CHAPTER ONE
I WAKE TO THE SMELL of bacon frying, and when I go downstairs, I find my grandparents in the kitchen. Gram is scraping eggs onto three plates, strips of bacon lined up along the side. She’s already dressed for work, but my grandfather is still wearing his pajamas. He tells me he’s going in later today.
“Did the storm keep you up last night?” Gram asks, giving me a morning kiss on the head as she sets a plate in front of me. “You look exhausted.”
“It was fine,” I say, the first hint of guilt attacking my conscience. I quickly change the subject. “I have an appointment with Dr. Warren after school today,” I add.
My grandparents exchange a glance, and something about it catches on my consciousness.
“Oh?” Pop asks, pretending (badly) that he didn’t know.
“Yep,” I say, stabbing some scrambled eggs. “And she already told me you called her, so maybe just give me a heads-up next time.”
“Sorry, honey,” Pop says. “I was just—”
“Worried,” I finish for him. “I know. Well, I’m going to see her, and we’ll talk about Wes and whatever else it is you’ve been stressing about.” I smile at my grandparents; part of my graciousness is because I snuck out last night and have my own shit to feel bad about.
Even so, they’ve given me yet another reason not to trust them.
“Thanks for letting us know,” Gram says pleasantly, and takes a sip of her coffee.
We continue eating breakfast, completely normal in every way, and after I clean my plate, I grab my bag and head to school.
• • •
Nathan is waiting with coffees when I arrive at school, begrudgingly fulfilling his portion of our coffee-fetching arrangement. Jana doesn’t take part, typically. Most days she arrives at school late. Nathan says she’s late to everything they do, although it doesn’t bother him that much.
I stop at the top of the stone staircase at the entrance of the building, surveying the front yard of the school, and hold out my hand. Nathan places a vanilla latte in it.
“Did you see Miller Ave. was flooded?” he asks casually. “Because I nearly died.”
I look sideways at him. “I noticed it last night,” I say.
“I wondered where you were going,” he says, taking a sip of his steaming coffee. He meets my eyes, acknowledging that he knows I snuck out. “Probably wasn’t wise to go out into a thunderstorm,” he adds.
“It definitely wasn’t,” I agree. “But you know me, queen of bad decisions.” I blow on my latte, testing a sip.
“I’m assuming it had to do with Wes?”
“You assume correctly. We watched a few movies together.”
“Sounds sweet. Was it a date? Did you tell him that you used to date?” Nathan questions me like it’s any other conversation, even though we both know it’s not. I was stupid. But at least I’m acknowledging it, which I’m sure comforts him.
“No,” I say. “We agreed to be friends. Besides, Dr. McKee warned me not to get involved romantically, remember? I’m sure he has my best interests in mind.” We exchange a pointed look, and a cool breeze blows open my jacket. I pull it closed around me.
Nathan takes his time as he drinks his coffee. “In theory,” he says, “I support the doctor’s decision, but, in actuality, he either didn’t know or didn’t tell you about your time in The Program. One makes him incompetent. The other makes him a monster.”
“Wait, are you saying I shouldn’t take his advice?” I ask.
“I’m saying I don’t know,” Nathan responds. “I’m not going to rely on his word. And you know how hard it is for me to admit that you might actually belong with Wes.”
He laughs, but I don’t join him. He turns to see why, and I feel tears sting my eyes. I quickly blink them away. “I remembered,” I say.
“Remembered what?”
“What happened that night,” I say. “After I left your house, I went to Wes’s, and I cussed at his mother.”
Nathan takes a casual sip of his drink, then, as if he misheard: “I’m sorry. What?”
“I remember going there,” I say. “I knew about Wes and Kyle, and I went there to beg him . . .” I stop, too embarrassed to explain it. I wish I had been stronger. Braver. But I can’t change the past. Apparently, it can be rewritten, though.
“I went there to talk to him,” I say self-consciously, “but Mrs. Ambrose called The Program on me because I was unwell. She told me to stay away from Wes. And now that I know, now that I’ve relived it . . . I think she’s right about us not belonging together.” I shrug one shoulder, miserable. “So I’ve let him go, Nathan. Wes and I are over.”
Nathan swallows hard. “That’s probably the biggest lie you’ve ever said to my face.”
“Not true,” I say, sniffling. “There was also the Adjustment.”
“Shit, you’re right,” he says with a sad smile, and when the moment goes on too long, he pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says, finally acknowledging the gravity of my statement.
“So, that was my night,” I add when I pull back. He whispers again that he’s sorry.
“Will you come with me to the Adjustment office later?” I ask. “I need to confront Dr. McKee.”
I expect Nathan to point out this is a dangerous idea, but he doesn’t. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course I’ll go with you.”
I thank him, and we turn to stare across the front lawn of the school. On the grass, there are a few guys playing Frisbee, flinging it with full force, even this early in the morning. Nathan says he admires their commitment to looking douchey despite the hour.
“Not to change the subject,” Nathan says, drawing my attention. “Did you finish your essay?”
“Essay?”
“Damn,” he says. “I was planning on copying yours.” He hikes his backpack higher up on his shoulder. “First hour. We should get in there and write it before Miss Soto arrives. At least tell me you read the book.”
