Middle Ground by Katie Kacvinsky Page A

opposite wall. Looking closer, I realized it wasn’t a chart; it was the outline of a human brain.
My
brain. It was split up into two sections, one red and one blue. The blue side was markedly larger. One word next to a percentage labeled each area of my brain:
     
POSITIVE: 11%
NEGATIVE: 89%
     
    I looked from her to the screen and back, waiting for her to explain.
    “Our minds are like energy fields, Madeline,” she said. “They’re controlled by our emotions, which is what I’m measuring right now. As you can see, you harbor mostly negative emotions like fear, anger, anxiety, and hostility. Very unhealthy. These kinds of feelings are toxic. They’re like viruses infecting your mind. If you don’t fight them off, they’ll eventually take over.”
    I blinked at the screen. “How can you tell what I’m
feeling?
”
    She pointed to the MindReader I wore. “This MR is the center’s own design. The electrodes can analyze emotional activity in your brain, and our modeling system categorizes it.”
    “How convenient,” I mumbled.
    She studied me. “What was that?”
    “Why don’t you
ask
me how I’m feeling? I thought that was the way counseling worked. You ask the questions and I answer them.” I looked back at the screen and wondered what my brain activity for rebellion looked like. It was probably off the charts.
    She nodded like she was used to this kind of response. “Technology’s come a long way,” she informed me. “This instrument can measure your brain waves, your blood pressure, and your hormone levels. The neuroscope,” she said, pointing to the electrode, “is one hundred percent accurate. No human being, no matter how intelligent, can compete with that kind of perfection.
    “Some psychiatrists,” she continued, “prefer to counsel the old-fashioned way and ask questions, but humans are confusing creatures to understand. They lie, they doubt. They say one thing and mean another. They repress some emotions, they obsess over others. It can take years of work to draw any kind of conclusions. This system can do it in a matter of seconds,” she said with a smile.
    You’re right,
I thought.
Why ask me questions when you can plug me in and categorize my brain? Saves lots of time.
She studied my eyes for a few seconds and then pointed at the screen, which was still recording my apparently angry brain waves.
    “This number is what concerns me,” she said. “Negative energy is like a disease in the body. It weakens you. It festers. It wears you down. It can make you self-destructive, even violent. It’s unhealthy to internalize these emotions for very long.”
    “At least I’m feeling something,” I pointed out.
    “You feel very strong emotions, Madeline,” she agreed. “But my goal at the DC is to help you find a positive outlook on life. What we aim to work on here is your animosity toward your life,
toward DS,
which is breeding your hostility. We want you to be happy. We want to show you, day by day, why this system is right and is best for everyone. Why you should trust it, not fight it. Life is too short to be this angry. Our goal is to increase this number,” she said, and pointed her finger at the red, positive area of my brain.
    I stared at the numbers, not convinced they reflected what she claimed.
    “And we have six months to do it,” she added, and reached into the front pocket of her lab coat. I blinked at her words.
    “Six months?”
    “That’s a normal DC sentence. Sometimes it’s shorter if you’re open to the treatment.” In her hand, she held a small compact. She flipped it open and there was a square tablet inside. I immediately shook my head.
    “It’s just a relaxant,” she said. “It dissolves on your tongue. It’s the only way to guarantee we’re getting the facts out of you during these meetings. Although we might not need that with you,” she added with a tight grin. “You seem more than eager to speak your mind.”
    I looked at the orange tablet