I was standing at the bottom of the stairs in the front entryway of my house, screaming for my grandparents, who were already in bed. But I can’t seem to stop the pain-it spreads across my vision until everything goes black. I press my fingers against my temples, lowering my head as I grit my teeth.
He shouldn’t remember-Ī sharp pain strikes behind my eyes, blooming so quickly and fiercely that it’s an explosion. I look up and find Weston Ambrose still watching me from his seat in the front of the room, concern creasing his forehead. My entire body shakes as I soak in my shock. I was in The Program, and that means everyone I love is a liar. To which I’m sure he’d say, Keeping a secret isn’t the same as being a liar, Tatum. Then again, Nathan’s been lying to me since last summer. His hazel eyes glide over me, and I quickly turn around, afraid he’ll see through my act. Nathan nods his agreement and leans back in his chair. “Considering I’ve spent the better part of a year being the caged bunny rabbit in this scenario,” I tell him, “yeah-I’m done with unethical experiments.” I look at Nathan and flash him a half smile. I force myself to be normal, or some passing version-otherwise, he’ll know there’s a problem. So, if I’d actually been a patient, why would the hurt still be here? Nathan claimed my grandfather got to me “early.” How early?Īs I try to work it all out, there’s a shuffle of feet-Nathan waiting for my reply. I remember the bad stuff, or at least most of it. Patients were only supposed to forget the bad stuff. No-they wanted everyone to come out believing The Program had saved their lives.
He might not have mentioned it otherwise.īut The Program never made its patients forget they were there.
I can’t let on that I don’t remember being in The Program Nathan thinks I do. He wants me to make a joke to show just how fine I am. “Right, Tatum? We’re done being experiments?” “We’re not going to be part of her experiment.” He pauses. “You think she’d take the hint,” Nathan murmurs from behind me, sliding his blank assessment across his desk. One the school has reinstituted on a voluntary basis. Wyatt, continues her slow pace around the classroom, arms folded over her chest, while she waits for us to fill out our weekly assessments-a relic from The Program hysteria. It’s not true.īut at the same time, the weight of it is there-a phantom pain in my chest. Nathan said I’d been in The Program last summer, only. Moments ago, my best friend told me something that upended my world. I gulp in a breath and lower my eyes to the paper on my desk. The knowledge is horrifying, devastating, crushing.
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