![]() 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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