The Program (The Program 1)

I nod. “I do.”

“I just . . . I love you,” he whispers, not able to look at me.

“I know.” And I don’t have anything else to say back. Right now I’m completely grief-stricken, feeling like I’ve just lost Brady, even though he’s been gone for years. But here’s Realm, so ready to love me. Take care of me. Fill up the empty spaces in my heart.

I get on my tiptoes and press my lips firmly to his. Realm responds immediately, surprising me by backing me against the wall, his tongue eagerly finding mine as if he’s been waiting to do this since I got here.

My heart pounds, but the emotion is guilt, as if I’m being completely unfair. To him. To myself. I turn away then, breaking the kiss to hug him instead. Realm lets out a soft laugh, clinging to me tightly.

“You don’t love me back,” he says.

“Not like that. But maybe—”

“Maybe someday?” he finishes for me. Realm looks tired. Maybe a little buzzed. “You should go,” he says again, and walks me onto the porch, keeping his eyes trained on the floorboards there. Then, without another word, he goes back into the house and bolts his door shut.

I stand there, still stunned by the revelation about my brother. I look at the car, and James is watching me. He nods his chin as if asking if I’m okay, but I don’t respond. I’m not okay.

I’m so not okay.

CHAPTER TEN

WE’RE HALFWAY BACK TO TOWN, PASSING DARKENED fields, when James looks sideways at me. “That was some kiss,” he says.

A blush rises on my cheeks. “I was saying good-bye.”

“With your tongue.”

“What do you care?” I ask, ashamed that he saw, even though I’m not entirely sure why. “You couldn’t even stand to hug me in my room that day.”

“I took that hug like a trooper,” he says with a smirk. “And I don’t care who you make out with. I just think he’s hiding something, so I’m surprised you’d be so naive. Thought you were smarter than that.”

“And I thought you weren’t going to be obnoxious.”

“Never said I wouldn’t be obnoxious,” James says. “I try not to make promises I can’t keep.”

We’re silent for a few miles, and I start thinking again about my brother. Brady had an accident—that’s what my mother told me. She said he’d been rafting, but she never said I was there. She never said he killed himself.

I sniffle, and it’s then that I realize I’m crying. “Hey,” James says softly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be—”

“It’s not you,” I say, waving off his concern. James glides the car to the side of the road and parks. “I’m thinking about my brother,” I tell him. “I don’t remember him dying. But we were there, James. Me and you. What if we helped him kill himself ?”

“Maybe we did.” His voice is empty. Sad. He looks away, as if he’s searching his own memories. When he lowers his head, I know he’s found nothing. We have nothing.

“What if he said good-bye?” I whisper. “What if he said good-bye and I don’t remember it?” Something inside of me breaks then, and I start to sob, picturing Brady’s smile, hearing his laugh. We were so close. How long had he been sick? And how could I not have noticed?

James puts his hand on my shoulder, and I lean into him. He’s stiff at first but then rearranges himself in the seat to let me rest against his chest.

“You know,” he says softly, brushing back my hair as he talks, “I can’t remember what happened to my mother. I know that one day she was there, and then she was gone. I don’t know if my parents fought, if she had a reason for leaving. When I asked my father, he told me that she had moved away for a job and then decided to stay. But that we were fine on our own.” He pauses. “Ten bucks says his hand is bullshit.”

I stop and wipe at my face, sitting up, but staying close to him. He looks at me wide-eyed. “What?” he asks.

“We played Bullshit in The Program. Did you?”

He laughs. “Uh, no. I was in isolation most of the time, or at least, that’s what they told me. Seriously? You got to play cards?”

“James,” I say. “I used to play Bullshit all the time with my brother.”

His face clouds over, and he reaches absently, tugging at a string hanging down from the bottom of my collared shirt. “Really?”

I nod. “I bet . . . I bet you played with us.”

James doesn’t meet my eyes, but pulls slowly on the string, unraveling the hem as if he’s lost in a thought. “I can’t remember who taught me,” he says.

“My brother did.”

“Possibly.”

When the string finally breaks, James seems startled by the now uneven hem of my shirt. “Damn, I’m sorry.” But when he looks up, I don’t respond. I can feel the puffiness of my face, and I’m sure that, up close, still half-leaning on him, I don’t look great. But I’m trying to find something in his eyes—a feeling that I can identify. There are so many emotions raging inside of me: guilt, sadness, attraction.

“Why are you staring at me again?” he asks, although this time he doesn’t sound like he’s teasing me.

“Realm said something to me before I left.”

James rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah? What was that?”

“He said . . .” I pause, not sure I should even tell him. But it seems wrong to keep it from him. To keep anything from him. “He said that he loved me,” I say.

James lowers his head, twirling the piece of string around his finger. “And how do you feel?” he asks.

“Not the same.”

“Probably shouldn’t lead him on by kissing him then, huh?” His tone is harsh, judgmental. I’m frozen for a second. I’d confided in him only to have him throw it back in my face.

I move away from James then, pulling my seat belt on and making it lock a few times in the process. “Just forget it,” I say. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right.” He switches the car into gear. “I don’t understand. And you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Thanks,” I say bitterly. “Glad you cleared that up.” We don’t speak again, and I wonder how James can confess to me about his mother, only to turn cold in the next second. I wonder if he used to do this to Brady when they were friends. To me.