Chapter 4

A week later, a university-wide email landed in our inboxes. It was a mandatory "Student Well-being and Mental Health Survey," an annual administrative task that everyone knew was a complete waste of time. It was long, filled with deeply personal questions, and ultimately, no one believed the administration actually did anything with the data.

There was an unspoken rule on campus: you click through the survey as fast as possible, selecting neutral answers without reading the questions. Get it done, get the confirmation email, and move on with your life.

Olivia and I were both clicking through it on our laptops one evening when Madison came back from the library. She peered over Olivia's shoulder.

"Oh, the mental health survey," she said. "I should do that now."

She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, and started reading the first question aloud. "'On a scale of 1 to 5, how often have you felt that you were unable to control the important things in your life?' Hmm. That's a tricky one."

Olivia and I exchanged a look. Of course, Madison was going to make this a whole production.

"You're not actually thinking about the questions, are you?" Olivia asked, not bothering to hide her disbelief.

Madison looked up, her expression one of profound seriousness. "Of course I am. This is for our mental health. The university needs to have accurate data if they're going to help us. We should all answer it as honestly as possible."

The seed of an idea began to sprout in my mind. It was a wicked, brilliant little seed.

I closed my laptop, a thoughtful expression on my face. "You know, Madison, you're right," I said, my tone sincere. "If you're really struggling with things, you should be completely honest. That's the only way they'll know you need help. It's actually really brave of you to take it so seriously."

A pleased smile spread across Madison's face. She puffed out her chest slightly. "Exactly. I believe in honesty."

"Good for you," I said, getting up to go to the bathroom. "You just do your thing."

For the next hour, we were treated to a running commentary of Madison's deeply honest self-assessment.

"'How often have you felt that difficulties were piling up so high that you could not overcome them?' Well, just last week with that coffee stain... I'll say 'very often.'"

"'How often have you been angered because of things that were outside of your control?' All the time! People are just so inconsiderate. 'Very often.'"

She meticulously went through every single question, giving the most dramatic, concerning answer possible. She was building a psychological profile of someone on the verge of a complete breakdown. In her mind, she was being virtuous and truthful. In reality, she was painting a giant red target on her own back.

I could barely contain my smirk.

The next day, the fallout began. I was walking past Professor Miller's office when I saw Madison standing in front of his desk. He looked deeply concerned.

"Madison," he was saying, his voice low and serious. "I was alerted by the Dean's office this morning. They received the results of your well-being survey, and frankly, they are alarming."

Madison just stood there, looking confused. "Alarming? But I was just being honest."

"Honest?" Professor Miller said, his voice rising in frustration. "You indicated that you feel hopeless 'very often,' that you have 'no one to turn to,' and you even checked the box indicating you have 'fleeting thoughts of self-harm.' Madison, these are serious flags. The university has a protocol for this. We have to take this seriously."

"Oh," Madison said, her eyes wide. "Well, sometimes when I get a bad grade, I feel like my life is over for a second. That's what I meant. I was just being precise."

Professor Miller looked like his head was about to explode. "Precise? Madison, this survey is a tool to identify students in genuine crisis, not for you to document every fleeting negative emotion! You've triggered a full-blown intervention protocol. I had to spend my morning in a meeting with Dean Thompson and a counselor from the health center. They wanted to pull you out of class, to schedule an emergency psychological evaluation!"

"Oh, I'd be happy to talk to a counselor," Madison said brightly. "I have a lot of thoughts I could share."

"That's not the point!" Miller thundered, slamming a book down on his desk. "The point is you've wasted the valuable time and resources of at least three university staff members over what you're now telling me is just you being 'precise' about a bad grade! Do you have any idea how many students on this campus actually need those resources?"

Madison started to tear up. "I don't understand why you're so angry. I was just doing what they asked. I was telling the truth."

Professor Miller just stared at her, his face a mixture of fury and utter disbelief. He looked completely and totally defeated by her unshakeable, weaponized naivete.

I walked away from his office, a wide, satisfied smile on my face. The first domino had fallen, and I had barely had to touch it. Madison's own personality was a self-destruct sequence, and all I had to do was give her a little push to press the button.