To this, I smile. “I always read the book.”
“Excellent,” Nathan replies. “And I have a pencil. Together we’re like one full brain.”
I loop my arm through his with a laugh, and we head toward the building to go work on our papers.
• • •
Nathan and I make a plan for later. I’ll go to my appointment with Dr. Warren at two thirty, and then Nathan will meet me at the Adjustment office at four. We’re going to demand answers. I’m glad Nathan’s coming with me. He’s my magic feather—my confidence booster.
Wes isn’t in class when I arrive, so we don’t have the awkward “Hi. I slept in your bed last night, and it was a huge mistake” conversation, but he does show up near the end. He smiles at me before sitting down, and I hear Nathan groan behind me. This isn’t going to be easy to untangle.
There are no class interruptions today, no sign of Dr. Wyatt. There is one kid absent, Robert Rodrigo. I heard a rumor that he’s in the hospital, but when I asked about it, his friend quickly brushed me off.
What’s concerning about that piece of information is that Robert is a returner. And the past few weeks have returners dropping like flies—whether by a meltdown, an aneurysm, or . . . self-inflicted trauma. Two or three just opted out of school altogether. The assessments are dredging up bad memories for all of us.
I realize that I’m part of this high-risk pool now. I’m in danger because I’m a returner too. And I guess that’s something I’ll have to bring up to Dr. McKee, among my other questions. Why exactly are the returners crashing back?
I’m not sure he’ll answer. And even if he does, I don’t know if he’ll tell me the truth.
• • •
Wes doesn’t wait for me after class, and I check my messages to see if he replied to my somewhat dramatic good-bye this morning. But he didn’t. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. At some point, he’ll want to talk about it. Then again, he might realize we shouldn’t—not if he wants to keep his blissful ignorance.
The morning passes quickly, and I’m surprised when Foster asks us to stay in for lunch with him, claiming that in just a few weeks, we’ve lost the “purity of recess” by spending half the time driving. He said he wants us to get back to our roots.
We agree to this plan over group text, and Nathan tells us Jana won’t be there. Neither Foster nor I ask why, and Nathan doesn’t offer an explanation.
Wes doesn’t contact me, so either he changed his mind about lunch, or he’s honoring my good-bye text.
I push through the doors to the courtyard and find Nathan is already at the half wall, our old spot, and he has an array of snacks from the cafeteria laid out for us. None of us had packed a lunch, so he told us he’d take care of it.
I smile when I sit next to him, grabbing an apple first and taking a bite. I scan the courtyard, noting that it’s a lot less busy than it used to be. I don’t mind; it’s kind of peaceful.
“Hello, my dudes,” Foster says as he comes over. He sits on the other side of the food, and we all settle in. Foster isn’t fully recovered from the flu—the tip of his nose is still red, and his eyes are a little puffy—but he’s moving a lot better than he did yesterday. He’s no longer hunched over with body aches, at least.
“If I’d have known about this date sooner, I would have brought you soup,” Nathan says, studying him. “God, you look like shit.”
I slash out my hand and slap Nathan in the chest with a thud. He cough-laughs and pushes my arm away.
“Thank you,” Foster says. “And just in case that doesn’t add to my insecurity, Arturo decided to go have lunch with Jana and company. Why isn’t your girlfriend eating with us?” he asks Nathan.
“Because I didn’t ask her,” Nathan says simply, and opens a snack bag of chips. “Plus, I wanted to eat with you guys.”
“Aw . . . ,” Foster says. “I love when it’s just the three of us.” He beams, his eyes glassy from after-flu, his skin sickly. Regardless, he’s still adorable.
“Love you,” I murmur to him, and pass him a cookie.
“So . . . ,” Foster says, taking a bite of the cookie. “Nathan told me you were with Wes last night. Is he your boyfriend again, or are we trying something less conventional?”
Nathan tsks, annoyed that Foster brought it up.
“We’re friends . . . ish,” I say. “I don’t want his brain to melt down because of me.”
“You do have that effect on men,” Foster jokes, and I laugh.
“Besides,” I tell him, trying not to the let the emotions of the story take over, “I remembered some things.” I recount the crashback calmly, detached, and watch as Foster wilts. Feeling sorry for me, I’m sure.
“How about handlers?” Foster asks, changing the subject. “Notice anything?”
“No,” I say, and Nathan agrees. “I haven’t seen Derek.” I pause. “You really think he’s a handler?” I ask.
“Anyone can be,” Foster says, examining the cookie I gave him. “Even those close to us.”
“I don’t know if I’d say anyone,” Nathan argues. His voice has a hitch in it, and Foster smiles, shaking off the moment.
“Right,” he says. “Only the really creepy people.”
“Well,” I say. “Nathan and I are going to the Adjustment office later today. We’re going to confront Dr. McKee in person. He’ll probably lie, but at least he’ll have to do it to my face. And I’ll be able to tell.”
Nathan scrunches up his nose and looks sideways at me. “Really, though?” he says. “You’re not the best judge of character.”
“What?” I say. “I’m a great judge.”
“I agree with Tatum,” Foster says. “I mean . . . she is here with us.”
Nathan smiles to himself, and then he picks up a can of soda, pops the top, and hands it to me. “She’s making better decisions every day.”