“You should have told me, Clare. At least you.” She sat down at the edge of the bed, and I pulled my legs away from her and curled my arm protectively around them. I sat up straighter on the cot and balled up the sheets in my other hand.
“Justin told you?” Her question only made me more upset.
“He never got around to it. Gabe brought it up—he assumed I already knew, since friends usually confide in each other.”
She nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but we’re not supposed to bring it up. Ever. Justin never talks about it. We just don’t go there with him. I needed to respect that. But I honestly thought he’d tell you.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s just too personal for him.” I leaned my head against the wall and breathed out a long sigh. My thoughts felt heavy and it took effort to push them through my lips. “Why is he trying to keep me in the dark?”
She told me it was the way he coped with what happened.
“Doesn’t he let anyone in?” I asked.
Clare shook her head and smiled sadly. “I told you, you picked a challenging guy to love.”
“It’s easy to love Justin,” I pointed out. “Anyone can do that. He’s amazing.”
She thought about this. “Okay, it’s easy to love him. It’s getting him to love that’s the problem.”
“How did he handle Kristin’s death?” I asked.
“It was pretty bad,” she said. “He cut himself off from everyone. He disappeared. We didn’t hear from him for months. It’s like he fell into a black hole.”
“He thinks it’s his fault,” I said, not knowing the situation but knowing Justin.
Clare nodded. “I know he feels responsible. He’s the one who organized the protest and signed her up to volunteer. He had to find her body after the explosion. He had to tell her parents.”
Hot tears burned my eyes. I pressed my hands over my face.
“Maddie? That happened years ago. I think he’s made his peace with it. I haven’t seen him happier than he is now, when he’s with you. If anything, he’s just scared to get close to anyone again. He’s not afraid of getting hurt, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. The people he’s closest to have been killed or arrested or exiled. It’s not a great track record. That’s why I was so shocked to see him let his guard down with you. He never has before.”
I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. It felt good to cry. It was a release. It expelled energy I didn’t want to carry inside of me, energy that was weighing down my heart. The heaviness started to dissolve.
“I used to think he was too good for me,” I admitted. “When we first met, he had traveled and done things I couldn’t imagine. I felt like he had lived five lives and I was barely living one.”
“That’s not true,” Clare said.
“I know. That’s what I needed to realize. At first I thought he could teach me so much, and I had nothing to give back to him. But he doesn’t have life figured out any more than I do. He’s naive in so many ways.”
“You should talk to him about it,” she said. “Maybe you’re right, maybe he needs to vent to someone. I just never had the guts to bring it up with him. If anyone’s brave enough, it’s you.”
Chapter Eighteen
“You’ve been here for four months,” Dr. Stevenson informed me in the imagery room. It was my first counseling session in weeks. The nightmares had nearly ended. I hadn’t been given a dose of the Cure in weeks. I was starting to get my appetite back.
“Time for you to get back on your feet,” she told me. I sat down on the cushioned seat and she turned on the wall screens. I expected her to hand me a MindReader, but a computer program popped up on the screen. It read LADC SETUP in blinking orange letters.
She explained that the program took about two hours to complete. “Once you’re registered, you can continue using it from your dorm room. It’s designed to help you reconnect with society. Don’t worry,” she assured me. “It’s only a simulated version. Think of it as a steppingstone. You can practice socializing and communicating again before you do the real thing.”
“You think I’m ready?” I asked her with fake dread in my voice. The detention center hadn’t broken me and I assumed Dr. Stevenson was perceptive enough to see that. I was surprised they were letting me move on to this stage.
“Remember, our chief goal at the DC is to prepare you for society. We want to know you’ll go out into the world and be a responsible, law-abiding citizen. That you’ll make a positive impact.”
Dr. Stevenson told me she would be back in two hours to check on me, or I could hit the Complete button if I was done sooner. She walked out of the room and I concentrated on the screen.
A single white sentence wrapped around the room, and a deep male voice boomed through the speakers with an ominous force.
“The world is yours to shape,” the man said, and I jumped in my seat from the sound. A photograph of the planet Earth appeared on the screen and two floating hands cupped it.
A man’s image walked around from behind Earth, as if humans could be as large as a planet. He walked across the wall screens of the room in slow, confident strides.
I was waiting for him to say, This planet has been brought to you by technology.com. Your life has been granted to you by Digital School, Inc. Any questions?
“It’s time to design your perfect life!” he exclaimed. He wore a dark, tailored suit and a red tie. He had a chiseled jaw and a deep cleft in his chin. He looked like a cologne model waiting to be discovered who was doing infomercials in the meantime to pay the bills. He was middle-aged, and his black hair was shiny and slicked back with gel to expose a sharp widow’s peak.
He clapped his hands together and his eyes shined. “Welcome to your LADC itinerary setup,” he said. “We’ll begin by helping you establish a routine. Life needs to be predictable in order to be functional. The schedule I’m about to show you is merely a suggestion. Use it as a jumping-off point. Feel free to organize the timing and activities to fit your individual needs. We want to help you structure your ideal day.
