CHAPTER NINE
THERE’S A SWIFT KNOCK AT the front door before it opens and Nathan rushes inside. He looks around until he spots me and Foster on the couch. His eyes are wild, worried. Behind him, Jana slips inside and closes the door quietly. She went home sick, but I guess she’s feeling better. She hangs back, as if knowing she wasn’t invited to this party.
Next to me, Foster shifts on the couch. “Hey,” he says to Nathan. “We need to talk.” He tilts his head to look at Jana. “Hi, Jana,” he says a bit coldly. “Would you mind excusing us for a while?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but Nathan steps in front of her. “No, she’s fine,” he says defensively. Behind him, Jana lowers her eyes.
Foster sits up to turn around fully. “It’s not fine,” Foster says. “There’s something we need to discuss. It doesn’t involve her.”
“Foster—” I start, but he holds up his hand to stop me.
“Sorry, but this isn’t for her,” Foster says, trying to convey the importance of the conversation he wants to have.
Nathan puts his arm around Jana, bringing her forward to prove a point. It annoys me, although not quite as much as it annoys Foster. I don’t dislike Jana as a person, but something about her and Nathan together . . . it doesn’t feel right.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Nathan states.
“Cool,” Foster says like it’s an interesting fact. “And I have a boyfriend, but you don’t see me dragging him into every private conversation.”
Nathan scoffs, settling in for a longer argument, but Jana slides out from under his arm.
“It’s okay,” she says to him. “I have to get home anyway.” She gets on her tiptoes and kisses Nathan on the lips, pausing before doing it again. It’s grossly intimate, and Foster sighs heavily and turns back around to give them privacy. “Call me later,” she whispers.
Nathan says he will, and then Jana walks out the front door. When she’s gone, Nathan rounds the couch, glaring at Foster.
“Just because you have mono or some shit doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole,” he tells him.
“It’s the flu,” Foster corrects, not matching the hostility in Nathan’s voice now that Jana is gone. “And I’m sorry if I came off that way,” he adds. “We just really need to talk. It’s important. It’s about what happened with the Adjustment, Wes coming back . . .” He looks at me, unsure if he should bring up The Program yet.
“You know,” Nathan interrupts, “Jana was part of that too. She lost her best friend.”
“And I lost my brother,” Foster shoots back. “This isn’t a grief competition. And she’s not part of our little crew, is she? I don’t remember her in middle school.”
“We’re allowed to make new friends,” Nathan says, still sore, but warming up slightly. Mentioning our time as kids is usually his go-to move, a history that supersedes all arguments. He probably hates Foster using it against him now, but he respects it.
Like he’s just realizing I’m here, Nathan looks over at me. “And what the hell happened to you?” he asks. “You skip school, and then Foster calls, saying you thought there were handlers? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He shakes his head, and the depth of his concern becomes obvious. “They were right, weren’t they?” he asks, sitting in the chair across from me. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
My heart sinks again, the heaviness of the revelations continuing to pull me down. “No,” I say. “They were wrong.” I look at Foster, who nods for me to continue. Nathan notices and turns to him.
“She told you about The Program?” Nathan asks.
“Yep,” Foster says. “Now I’m here for the explanation. From both of you, if I’m honest.”
“Nathan,” I say, drawing his attention. “I don’t remember being in The Program. All this time, it wasn’t that I was trying not to talk about it. It’s been . . . erased.”
“What do you mean?” Nathan asks.
“I have my memories, or at least my corrupted version of them—idealized version. But I don’t remember The Program. In fact, I had no idea until you told me. And then in class . . . I had a crashback. I suddenly relived the moment the handlers took me, and it was fucking awful.” My voice hitches with emotion.
“And now . . . ,” I continue, “I don’t know what’s true. Why did Gram and Pop keep all my stuff to give me when I came home, but not tell me I’d been in The Program? Why would they have you keep it from me? Did they say anything else?”
Nathan runs his hand roughly through his hair, looking perplexed. “They just said that you had a hard time in The Program, but that they got to you fast enough so you could keep your memories. I didn’t question them. They asked me not to talk about it because the doctor warned it would bring on a crashback.” He purses his lips. “Seems they were right about that part.”
“You should have told me,” I whisper.
Nathan mouths that he’s sorry, his silent words heartfelt. I nod that I accept his apology, and after a moment, he furrows his brow.
“Wait,” he says. “So if you don’t remember The Program, how do you remember Wes? Me?” he asks.
“Exactly,” Foster interjects.
“And why would they take The Program memories, but leave the stuff that was breaking my heart?” I ask.
