Cary could always find it in herself to forgive ignorance, but in front of her was nothing but a celebration of abject stupidity. She was sitting in a recording studio, watching as one of her clients performed a fantastically scripted lesson in how to butcher a job interview. And another client, one of a group of five--five!--pop stars that were now in her professional care, was putting a warm hand on her shoulder, and giving her an almost pitying smile.

“This is the saddest thing, isn’t it?” Her voice had a soft, wavering note that made the sentiment more believable. But that flawless smile still threw Cary for a loop.

“This isn’t sad,” said Cary. “This is a joke. A live televised joke at mine and the city’s expense.”

“Now, now!” said the girl, giving a small smile with an encouraging twinkle in her eyes. “Didn’t I say that I picked you because I knew you cared? In fact,” she added, with a wink, “that’s why I need you.”

“Need me for what?” Cary asked.

“To go up there!” said the girl, her ponytail bouncing with an eager nod, “And use your magic!”

Cary opened her mouth in protest, but her voice was stolen by raucous laughter from the set. There sat Odila Caro Dean, better known as Quirky Dream of the pop star juggernaut, Dream Come True. She looked like an amateur supervillain, slouching in her chair with a messy-print tee and beaten up windbreaker sloughed over, as if to taunt the poor suit across from her spot at the table.

“Where will I be in five years? Dead, probably” she said. “I’ve got a couple great theories about how it’s going to go if you want to hear them.” She gave another rough guffaw. “Oh, wait, was this about the job?”

Cary shook her head tersely. “No ‘magic’ of mine is going to do anything for her. She wants to destroy her career with the world watching? Good for her. Let her live the dream.”

“Cary,” the girl said, “we both know that’s not true right?”

Cary felt the weight grow again. Her skeleton groaned in protest as it grabbed her words and hoisted them to her lips. “Okay Iona,” she sighed. “Why me?”

“Because you’re our career guidance counselor!” she said with a pleasant ring.

“And why is that?” said Cary. “I haven’t done anything. Up until a few days ago, I didn’t even like you!”

Iona paused, tapping her cheek. For a moment, it gave a more human break in her smile, before it warmly bubbled back like the foam on hot chocolate.

“I don’t want to see a pop star, and I don’t want to see a bully,” she said. “I want to see Cary Rivera on that stage, doing the best she can for Odila.”

“I don’t do stages,” said Cary. “I do computer labs and unemployment lines. Do I look stage ready to you?”

“Believe in your beauty, Cary,” said Iona. “Believe in the good heart that promised us jobs, even when we gave you trouble.” Her face had a note of cautious optimism, before busting into a bright wink. “And that! Is an authentic Beauty Dream Pep Talk!”

“You can sell anything, can’t you?” Cary said. Despite herself, she was smiling. “I can’t just march up there. Everything’s already scripted for--”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” said Iona with a small wave. Cary saw a sudden movement at the corner of her eye, turning to see the interviewer bolt up out of his chair, as if he saw something venomous in it. As he did, his outstretched arms framed a slight woman with a warm twinkle in her eyes, dropping her hand down as if she had just whispered into his ear.

“Ah, Lori’s so good at this!” Iona said, extending a folder Cary was certain she didn’t have before. “Serafine, there you are! Perfect timing!”

“Apologies for the delay; I needed to exchange a few words with the set crew,” said an elegant woman, turning Cary around and effortlessly pulling her close to fasten a stage microphone to her lapel. “I must say, you look rather handsome with this! Perfect for your debut.”

“My what?!” Cary spat.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” said Iona, spinning Cary back around the moment Serafine’s fingers left her collar. “I’ll make sure everything’s right. Just get up and do your thing!”

“What thing?!” Cary nearly yelled, feeling her shoulders being directed toward stage. “I don’t have a thing! I--!”

