Middle Ground

by Katie Kacvinsky

  When we pushed open a heavy door into the main dance room, my smile quickly vanished.

  Chapter Two

  Club Nino looked like a dark movie theater. Seats took up the entire space, and the room was packed full of people staring up at an empty black screen that filled the front wall. Their eyes were hidden behind silver glasses and all of them wore thin metal MindReaders. People were rocking and laughing and nodding their heads to the music but I couldn’t figure out what was so entertaining. I turned and grabbed Clare’s hand.

  “What is this?” I yelled to be heard over the music, and a staff member tapped my shoulder and pointed to a screen on the back wall listing all of the club rules, the first being NO TALKING. I frowned back at her. What kind of a club didn’t allow you to talk? With a hundred-dollar cover? I felt a pang of guilt that Noah had just dropped four hundred bucks to take us out when I would have been happier watching them play video games at home. At least we could have had a conversation.

  An usher escorted us to four open seats in the back of the room. The seats had enough space between them so people could get in and out and waitresses could drop off drinks without obstructing anyone’s view. We sat down in the cushiony armchairs and I watched Pat to follow his lead. He opened a flap on his armrest and took out a pair of glasses, so I did the same. I put them on and jumped in my seat. Like magic, the screen at the front of the room filled with people.

  A laser light show showered over the dance floor, where a pack of glittering digital bodies moved to the music. Groups of people flirted and mingled around the club. I blinked at the movie-screen party happening in front of me. Clare nudged my arm and motioned for me to put on my MindReader, hanging on a hook on the side of the chair. I slid on the silver headband and adjusted the sides until the small foam edges fit snug against my temples. I opened up the other armrest and pulled out a thin flat computer screen that automatically snapped on with my touch. A young woman appeared on the personal screen, tall and gangly and beautiful. She wore a long, silky red dress and sat on a slender white couch. She smiled and as words traveled out of her mouth, they were spelled out on the screen like a cartoon caption.

  Welcome to Club Nino the caption read, and she waved at me. I waved back, as if she could see me. She talked me through the instructions after offering to skip ahead if I already knew how to log on. After I set up an account, she leaned back on the couch cushions, clasped her hands in her lap, and told me it was simple. My thoughts would appear on this personalized screen and I could press Send to enter them into Club Nino (the huge wall screen in front of me) or delete the words if I didn’t want people to read them.

  Try it! She encouraged me with an inviting smile.

  This is stupid, I thought. I smiled as my thought illuminated on the screen in front of me. I pushed Send and looked up to see my message floating on the bottom edge of the giant screen, but I didn’t have a body, so the words hung suspended in the air.

  I stared at my message and wondered why I was invisible. I could see Clare out on the screen, and Pat and Noah, who were already surrounded by a pack of women. My instructor must have sensed my distress. She appeared on my computer and calmly explained I needed to add my image to the wall screen. She told me to imagine what I looked like and my body would appear.

  I scanned the crowd at Club Nino. Some people had decided to go naked, although their privates were blurred out. The guys were all muscular and athletic (or maybe they just fantasized they were). Most people did opt for clothes, and judging from the looks of them, I was attending a virtual fashion show. There wasn’t an overweight, unattractive person on the screen. Every girl had glitter highlights, gleaming skin, and makeup. Some girls had styled their hair in twists and braids; others left it long and shiny. One girl had straight platinum-blond hair that fell all the way to her ankles, nearly sweeping the floor. I wondered if that impeded her dance moves. Even some of the guys had glitter highlights. One word: lame.

  Everyone dressed in the latest trends: plastic, shiny pants for the guys and metallic denim jeans and neon-colored spandex tops for the girls. It was the best-looking room of people I’d ever seen, but no one stood out. They blended together like a catalog. Even Clare had dusted some glitter makeup on her face that I know wasn’t there earlier and she suddenly changed her dress color from black to neon pink and made herself about four inches taller.

  What’s wrong with being ourselves? I thought, but I deleted the comment. I knew the problem: it was boring to be ourselves because we came flawed and ordinary. We all wanted superpowers and stage presence. Each of us wanted to turn heads and leave an impression. Technology allowed that—it made us architects. I decided the only way to entertain myself was to add some shock value to the atmosphere.

  I closed my eyes and imagined how I looked in the morning, with no makeup on, in my sweatpants and a holey T-shirt. As I visualized it, my body appeared on my personal screen. I looked tired and my eyes were a little puffy and I had ratty bed hair. Perfect. I laughed at my image, and, for a final touch, I added some leopard slippers. I hit Send and my body was teleported to the giant screen, larger than life, like I was suddenly a movie star.

  Nice look, Maddie, but don’t you think you’re being a little vain? Noah said to me. He walked over and stood by my side, where his comment floated between us in the same cartoon caption the model spoke with.

  Suddenly, a stranger approached me.

  I didn’t know sweatpants were in style, he said with a grin.

  He was a little shorter than me, with brown hair and glasses. He was wearing a gray button-down shirt and dark slacks. At least they weren’t plastic.

  Sweatpants are the new denim, I thought.

  He smiled. You want to dance?

  I frowned up at the screen while my body stalled.

  What? I asked him.

  Dance, he said, and pointed to the crowd in front of us to remind me we were at a dance club.

  I blinked back at him, stupefied. I watched people move on the floor in front of me. Couples grinded. Some people were break dancing. There was a stage you could jump on and stand above the crowd, and it was full of women. They shook their chests and hips to an audience of guys goggling below.

  The guy reached out and grabbed my hand to pull me closer. I immediately thought I didn’t like that and yanked my digital hand away.

  Sorry, he said. I was just trying to show you.

  Let’s take it slow, I thought. I’m a digital-dance virgin.

  He grinned and told me it was easy. I watched with amusement as his body awkwardly moved next to me. I laughed out loud as his feet and arms bounced to the music while I stood next to him, still and rigid as stone. I pressed Delete over and over at all the sarcastic thoughts filling my personal screen so he couldn’t read them: Are you dancing or doing jumping jacks? Wow, I’ve never seen anyone hop up and down like that before. Where did you learn your moves, whiteboyscantdance.com?

  He inched (jumped) his way closer to me, but I backed up.

  It’s nice of you to give the socially challenged guys a chance, Pat said as he came up behind me.

  Stay out of this, I thought back.

  The music switched from techno to hip-hop and before I knew it I was being nudged into a mosh pit with my new bouncy dance partner. I almost lost my body in the pack of people leaping around me. I closed my eyes and focused on the beat and mentally convinced my feet to move to the music. My digital friend smiled and nodded to encourage me. I started jumping in the air with the crowd, and my dance partner was so overcome with excitement, he picked me up and threw me over his head. I watched with alarm as my body was caught and passed over the crowd.

  This was not okay, even in a digital world.

  I tried to get down, but the crowd was loving it. I noticed a dozen other people around the dance floor being body-passed. I narrowed my eyes as a guy ran his hand up my thigh when he passed me over his head, and I started to kick and squirm until the crowd finally got the hint and dro
pped me. I fell hard to the ground, right on my butt, and just watching it made me flinch in my seat.

  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.

  Chapter Three

  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.