“Here she comes.”
We all followed his line of vision to a girl scratching her red hair, walking toward our table. She didn’t look healthy, not even remotely, and I watched as Realm’s expression showed concern. His eyes, however, flashed nothing.
“Hi, Realm,” the girl said brightly. “Can I play this round?” She darted a quick look at me, and then smiled at him pleadingly.
“No, Tabby,” he said. “Not today.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “She gets to play!” She pointed in my direction, and I stared back at her blankly. My emotions were off—like Nurse Kell had literally turned down the volume to zero.
“I said not today,” Realm replied, sounding halfhearted. He turned back to the game, and Tabby stood there, confused, before exchanging a glance with Shep and Derek.
I looked down at my cards, finding one I’d like to use. I snapped it down on the pile, and when I looked up, Tabby was gone.
“Bullshit,” Realm said quietly, not even looking at me. I furrowed my brow and watched as he lifted his head, tears in his eyes. Next to me, Derek cursed. “It’s all bullshit, Tatum,” Realm repeated before handlers appeared next to him, pulled him from his chair, and led him from the room.
•••
I gasp and find myself on the hallway floor of the school, fluorescent lights burning above me.
“Ow,” I murmur, rubbing the back of my head where I smacked it. I blink quickly as the knowledge folds over me.
I knew Michael Realm in The Program. But not just him—there were others. And... they were faking it. Why?
Still disoriented from the memory, I sit up, and there’s a trickle on my upper lip. I quickly swipe my hand through the blood that’s coming from my nose. I reach into my pocket to see if I have a tissue anywhere, when suddenly there’s one in front of me.
Startled, I look up and find Derek Thompson standing above me with a white tissue held out in my direction. My stomach seizes, and I slide back from him, bumping into the lockers.
“I know you,” I say, staring up at him. “I remember.”
I’m in a precarious position as he moves to stand above me, trying to dominate me. He lowers the tissue and puts his hand on my shoulder, fingers squeezing into the muscle, making me recoil.
“It’s about time,” he says, his mouth hitching up in a sinister smile. “Tatum Masterson, you’ve been flagged. Come with me.”
I quickly slap his hand away and try to scramble to my feet, but the minute I get a foot under me, he pushes me down again. He can’t do that! We’re at school.
I open my mouth to scream, and then he’s on top of me, his palm smothering my lips, pressing so hard I can’t open them. A flash of bright panic floods me, and I flail my arms, trying to hit him wherever I can.
It’s the same feeling I had in my foyer when handlers were dragging me out in front of my grandparents. My body shrieks, fights.
I try to tell Derek to stop, I even flop on my back to get his hand off my mouth, but he puts me in a headlock; his fingers knot painfully in my hair as he yanks me to my knees.
Behind my lips, I scream. He’s too strong. And when I see him withdraw a syringe from his pocket, I fight even harder. I won’t let him take me.
I dig my fingernails into the back of his hand and scratch as hard as I can. His skin tearing away makes my stomach turn, and Derek withdraws, cursing. Before I can yell for help, there is a sudden and blinding hit on the side of my head. The world goes white, getting smaller, and I feel myself tip sideways.
He punched me, and the reverberation of the hit has left me stunned. Shocked.
Derek grabs me by my hair and upper arm, dragging me across the hall. I’m kicking out my legs, my shoes slipping on the linoleum, and try to loosen his grip. He elbows the emergency exit door, opening it into the stairwell, and I know I’m almost out of time. The fact that the classrooms are right there, filled with people who can help me, and I haven’t been able to call to them is terrorizing.
I’m being kidnapped in plain sight.
“Stop!” I finally yell.
But Derek gets me into the concrete stairwell, and the door slams closed behind us. I know it’s too late. He’s going to inject me with whatever’s in that syringe. He’s going to drag me out of here before anyone helps me. He’s going to—
There’s movement behind him, a flash of red, and then a whack, the thud echoing off the walls. Derek’s dark eyes widen, and then I swear, it’s the like a real-life version of x-ed out cartoon eyes. He’s instantly unconscious, and before he hits the floor, a steady stream of red begins to pour down the side of his head. Down his neck. Over the shoulder of his shirt.
I scream, horrified, as he hits the cement, face-first, and there is the crunch of his nose breaking. My entire body shakes, the pain settling in. I look around wildly, from Derek’s body to the girl standing there, a fire extinguisher clutched in her hands.
