Middle Ground (3 page)

I stood up and searched the screen for my dance partner. When I found him at the edge of the dance floor stalking his next victim, I stomped over and shoved him hard in the chest.

That wasn’t cool, douche bag,
I thought. He fell back a few steps, jolted by my shove or my insult or both. Even though I wasn’t actually moving, I could feel the muscles in my arms tense.

The seductive host lit up my personal screen and gave me a stern stare.

I’m sorry, but violent or sexual contact is not permitted at Club Nino. This is your first warning.
I frowned at her words. But it was okay for him to throw me up in the air like I was a rag doll?

I looked up at the screen and I was standing there, alone, with my arms crossed over my chest, looking pissed. My leopard slippers stood poised like they were threatening to bite the next person that approached me. I definitely wasn’t giving off a friendly vibe. I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down, this was all just make-believe anyway. But that was the problem—I’d been make-believing for seventeen years. I was ready to start living.

Douche bag?
Pat asked me. I could hear him laughing in the seat next to me.

I’m bringing that expression back,
I thought.
It’s a classic.

Maybe you should sit in the Lounge for a while and cool off,
Pat suggested.

I asked him what the Lounge was and he explained it was a bar in the back of the auditorium where you could hang out if you decided you wanted to meet somebody face-to-face. I looked around at all the seats in the audience and didn’t see a single one empty. Apparently face-to-face meeting wasn’t a popular choice. Meeting in person was like waking out of a perfect dream—almost always a letdown.

I’m sorry,
I told Pat.
I was really excited to go out tonight, but this isn’t exactly my idea of socializing.
Pat and I stood close to each other on the screen.

Try not to take it so seriously, Maddie,
he said.
Just have fun with it. Don’t go all Justin on me.

His name is a verb now?

Yeah,
Pat said.
Other synonyms are
extreme, excessive,
and
overrated. I narrowed my eyes at this.

Thanks, Mr. Thesaurus.
I deleted that one. I wasn’t in the mood to start a virtual argument. Too much gets lost in translation.

I turned away and scanned the movie screen, searching for Clare. My stomach started to twist. Standing in that superficial crowd of people only magnified how much I felt like an outsider. I thought about Justin. This place would drive him crazy. If he were here right now, he’d probably instigate a riot.

More strangers tried to introduce themselves to me but I ignored them and walked over to Clare. She was dancing with a group and when I attempted to join in, she turned to me. My digital face was frowning and she guessed why.

Have you heard from him?
she asked me.

No, not since I moved down here.

I know they’re really busy,
she said.
I talked to Scott and he said they’ve been working overtime.

That isn’t an excuse,
I told her.
You can always make time for people. The point is, you have to want to.

We’re understaffed,
Clare reminded me.
And it seems like more and more people are getting arrested every day. It’s getting trickier to stop—

Maybe this isn’t the best place to discuss that, Clare?
Pat interrupted us. I noticed several girls milling around him. I also noticed he didn’t stray far from my side.
And Maddie,
he said,
you need to forget about him. The sooner you do, the less time you’ll waste.
He turned away to talk with one of the girls standing behind him.

I closed my eyes. I hated that I was having this conversation on a screen for everyone to read. This night only reminded me why I wanted to fight digital school, why I detested where our culture was headed. I felt nauseated, like I’d felt last spring at the National Education Benefit when I watched a digital dance contest and realized people were addicted to the pixelated and perfected version of themselves. We were all losing touch.

I needed Justin right now. He could always explain things to me; he could comb out the confusing knots in my mind. I opened my eyes and looked out at the stationary sea of bodies sitting around me juxtaposed against the dancing characters on the screen. They hid safely behind their glasses and stared up at the party like they were hypnotized. I watched them delete corny or inappropriate thoughts before they were spoken. I hated that life was so censored. But most of all, I hated that tonight I was a part of it.

Music swam around me, so loud I couldn’t concentrate. Blinking white strobe lights made the bodies on the screen look like shattered pieces. There was a cheer from the crowd as sparkle confetti fell from the digital sky, and people raised their arms and spun underneath it. In that huge space, I was the only girl standing alone. I read conversations spiraling around me.

You should meet us tomorrow for lunch.

Where at?

At this outdoor café in Amsterdam called Lucky’s. It looks out over the canals.

Very cool.

Have you ever taken a virtual walk through the red-light district?

The what?

I watched people talk about sites and programs and chatrooms. Why couldn’t I do that? Just blend in, be content to act like everybody else? I watched other conversations, people comparing brand names and clothes and bragging about grades and school. People didn’t talk
to
each other, they talked
at
each other. It was a game of who could brag more. No one really listened to anyone else. Why is it that the people who talk the most sometimes have the least to say?

As I was considering this, another guy walked up to me and introduced himself as Jeff. He was cute but I couldn’t get beyond his red hair highlighted with gold glitter.

Why are you dressed like that?
he asked, and pointed to my sweats.

Baggy clothes make it less obvious that I’m pregnant,
I told him. He blinked in surprise and hurried away without another word.

Good one,
Pat said.

I can’t do this,
I thought.
Don’t you people see this isn’t real?
You don’t even exist, you’re just living inside a fantasy. Wake up.
I sent my words and they lit up on the screen. Clare grabbed my hand, really grabbed it, and it startled me. She took her glasses off, and her eyes met mine. She leaned over in her seat and whispered in my ear. I could feel her breath touch me when she spoke and I could smell her hairspray and see a crease of concern on her forehead. She was so human, so real, it was reassuring.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked. I shook my head and focused on the club screen.

