Greta shuffled around her tiny office, wondering what to do. She touched every pamphlet and then sat down at the desk. She pulled out the top drawer and found a dusty bible, its leather cover felt like tiny cobblestones and its pages were yellow.

She spent a moment outlining the gold cross on the spine of the old book, letting it summon memories of her childhood.

There was a short filing cabinet to her right. Greta tried each of the three drawers, but they were all locked. She drummed her fingers on the desk and rocked back in the chair.

With nothing to do, Greta quickly found herself pacing back and forth. She touched everything, and then again, leaving trail markers in the dust. In on of the cupboards she found a pink scarf and she wrapped it around her head. With a fancy laugh and a deep curtsy she pretended to be royalty, greeting her subjects.

She waved at the wall, the slow wrist wave of a queen, and spoke in a British accent as she thanked the imaginary crowd. As she slipped into her fantasy, she heard a throat clear behind her and she screamed.

Ripping the scarf from her head, she spun around and clasped her chest. Standing in the doorway was a tall, incredibly scrawny young boy with obnoxiously blonde hair and a light peppering of pale freckles.

"Oh God, I didn't see you."

"I sure saw you though." The boy entered the office and flopped into one of the chairs. "Who were you pretending to be? The Queen? Duchess Katie?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She sat in her own chair and suddenly there was three feet of desk between he two of them. She didn't like it. They were both silent for a moment, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones in a stare that seemed I challenge the other to speak first. "My name is Greta."

"Cody."

"Well, Cody, what brings you here today?"

"Don't you already know?"

"Why should I?"

"My case worker said you'd be expecting me."

"What for?" Greta wished more than ever that she had the key to the old counsellor's files.

"Community service."

"Ah, a budding criminal I suppose?"

Cody stared at Greta, crossing his arms over his narrow chest.

"What did you do?"

"Shouldn't you have all that information?"

"It's my first day."

"I killed a guy."

Greta laughed but Cody didn't. "You're joking . . . right?"

"He looked at me funny, so I jammed my pen into his neck."

Greta caught her breath. She didn't want to believe the kid was telling the truth, but he seemed so serious.

"Okay, well . . . we'll just deal with that stuff later. Do you know what you're supposed to bed owing here at Flourishwood?"

"Again, I'd like to refer you to the fact that you should know that already."

"And I'd like to remind you that it's my first day."

"What's that smell?" Cody asked and Greta pulled back just a little.

"It's my perfume. Lavender Mist."

"No, it's not that. It smells like wee--"

"How about we go find you something to do, huh?" Greta stood up so quickly her chair fell over and Cody smirked.

"Don't worry," he's aid, "I won't tell. But I doubt I'm the only one who smelled it."

"I'd on't know what you're talking about." Greta made a mental note not to smoke before work ever again, the. Gestured tot he door. "Why don't we go ask Margery where you should be, huh?"

"That old bat at the desk? She doesn't know what's going on. She thought I was the new counsellor. Sent me down here to my 'office'. . . looks more like a broom closet though."

"Yeah, well I'll just help her remember. Let's go." She stood by the door and aired for him to peel himself from the chair with a heavy sigh.

"It's not gonna be like this everyday is it?"

"Like what?"

"Disorganized? Slow? Boring?"

"I make no promises."

"Goody." With skin he'd shoulders and heavy feet, Cody shuffled out of the office and towards the stairs.

"So, Cody, you go to school around here?" Greta asks and got nothing. "Do you . . . have any hobbies? Friends? . . . anything we can talk about?"

"I'm not here to talk. I just wanna get this done so I don't have to be here anymore."

"Right . . . pleasant kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Oh no, you're a bad ass murderer, right?" Greta could see Cody smile just a little, but then he quickly regained his rock hard composure.

Once again on the main floor, Greta led Cody towards the entrance. The two didn't speak as their steps echoed off the walls. Cody's stride was long and slow, while Greta's shorter legs worked overtime to keep up.

"Margery," Greta said, "this is my new friend, Cody."

"Friend?" The boy responded with a raised brow.

"Nice to meet you, Cody." Margery smiled.

"Uh . . . yeah, we've met before."

"Not important now." Greta moved closer to Margery with a smile as big as the older woman's. "What is important is that our murderous friend--"

"Murderous?" Margery's smile faltered.

"Has been sent here for community service. Any idea where he's meant to go?"

"Oh dear, community service you say?" Margery shuffled a few pieces of paper and scratched her head.

"Excuse me." The voice was heavy with francophone influence. Greta turned towards a dirty looking woman who appeared to be in her early twenties. "What did you say the boy's name is?"

"Cody," Greta responded, taking in the French woman's long limbs and dirt smeared face.

"Cody Faucet?" Still the woman directed her questions to Greta, rather than Cody.

"Yes," the boy's voice was flat.

"He's supposed to be in the garden." The woman's heavy eye lids lowered as she inspected Cody.

"Excellent! It seems we do have a job for you, Mr. Faucet." Greta smiled at the boy, then to the French woman she said, "I'm Greta Quincey, by the way. I'm the new counsellor."

"Shiela."

"Shiela, do you mind escorting Cody to the garden?"

"I am busy."

"Oh?" Greta looked at the cell phone in Shiela's hand and questioned how 'busy' she truly was. "Well . . . where is the garden? I can take--"

Greta's words fell flat as Shiela's phone jingled and she turned away, exiting into the construction zone that was the south wing of the building.

"She's a bit rude, huh?" Greta smirked at Cody and Margery.

"Hello dear," Margery said with a smile, "can I help you?"

"What's wrong with you, anyway?" Cody said to Margery but Greta quickly pulled him away.

"What's wrong with her? What's wrong with you? Do you have a single polite bone in your body?"

Cody rolled his eyes and Greta pulled him away from Margery's desk. "Where are we going?"

"To the garden. I think Margery said it was out that door at the end of the hall."

Greta pulled Cody out through the door and noticed a figure hunched over some struggling vines. She brought Cody along with her and heard the gardener mumbling to himself.

"Hello?" She said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but a woman named Shiela told me to bring this young man out here for . . ."

The man in the garden stood up and smiled at Greta, who seemed to lose her voice. "Hey there! You saw Shiela? I gotta talk to her about these peas. I think she's been over fertilizing."

Greta's tongue twitched and stuttered. She mumbled about community service and felt her palms start to sweat.

"Community service?" The gardener smiled and turned to the boy. "You must be Cody, then. Nice to meet you."

"What ever." Cody slouched and shoved his hands into his pockets as the gardener attempted to shake one.

"You can start by carrying some of those bags of soil over here." He pointed at a pile of white plastic bags next to a rotting shed.

Cody rolled his eyes and turned to fulfill his task. The gardener smiled at Greta and she giggled.

"I'm Wallace," he said, "nice to meet you."

"I should . . . uh . . . get back to work. First day, you know."

"Right. Must be the new counsellor. You've got some real crazy shoes to fill, you know. Anybody tell you about the last counsellor."

"I . . . gotta go." Greta felt her face growing warm.

"Oh, okay." Wallace face skewed, no doubt in response to Greta's odd behaviour. She turned to leave and got to the door before he said, "what's your name anyway?"

She tried the door she had exited from but it was locked. She turned and smiled at him and he repeated his question.

"It's locked," Greta said and sidestepped towards the main entrance.

"Can you hear me?"

"I'll just use the other door." Greta walked a little faster, trying not to think about the man's large, dirty hands, or his bronzed skin.