she says. “We notice all of the returners as they enter. Sort of like . . . will they or won’t they?”
“‘Will they or won’t they’ what?” I ask.
“Remember. I’m convinced that eventually one of us will remember something, and then the entire system will break down. What can I say? I’m an anarchist.” She smiles broadly, and I like her already. She’s alive. I can feel her vitality oozing off her.
Lacey shoots a glance at my handler. “They’ll stop following you soon,” she offers, tilting her head toward Kevin. “As long as you don’t mess up.”
“Mess up?” It hadn’t really occurred to me that I would mess up, or even what messing up would entail. I’m cured. But I lean forward to listen because Lacey’s been in The Program, has been successful at returning. Maybe she knows something I don’t.
“I’ve been back for fifteen weeks.” She lowers her voice and brushes a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. “I’m still missing the pieces that The Program took away. At first I didn’t care, right? I was just glad to have survived. But now . . . Now I’m wondering about things. Did you know that they said I wanted to kill myself ?” she whispers, as if she’s been dying to talk to someone about it. “That doesn’t even seem possible. I’m like . . . the most well-balanced person I know. Did they say you tried to kill yourself, too?”
I hold up my wrist, the faint outline of a scar still there. “They say I did this.”
“Wow.”
We’re both quiet for a minute, absorbing our shared mystery. But then Lacey slides one of the cupcakes toward me. “Hint number one,” she says as she takes a bite of cupcake. “Pack your own lunch. I’m pretty sure they put sedatives in the food.”
My sense of well-being has been interrupted by Lacey’s suspicions, and I wish that I hadn’t taken the white pills today. I’d like to be lucid enough to figure out if she’s being paranoid. But for now I take the orange cupcake and break it in half to lick out the white cream first. And then we