“Remember,” he added with a grin, like we were in on a secret together, “life rests in the palm of your hand. It is yours to create and re-create. It is your garden to plant, your blueprint to design, your picture to sketch. Life is a program. Enjoy the facilitating.”
“Inspiring,” I mumbled. I stared at a mock schedule the LADC so kindly offered:
8:00 a.m. News updates, mail, and messages from DS
9:00 a.m. Virtual exercise teams
10:00 a.m. DS classes
12:00 p.m. Contact chatting/profile managing
1:00 p.m. Video/music/entertainment streaming
2:00 p.m. DS classes
4:00 p.m. Gaming
5:00 p.m. DS classes
6:00 p.m. Contact chatting/profile managing
8:00 p.m. DS homework
10:00 p.m. Video/music/entertainment streaming
I shook my head at the computer schedule considered a life. “I don’t think so,” I stated. I stood up and paced around the room. I brainstormed my own schedule out loud, and the wall screen illuminated my words.
8:00 a.m. Walk my dog outside in the fresh air
9:00 a.m. Make breakfast, preferably chocolate chip pancakes, stop at a coffee shop before I catch the train downtown
10:00 a.m. Attend face-to-face classes with my friends
5:00 p.m. Play sports, invite my friends over, ride a train just to see where it goes, talk to strangers, travel, plant a garden, cook dinner, laugh, talk, live
8:00 p.m. Attempt to concentrate on homework but mostly obsess over boys, one boy in particular
10:00 p.m. Write, draw, read, watch live music, go out to a movie—do something that inspires me, that lets me go to bed feeling like I made the most out of the day
I told the computer program I was done, and a small hourglass filled the screen. I drummed my fingers on my sides and waited.
My host snapped back on, his perfec
t features looking befuddled, his mouth in a frown. “I’m sorry,” he said. “None of your requests meets the program options. Please try again. Or consider the following revised version with our suggestions.”
8:00 a.m. Take a chatwalk
9:00 a.m. Take vitamins, browse a virtual coffee shop
10:00 a.m. Attend digital school with your contacts
5:00 p.m. Chat with contacts, view movies, play virtual sports, take a virtual train ride, purchase a synthetic garden
8:00 p.m. DS homework
10:00 p.m. Write on your flipscreen, draw on your ceiling canvas, listen to your books, listen to streamed music, watch movies online, go to bed satisfied, like you viewed the most out of the day
I declined the schedule option. I skipped ahead to the second step of the program. Maybe I’d have better luck with this one.
A new host greeted me, this time a girl about my age with long black hair that fell to her waist. She had red glitter highlights and waved her hands while she talked. Her neon-rainbow nail polish made me dizzy.
“Welcome to the LADC Rebrand Yourself section of the program,” she said with a wide smile. “The following steps will allow you to create the life that you want. You were sent here because you were confused about your identity. We can help with that!” She said this easily, like helping me find my true identity, my soul’s purpose in this world, was as simple as measuring my feet to find my shoe size.
She tossed her hair to one side and waved her hand over the screen. The Earth appeared again, floating far away from her outstretched arm.
“This system is meant to help you re-acclimate yourself to the real world,” she said, pointing to the distant blue and green planet. The screen zoomed in on the image slowly, and the Earth drew closer and its continents came into view. The screen continued to zoom until all I could see was the United States, and the image kept narrowing in until it fell on a single house and, finally, on a single girl sitting behind a wall screen.
The host looked at me and clasped her hands behind her back. “First, who are you? What do you enjoy doing? What defines you? How do you want others to perceive you? We’ve made it easy to discover yourself in the following four steps. When you’re ready, say ‘Begin’ to start the process!”
Words popped up on the screen. Step One: Re-create Yourself!
“Begin,” I said.
“Fill out the following questionnaire,” the girl instructed me. “Your answers will be pooled with other contacts’ to help recommend your future friends.”
Her doe eyes peered into mine like she could really see me. “This is your moment to shine. Who do you want to be? Close your eyes and visualize that person. Are you edgy, clean-cut, professional, alternative? Now build yourself one step at a time. You are the architect of your own destiny. Draw your outline and step inside.”
“That was very moving,” I said.
I began the questionnaire. There were only twenty-nine questions. I stared at the document before I started. That was it? Answering twenty-nine questions could define me? I wondered if the answers to twenty-nine questions could even describe this room, let alone the complexity of a person. Or maybe people weren’t that complex anymore. Maybe technology was making us so full we were empty.
I hurried through the questions and submitted the list.
“Good,” the girl said. “Now go to the About Me step and fill out the ten profile-building questions. You will be able to finish your online identity in just a few minutes. Remember, you can go back and edit your identity at any time. Try it out!”
I opened the About Me file and filled out ten basic profile questions. I played with responses. I said I was Amish. I said I was sexually confused. I said I was four foot eleven, I was a harpist, and I enjoyed dog grooming. I said my favorite food was raw eggs over mushrooms, and what I looked for in a friend was someone who could drive a dirt bike and fight like a ninja. I said I was interested in communism and free love. I hit Submit.
