I had my first client today. I was to go to a middle school, and talk with an obsessive-compulsive child. Her name was Lucy Taylor. She was starting to be teased by other students. It was not right; it’s not as if she could help it.
    I walked into the main entrance of the school. The halls were the color of dirt, the lockers a mucus green. I saw kids with name brand clothing going down the halls. As I walked toward the big sign that said Guidance Counselor on the front, I saw a group of kids. They were all against the left side of the hall. They were all dressed in black, most had long hair, even the boys. The kids looked like they were having fun. Until a jock came up to them. He gave them a once-over then spat the word, ‘fag’ at them.
My heart squeezed, I used to be one of those kids in black that was called a fag in school.
    “Hey,” I said to the football player. “That’s not a very nice word to say, and I could report you. You don’t know what these kids have been though. Well, scratch that, you do know. Most of the time it’s you causing it,” the kid looked at me.
    “I’m just being honest. Isn’t honesty supposed to be a good thing?” he asked sarcastically. He didn’t give a shit, and I knew it.
    “Honesty is great, until you make an ass of yourself. Then, you’ll end up homeless, and alone, because they all hate you,” my fury from when I was in high school unleashed on him. I didn’t mean for it to, though.
    “Whatever,” he walked away. My jaw clenched, and I took a breath. I despised adults, and the way they corrupted their children.
    I walked past the kids in black. I felt their eyes on me as I passed. Then, I felt a small, cold hand on my arm. I turned. A petite, black-haired, blue-eyed girl stood looking up at me. I could see one thousand years through her eyes.
    “Yes?” I asked.
    “Thank you,” she said. She had such a tiny voice. I nodded at her, and then she turned back to the group. She was one of the kids in black.
    I walked into the guidance counselor’s office. An older woman in a gray suit sat at a brown desk. She looked up at me with brown eyes.
    “You must be Dr. Demidov,” she said standing up.
    “Yes, and you are?” I asked. She walked toward me, and held out her hand.
    “I’m Mrs. Blake,” she shook my hand. The way her head tilted, I could see the gray streaking through her almost black hair. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I will go get Lucy,” she walked out of the room.
    I sat in the chair, in front of the desk, looking around her office. Mrs. Blake’s walls were white, and pictures sat on her desk. There were some little kids, all smiling, with adults over them. Some looked happy, others stood with plastic smiles on their faces. I couldn’t help, but feel bad for the kids. They had to be raised in this plastic world. I vowed that if I ever had a child, they would be purer than any.
    Mrs. Blake stepped in the room.
    “Dr. Demidov, meet Lucy.”