“Unless they didn’t know about you and Wes breaking up,” Nathan offers. “Hell, I didn’t know. And if your grandparents kept your mementos from the handlers, they might not have had much to go off of. They would have had no chance to figure out what was going wrong for you.”
“The Adjustment,” Foster says suddenly, sitting up. He looks from Nathan to me. “Tatum, they gave you the Adjustment—that’s why you remember Wes.”
My lips part, and I almost argue—but suddenly it makes sense. The memories, the pills with the Adjustment office’s phone number on the bottle. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. I’m an idiot; it was so obvious.
The Program erased my memories. The Adjustment put them back. I’ve been manipulated twice.
I meet Nathan’s eyes, his shining with the same realization. “Why did Dr. McKee act like he was meeting me for the first time?” I ask. “Why doesn’t anyone know I had an Adjustment? And . . .” I pause, fixing my stare accusingly on Nathan. “And how did they get my memories?” I ask.
“Not me,” he says quickly, hand on his heart. “I didn’t donate anything, so if that’s what happened, they lied to me, too.”
Nathan, Foster, and I sit quietly, digesting this information. I think back to when Nathan and I went to the Adjustment office for the first time, how familiar Dr. McKee seemed. Now I know why.
“Do you think Marie knows?” I ask, trying to figure out her angle.
“Definitely,” Nathan says. “They all know, Tatum. Including Pop and Gram.”
As if he summoned them, there’s the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. It’s too early for either of my grandparents to be home from work, but when I get up and peek out the window, I see it’s my grandfather again. Guess he cut his day short. Unless, of course, I’m still being watched, and someone let him know I have company. I wrap my arms around myself.
I ask Nathan and Foster if I should mention the box I found in the closet, and they both shake their heads no as the front door opens.
“Play dumb,” Foster murmurs.
My grandfather smiles widely when he sees them, welcoming and warm. “Hello, boys. I didn’t know we were having a party.” He grins at me like today never happened. It’s unsettling.
“Hey,” Foster says, holding out his hand. But Pop pauses before shaking it.
“Don’t you have mono?” he asks, making Nathan snort a laugh.
“It’s the flu,” Foster says. “But just in case, we shouldn’t kiss.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Pop says, and slaps him on the shoulder. “Nathan,” he says, in a slightly different tone. “Where were you at lunch today? Tatum’s Jeep wouldn’t start.”
Nathan swallows hard, and I see he’s having trouble playing along with my and Foster’s dumb act. “Jana wasn’t feeling well, so I took her home. Plus . . . we had to talk.”
“Oh?” my grandfather asks, as if it’s completely normal that Nathan would tell him about his love life. It’s not. Nathan never had a love life. “Sounds serious.”
“We’re working on some things,” Nathan adds, diverting his eyes.
I exchange a look with Foster, and we both must be wondering if Nathan is laying it on thick, or if he and Jana really had a “talk.” What about? Are they having problems?
Foster swallows, about to say something, but instead he starts coughing and doubles over, gripping the side of the couch. I go over to help him, and he tries to catch his breath.
“I should get home,” he says between gasps.
“Same,” Nathan adds apologetically.
“I’ll walk you guys out,” I offer, rubbing Foster’s back until he can straighten.
“Well, I’m sorry neither of you could stay for dinner,” my grandfather says, folding his arms across his chest. “Next time.”
“Absolutely,” Nathan says for both of them, and takes his house key out of his pocket. He nods good-bye to my grandfather before following behind me and Foster. When the three of us get onto the porch, I close the door and Nathan leans in.
“I’m not imagining—”
“No, it was weird,” I say, glancing back at the house. “He’s acting too normal. We should have confronted him, but . . .” I trail off. “Maybe when Gram comes home?” I say it even though I know I probably won’t have the guts to confront her yet either.
“Listen,” Foster says to me. “Leave them out of it for now. We have bigger problems.” He winces. “More immediate problems,” he corrects. “You need to watch out for Derek. We have to worry about your past, but we also have to worry about our futures. I told you before and I mean it now—I think there are handlers everywhere. We need to be careful.”
“You really think he’s a handler?” Nathan asks, scrunching up his face.
“We’ll talk about it on the way to your house,” Foster says, and then makes a kiss face to say good-bye to me. Nathan pulls me into a quick hug, whispering again that he’s sorry in my ear.
Foster and Nathan head down the steps and walk across the driveway to Nathan’s house next door. Thick clouds have gathered in the sky, gray and angry, as Foster and Nathan talk in hushed voices. I can see how much the idea of handlers worries Nathan. It worries all of us. Because handlers mean The Program isn’t dead at all. Maybe it never was.
I reach instinctively into my pocket and realize . . . my phone is gone. And then it occurs to me where I left it. On my grandparents’ dresser.