With a light shove, she was on the stage, alone before a modest business chair where the interviewer once stood. There was a buzz in the background, of the burning lights, and of Iona fluttering to and fro giving impromptu instructions to the camera crew with a bubbly nod and a sweet grin. And yet for a horrible, burning moment, Odila met her eyes in brief, angry shock, and Cary felt like she was alone in dead space.

“Well! Well well!” said Odila. “If it isn’t the patron saint of paper cuts! How can I help you waste my time, Care-Bear?”

“I need to sign off on your case,” said Cary. There was a rattle of panic in her stomach, but she felt her spine instinctively straighten, carrying her poise down into the chair “Didn’t you promise me you’d follow up?”

“Yeah, I guess. Don’t really care,” said Odila. “Would you mind bringing What’s-His-Deal back? I was working it.”

“Cut the crap,” said Cary. “If you want this job, hooray. But if you’re going to embarrass yourself, at least give us the dignity of trying.”

“What, do you cry if your client bombs an interview?” said Odila, shrugging.

“Be honest,” said Cary. “This is because of the Dusty thing, right?”

Odila’s face didn’t move, save for the wild widening of her eyes at Cary’s words. Cary marveled excitement she felt, what she assumed one feels when they set off a homemade bomb.

“‘The Dusty Thing’? The Dusty Thing?” Odila’s face snarled into a brighter smile, twinged with the heat of her own manicured anger. “I don’t know what I love more, the fact that you phrased it like ‘oopsie, spilled milk!’ or the fact that you’re making it sound like her fault!”

“So that’s it, then?” said Cary. Despite herself, seeing the flames spread gave her an odd glee.

“I dunno smartass, what do you think?” snapped Odila. “My boss was bragging about molesting my best friend, and what does my company do? Put her work on hiatus and make me kiss ass to you.”

“I gave you a hard time, and I was wrong” said Cary. “But I’m serious. I want to get you all jobs. And if your dream job is the one you have, then I’m fighting to get it back to you.”

“Remind me again, what did you call us? ‘Dumb brats’, was it? ‘Bimbos with too much time on our hands?’ Classy.”

Cary took a moment to exhale. “I get I’m not your friend,” she said, “so let me be your guidance counselor. Be pissed. Punch holes through the wall. But don’t let it end like this.”

“Like what?” Odila asked.

“This!” Cary said, sweeping her arm over the space above the table. “All of this! Even I can see you’re smarter than this! If you’re going to fight for your friend, don’t just make it a joke for everyone to laugh at!”

“I’m not the one who made this a joke,” said Odila. Her eyes darted to the side, but her baleful smile stayed form. “So don’t get off on lecturing me.”

“She doesn’t deserve this,” said Cary. “And neither do you.”

A dark flash crossed Odila’s face. If Cary didn’t know better, she’d think Odila was being reflective. She drummed her fingers in a perfect beat along the table top, before pulling herself forward and give Cary a narrow-eyed grin.

“Hey, not bad Cary,” she said. “Really! I’m surprised how...how do I put this? Significantly not punchable a few of those lines were.”

“Thanks?” Cary asked.

“You’re welcome,” said Odila. “So if you’re being a career guidance counselor, let me be Odila. Not Quirky Dream--me, the biggest little monster in this band of swans.”

Her palm struck thunderously against the table. Cary had just enough time to grab a jostled pen before Odila threw her crossed heels onto the table, slouching leisurely against her hands slung to the back of her neck. But Cary could see the angle of her teeth--it was the smile of an animal with the prey in their sights.

“That’s not good enough,” she said, practically hissing with laughter. “You wanna give me a--what? Mock interview?” she snorted, jutting her chin in a ‘come at me’ gesture. “Sure, whatever. Make my day, Care-Bear. I’ve made bigger kids than you cry!”

Cary nodded. “We’ll see,” she said, too quiet for anyone to hear. And so began her first battle of many against the pop stars of DCT, all of which she would neither win nor lose, nor easily see the other side of.