The rain pummelled Greta's windshield, and even that was enough to set off her headache. As she sat in her car, wishing she was in bed, she turned to look at Flourishwood and something about it seemed . . . happier.

Maybe it was just her mood. Despite her raging hangover she had a good time the night before with Sandra. She remembered the dancing, and those guys who took shots of their stomachs. It was nice to have a friend.

She stepped out of the car and walked past Cody as he dug in the garden.

"Good morning." She smiled. "You look a little wet."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, so pleasant today." Greta smiled and made her way inside.

"What are you so happy about?" Mr. Karim said as he flipped through a three inch binder.

"I made a friend last night, if you must know."

"So." The man looked up. "You needed the day off yesterday to go out clubbing?"

"Oh God, why is it when you say that it sounds like the least fun?"

"This is serious, Ms. Quincey."

"Yeah, yeah, that's all you ever say. I get it, my job is important, I gotta be professional."

"Which means no time off for parties."

"It was my sister's bridal shower, if you must know. An yes, I absolutely had to be there."

"Fine," he said, closing the binder and handing it to her.

"What's this?"

"Policy manual. I was so busy the other day I completely forgot to give it to you."

"I have to read all of this?"

"Yes, then there is an emergency procedure manual to read as well. I'm still working on the proper decorum and professional presentation manual but you should have it by next week."

"Excellent." Greta took the book and pretended it was too heavy for her. "My God man! Are you trying to break my back?"

"And have to deal with another new counsellor? No thank you."

"Is that a joke?"

"Read it, memorize it, sign the page in the back." Mr. Karim turned to leave and Greta shrugged at Margery.

"Oh, hello dear."

"Hi Margery, no need to stand up. I'll give myself the tour."

"Tour, aren't you the counsellor? You shouldn't need a tour."

"You remember me?"

"Of course I do, dear! I may be old but I'm not senile."

"It's just that the other day you . . . are you sure you remember me?"

"Greta Quincey, the counsellor! I'm telling you girlie, I'm still just twenty years old up here." She tapped her head and smiled.

"Weird." Great whispered to herself as she made her way down the hall to the basement. She passed by some kids who were screaming and chasing each other and she smiled. They, however, just pointed and laughed.

"What? What's so funny?"

"You don't know?" One of the boys laughed harder and they disappeared into an empty room.

"Dumb kids." Greta grumbled to herself as she descended to the darkness of her underground office.

"That's a shit attitude to have on your third day."

"Who's there!?" Greta spun around, arms raised In a defensive position.

"Take a breath girl!" The woman who'd spoken had fine lines on her face, but her hair was propped in a messy side pony tail and her clothes were far too small.

"Who are you? What are you doing down here?"

"My name is Jenny, I work at the youth group upstairs. We came down to talk to you."

"We?" Greta's eyes fell on the young girl sitting in her office.

"This is Sierra." Jenny motioned for the girl to stand up but she didn't look away from her cell phone. "She was caught today smoking pot. I was wondering if you could talk to her about it?"

"Me? Isn't that your job?"

"You're the counsellor aren't you?" Jenny tapped her foot. "So counsel!"

"Okay, okay." Greta moved to her desk and looked down her nose at Jenny. "You want me to talk to this girl you gotta get out."

Jenny lifted her hands into the air and turned to Sierra. "You be good to here, you got that? You don't wanna end up like Fritz do you?"

Sierra rolled her eyes, using a comb to pick at her oversized afro.

As the door closed, Greta smiled at Sierra and the two stayed quiet. "Who's Fritz?" She finally asked and Sierra sucked her teeth.

"Why do you care?"

Greta opened her eyes wide and drummed her fingers on the desk. "Sierra, that's a nice name."

"Short for Sierra Leone."

"Oh yeah?"

"My mom's a history buff."

Greta didn't quite follow the line of reasoning, but she didn't push it. "So, you've been smoking pot?"

Sierra didn't respond. She took out her debit card and picked her teeth.

"I've got pamphlets about that!" Greta smiled and struggled to get around Sierra to the display case. "This place is so small, hard to get around with another person in here."

"What ever," Sierra didn't even try to get out of the way.

"So, I've got 'Weed is for Dweebs' and 'Dat's Dope: Teens, Peer Pressure and Drugs'"

"Those sound fucking dumb."

"I know . . ." Greta leafs through the usual X-rays of brains and stories of extreme drug abuse. "Okay, let's forget the leaflets, huh?"

Greta ripped the pamphlets in half and tossed the pieces into the air. Sierra tried to contain a wiry smile, but Greta noticed anyway.

"I love your hair. I wish I could pull that off."

"Girl, you too light skinned. Look at that silky hair on your head!"

"What? You think light skinned girls don't have nappy hair too? This is one hundred percent pure Indian weave."

Sierra looked suspicious at first. She crossed her legs and squinted her eyes and examined Greta's hair line. "Where'd you get that done? No place round here does a job that good."

"I've been living in Montreal the past few years."

"Well, you know you can't maintain that shit here, right? What you gonna do? Go to Montreal every time?"

"I haven't even thought about it, really. Maybe I'll just let it grow au naturelle."

"I don't think you could pull this shit off. You're too . . . preppy."

"By 'preppy' do you mean 'white'?"

Sierra smirked and tilted her head. "You're kinda okay, you know that? Way better then that last stuffy bitch they locked up down here."

"Well thank you." Greta now had a turn to try and conceal a big smile. "That means a lot."

There was another silence. Afraid that she'd lose Sierra to her cellphone again, Greta said, "you wanna tell me who Fritz is now?"

"My boyfriend."

"And why don't you wanna end up like him?"

"Jenny's just too uptight. She doesn't want me to have fun. Fritz got kicked outta group cause he smokes too much pot."

"Oh yeah? Do you wanna get kicked out?"

"Shit, I don't care. I'm just here to take care of my sister."

"How old is your sister?"

"Thirteen."

"She'd probably miss you if you got kicked out, huh?"

"My mom would be pissed."

"There ya go, two good reasons why you shouldn't get kicked out of group!"

"I'm not gonna stop tokin'."

"Well . . . I can't force you to. But I can ask you to use some self control. Too much of anything can hurt you, you know."

Sierra rolled her eyes and her limbs went limp. "Just when I thought you might her fuckin' cool!"

"I don't care if you think I'm cool or not. My job isn't to be cool, it's to help you stay outta trouble."

"Well I'm not in trouble."

"Yet."

Sierra cocked a brow and looked back down at her cell phone. The two remained quiet as Greta tapped her fingers.

"You're done talking then?" She asked and Sierra didn't say anything. "Well. Please don't get kicked out of group, okay? Think about your mom and your sister! Poor little . . . uh . . . what's her name again?"

"Jamaiqua."

"Jam -- . . . Jamaiqua?"

"I told you my mom's a history buff."

"Right . . . well think about little . . . Jamaiqua, okay? Think about how she'd miss you if you weren't here everyday!"

"What ever." Sierra read a text and laughed, then began to reply.

"I guess you can go, then."

Sierra's phone announced another message and she snorted. She stood up without looking away from her screen, then exited the office.