DS is killing us. We’re not human anymore. We’re more comfortable being robots.
I sent the words and my thoughts continued to flow. My personal screen shut off and the host popped back on, smiling like we were old friends. She crossed her legs and her face turned serious.

We do not allow hostile communication at Club Nino. This is your second warning. One more violation and you’ll be asked to log off.

I imagined what Justin would say in this situation, what he would do. I smiled as an idea took shape and grew until it cracked its shell. I deleted the thought before it had time to appear anywhere but in the privacy of my mind.

I logged out and turned off my computer. I could feel Pat and Clare both watching me but I avoided their eyes. I buzzed the Help button on my armrest and a few seconds later an usher came to my side. Her gold nametag said
SUSAN
on it. She crouched down and asked me what was wrong.

“My computer crashed,” I said. “It won’t let me log on.”

She leaned across me and turned the computer back on. When the menu screen appeared, she scanned an identification card attached to her wrist by a stretchy rubber cord. She touched the employee page and typed in a password. I watched her fingers move deliberately over the keypad. It was too easy. She typed in
Nino1.
She tested a few of the functions and when they all worked she shrugged and logged out. She told me everything looked fine and to try again. When she walked away, Clare was staring at me.

“What are you doing, Maddie?” she asked.

I looked down at my screen. I didn’t know what had come over me; it felt like someone in the room was daring me.

I restarted the computer and while I waited I took my wallet out of the purse I was sharing with Clare. Magnetic identification cards were easy to override; I learned this piece of information eavesdropping on some of my dad’s phone calls. When the main menu popped up, I touched the employee page. It asked for my identification, so I swiped the first magnetic card I found in my wallet—just an ordinary money card. I received an error message, which I expected. The computer said to try again or to enter my information manually. I took the second option. I typed Susan’s name and conveniently her last name popped up next to it. I highlighted the name and clicked on it. This brought me to another screen with available options.

I scrolled down until I found the instruction I was looking for: Clear Club Nino. I assumed it would eliminate all the identities on the giant wall screen. I clicked on this function and the computer informed me only a supervisor had the authority to issue this command. I shrugged and hoped Susan was a supervisor. I hit the Clear Club Nino function. It asked for a password and I typed it in. I hit Enter.

With the press of a finger, the sea of bodies and colors pooling and flickering in strobe lights turned into a black canvas. The world stopped. There was a loud gasp from the crowd, heard over the pumping music.

At first, I was just as startled as the rest of the audience. I hadn’t expected this to work. I never stopped to think about the possible outcomes of my crazy ideas, something that led to frequent problems in my life. There was a single icon blinking on the giant screen. Since I was still logged in, I let my mind run free. I couldn’t pass this up.

How many of you think there’s more to life than a virtual world? How many of you want other choices?

My words came out bold and bright over the screen. Since I didn’t have an identity, the words hovered in the very center, like a warning. The techno music blared, the bass pumped, and I could feel the adrenaline kicking up in my chest. Heads turned, hands pulled off glasses in a synchronized motion, and people looked around the room. For the first time all night, people started to make eye contact. I felt myself smile.

“Who’s doing that?” someone yelled in the crowd.

There’s only one way to change the system: fight digital school.

Clare grabbed my hand. “Stop it, Maddie, you can’t afford to get in trouble right now.”

When I looked back at the screen my smile widened. There was another hanging bubble there.

I’m listening,
it said.

Live outside your computers. Our minds are more than programs. Our bodies are more than extension cords. We might as well have been born with wires for fingers. That’s how much technology controls us.

You’re just trained,
the other voice said.

“Stop it,” someone yelled out.

Life is more than a show. It can’t be entertaining all the time. It isn’t real.
And with those words, all the messages disappeared.

The techno music shut off and bright overhead lights snapped on. A chorus of groans and complaints filled the room. I sat back in my seat and slid my headband off with a sigh of relief. The room finally began to shift with human movement. Pat leaned toward me.

“That was stupid, Maddie,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But at least people are actually talking now.”

“So? You could get arrested.”

Voices echoed off the walls. I wanted to know who the other person on the screen was and I looked around the room, as if he would be waving to get my attention.

Two bouncers followed a petite woman in a gray business suit down the main aisle of the auditorium. They stood at the center of the room and stared awkwardly at the crowd. The woman yelled out in a voice that sounded too strong for her small frame.

“We apologize. There’s been a technical problem with our computers.”

An annoyed grumble erupted from the crowd and she held up her hand.

“This has never happened at Club Nino. Until we can localize the problem, I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep the wall screen turned off.”

The audience shouted arguments about the cover charge.

“If you don’t want to wait, we will be happy to reimburse you for your tickets tonight. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience,” she said, and with that, she bolted up the aisle toward an exit sign with the two bouncers hurrying behind her.

Chairs squeaked and sighed as people stood up and started to move toward the exit in a herd. I felt a hand tug my dress.

“Let’s get out of here before they localize the
problem,
” Pat said. I nodded and stood up but before I moved a step a security guard blocked my way. He was at least a foot taller than me and built like a heavyweight boxer.

“You better come with me,” he said in a deep voice that sounded as if it were buried in his massive chest. “We have a few questions for you.”

I swallowed and attempted to look confident. I imagined I was wearing combat boots instead of high heels. “I don’t think so,” I said.

“We don’t want to have to call the police,” he said. “I’m sure we can handle this quietly if you cooperate.” His eyes dared me to argue.

“I’m not talking to anyone until I call my lawyer,” I bluffed. I had no idea what that meant but I’d heard the line in a movie once. It sounded intimidating. I looked over at Pat and he was shaking his head.

The security guard stood his ground.