The Circle

peeved?
Mae promised Nanci that she was not peeved, answered with an XO, sent her ten subsequent
     smiles, and went back to her queries, hoping that Nanci was satisfied and happy and
     that they were cool. She took three more queries, she followed up with surveys, and
     saw that her average was at 99. This provoked a flurry of congratulatory zings, watchers
     happy to see Mae’s commitment, still, to the day-to-day tasks at the Circle and essential
     to the operation of the world. So many of her watchers, they reminded her, were working
     at desk jobs, too, and because she continued to do this work, voluntarily and with
     evident joy, they saw her as a role model and inspiration. And this felt good. This
     felt truly valuable to Mae. The customers made her better. And serving them while
     transparent made her far better. She expected this. She was apprised by Stewart that
     when thousands, or even millions, are watching, you perform your best self. You are
     cheerier, more positive, more polite, more generous, more inquisitive. But he had
     not told her of the smaller, improving alterations to her behavior.
    The first time the camera redirected her actions was when she went to the kitchen
     for something to eat. The image on her wrist showed the interior of the refrigerator
     as she scanned for a snack. Normally, she would have grabbed a chilled brownie, but
     seeing the image of her hand reaching for it, and seeing what everyone else would
     be seeing, she pulled back. She closed the fridge, and from thebowl on the counter, she selected a packet of almonds, and left the kitchen. Later
     that day, a headache appeared—caused, she thought, by eating less chocolate than usual.
     She reached into her bag, where she kept a few single-serving aspirin packets, but
     again, on her screen, she saw what everyone was seeing. She saw a hand searching her
     bag, clawing, and instantly she felt desperate and wretched, like some kind of pill-popping
     addict.
    She did without. Every day she’d done without things she didn’t want to want. Things
     she didn’t need. She’d given up soda, energy drinks, processed foods. At Circle social
     events, she nursed one drink only, and tried each time to leave it unfinished. Anything
     immoderate would provoke a flurry of zings of concern, so she stayed within the bounds
     of moderation. And she found it freeing. She was liberated from bad behavior. She
     was liberated from doing things she didn’t want to be doing, eating and drinking things
     that did her no good. Since she’d gone transparent, she’d become more noble. People
     called her a role model. Mothers said their daughters looked up to her, and this gave
     her more a feeling of responsibility, and that feeling of responsibility—to the Circlers,
     to their clients and partners, to the youth who saw inspiration in her—kept her grounded
     and fueled her days.
    She was reminded of the Circle’s own survey questions, and she put on her survey headset
     and got started. To her watchers she was expressing her opinions constantly, yes,
     and felt far more influential than before, but something about the tidy rhythm and
     call-and-response nature of the surveys felt missing. She took another customer query,
     and then nodded. The distant bell rang. She nodded.
    “Thank you. Are you happy with the state of airport security?”
    “Smile,” Mae said.
    “Thank you. Would you welcome change in airport security procedures?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Does the state of airport security dissuade you from flying more often?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thank you.”
    The questions continued, and she was able to get through ninety-four of them before
     she allowed herself to lapse. Soon the voice arrived, unchanged.
    “Mae.”
    She ignored it on purpose.
    “Mae.”
    Her name, spoken by her voice, continued to hold its power over her. And she hadn’t
     discovered why.
    “Mae.”
    It sounded, this time, like some purer version of herself.
    “Mae.”
    She looked down to her bracelet, seeing a number of zings asking if she was okay.
     She knew she had to respond, lest her watchers think she’d lost her mind. This was
     one of the many small adjustments she had to get used to—now there were thousands
     out there seeing what she saw, having access to her health data, hearing her voice,
     seeing her face—she was always visible through one or another of the campus SeeChange
     cameras, in addition to the one on her monitor—and so