“Perfect!” she congratulated me. “Now we can move on to step two.”
“Fantastic,” I replied.
Words illuminated the screen. Step Two: Reconnect!
“Instantly make lifelong contacts that meet your interests. Are you ready to begin socializing?” she asked with an adventurous grin.
“Absolutely,” I said to the screen. I blinked and within two seconds my host was back with a report.
She informed me she’d found 4,682 contacts that matched my profile answers. “Would you like to meet them?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. A list filled the room. It spanned every inch of wall space. Letters, words, and names climbed around me. It looked like a sequence code, like a bizarre strand of digital DNA. But there was nothing human about it.
These were my new friends.
“Show,” I said. The list disappeared and in its place popped up thousands of profile pictures. It was a stadium of faces blinking back at me, some smiling, some laughing, and some straight-faced and serious. I could enlarge any photo I wanted by pointing at it. I could read up on people’s profile answers, their background and histories. I surveyed the room. The contacts were mostly young, about my age. They covered every style, ethnicity, and culture. I instantly had a wide range of friends. It was a virtual melting pot of diversity.
“Continue to step three?” she asked.
I was starting to lose my sense of humor. My lips pressed together. I’d been put through months of brainwashing to prepare me for this? They’d dumbed me down so I was clueless enough to think this was living?
“Begin,” I said.
Step Three: Advertise the New You!
“It’s time to market yourself,” my host informed me. “People are like products.You need to put yourself on the shelf if you want others to see you. But first, make yourself stand out. Advertise! Build a slogan of the new you to attract friends, colleagues, contacts, and partners.”
This was the design portion of the registration process. Time to build my image. I used FacePaint, a program that allowed you to digitally enhance your features. I chose a picture from my records taken about a year and a half ago, me sitting in the backyard with Baley. I cropped the photo and enlarged myself. I added blemishes to my skin and fat rolls to my neck and arms. I gave my hair streaks of gray. I squeezed my body down until I was half my height. I moved my eyes closer together and added an inch of length to my nose. I stained a few of my teeth brown and added blotches of dirt stains to my shirt. I turned my smile into a snarl. I tattooed a smashed beer can on my biceps. I played with Baley’s image until it looked like I had my arm around a pig squatting next to me. When I finished I added the picture to my registration and let out a satisfied laugh.
Step Four: Get Connected!
A giant Submit button flashed on the screen. Now that I was rebranded, it was time to get back into the digital world. Time to hang up the advertisement.
“Submit,” I said. I was plugged back in. Instantly, I was bombarded with invites, advertisements, chat requests, parties, study groups, volunteer opportunities, internships, and workout classes. This simulated version even told me I had a date request. How thoughtful.
I blinked at the screen and couldn’t believe it. It would take me a week to respond to all this feedback. And, I figured, that was the point. It could take a lifetime to weed through all of the people and contacts I was making, the videos to watch, the music to listen to, the movies to catch up on, the online shopping to try. I could dedicate all my time to this life. No one could hurt me in this existence. I was another girl in the bubble.
It was a utopia. So why did it feel so hollow?
The door buzzed open and my heart knocked against my chest. Only an hour had passed, and I hadn’t hit the Complete button. I tried deleting the screen, but it wouldn’t clear any of my comments. Dr. Stevenson’s heels clicked loudly through the door. Then the shoes stopped. I turned and saw her staring at the screen. Her eyes scanned my schedule glumly. She glared at my inter
view questions and tightened her lips at my design photo. There wasn’t a trace of humor in her face.
She looked at me for an explanation.
“I thought this was just a practice run,” I told her, and started to chew my nails.
“Do you find our methods funny?”
I didn’t answer her. Instead, I looked back at the wall screen, where my answer was obvious. Her eyes flashed with anger, and my confidence was kicked down. I realized what a huge mistake I’d made. The past hour had been more of a test than a registration process.
“It was just a joke,” I said. “Is it a crime to have a sense of humor?”
“Why do you go out of your way to mock the system?”
I shot her a look. “Why do you go out of your way to brainwash anyone that disagrees with the system? People aren’t programmable. Someone will always fight back,” I said.
“There’s no point, Madeline. You’re shooting at a bulletproof target. What’s right and what’s best wins in the end.”
I nodded because this was the one point we agreed on.
She looked at the screen and back to me. “I’m scheduling you for two treatment sessions a week for four more weeks. We’ll also suspend your online programs. You obviously aren’t ready for society yet.”
My body tensed from my neck all the way to my toes. “I’ve been here for months. I thought I was done with the treatment.”
“You like to think you give the orders around here. Obviously, we haven’t gotten through to you. Yet. But don’t worry, Madeline. We have a hundred percent success rate at the LADC. No one gets out of here without being cured. I’ll simply have to make you my personal case study.”
Chapter Nineteen
I woke up and could feel my thoughts traveling through my head. They moved like water down a riverbed. They lingered in some spots and sped quickly past others. They played in circles at my temples. They flooded over the banks of my brain.
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