The Circle

part of you. An integral part.”
Mae let out an involuntary sco . “I don’t think it’s all that integral. Or interesting,
really.”
Josiah looked up, his eyes fiery. “But it is!”
“Lots of people kayak,” Mae said.
“That’s exactly it!” Josiah said, quickly turning red. “Wouldn’t you like to meet other
people who kayak?” Josiah tapped at his screen. “There are 2,331 people near you who

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also like to kayak. Including me.”
Mae smiled. “That’s a lot.”
“More or less than you expected?” Denise asked.
“More, I guess,” Mae said.
Josiah and Denise smiled.
“So should we sign you up to hear more about the people near you who like to kayak?
There are so many tools …” Josiah seemed to be opening a page where he could sign her
up.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mae said.
Their faces plummeted.
Josiah seemed angry again. “Why not? Do you think your passions are unimportant?”
“That’s not quite it. I just …”
Josiah leaned forward. “How do you think other Circlers feel, knowing that you’re so
close to them physically, that you’re ostensibly part of a community here, but you don’t
want them to know your hobbies and interests. How do you think they feel?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they’d feel anything.”
“But they do!” Josiah said. “The point is that you’re not engaged with the people around
you!”
“It’s just kayaking!” Mae said, laughing again, trying to bring the discussion back to a
place of levity.
Josiah was at work on his tablet. “Just kayaking? Do you realize that kayaking is a
three-billion-dollar industry? And you say it’s ‘just kayaking’! Mae, don’t you see that it’s
all connected? You play your part. You have to part-icipate.”
Denise was looking at Mae intensely. “Mae, I have to ask a delicate question.”
“Okay,” Mae said.
“Do you think … Well, do you think this might be an issue of self-esteem?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you reluctant to express yourself because you fear your opinions aren’t valid?”
Mae had never thought about it quite this way, but it made a certain sense. Was she too
shy about expressing herself? “I don’t know, actually,” she said.
Denise narrowed her eyes. “Mae, I’m no psychologist, but if I were, I might have a
question about your sense of self-worth. We’ve studied some models for this kind of
behavior. Not to say this kind of attitude is antisocial, but it’s certainly sub-social, and
certainly far from transparent. And we see that this behavior sometimes stems from a low
sense of self-worth—a point of view that says, ‘Oh, what I have to say isn’t so important.’
Do you feel that describes your point of view?”
Mae was too o -balance to see herself clearly. “Maybe,” she said, buying time,
knowing she shouldn’t be too pliant. “But sometimes I’m sure that what I say is
important. And when I have something signi cant to add, I de nitely feel empowered to
do it.”
“But notice you said ‘sometimes I’m sure,’ ” Josiah said, wagging a nger. “The
‘sometimes’ is interesting to me. Or concerning, I should say. Because I think you’re not
nding that ‘sometime’ frequently enough.” He sat back, as if resting after the hard work

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of solving her was complete.
“Mae,” Denise said, “we’d love if you could participate in a special program. Does that
sound appealing?”
Mae knew nothing about it, but knew, because she was in trouble, and had already
consumed so much of their time, she should say yes, so she smiled and said, “Absolutely.”
“Good. As soon as we can, we’ll hook you up. You’ll meet Pete Ramirez, and he’ll
explain it. I think it might make you feel sure not just sometimes, but always. Does that
sound better?”
After the interview, at her desk, Mae scolded herself. What kind of person was she? More
than anything, she was ashamed. She’d been doing the bare minimum. She disgusted
herself and felt for Annie. Surely Annie had been hearing about her deadbeat friend Mae,
who took this gift, this coveted job at the Circle—a company that had insured her
parents! had saved them from familial catastrophe!—and had been skating through.