Excerpt: Helvetica Standard

At seven forty-five on the dot, Cecille Colina, dressed up as formal as she could muster, passed through the heavy glass doors serving as the main entrance and exit of the Woods Design Studio. The secretary cocked her head at her, and chimed in with a sing-song, "Hello~!"

Cecille smiled, and replied questioningly, "Hello. I'm starting work today?"

"Are you now~" the sing-song continued. "You must be Cecille Co~li~na, right~? Perry gave me a heads-up~ Go straight down this aisle to the right of me, and she'll be the fifth person under the stairs~ She's got a cute sign, can't miss her desk at all~."

"Uh, okay, thanks," Cecille accepted the directions, slightly weirded out.

"You're very~very~welcome, good luck~."

Following the secretary's directions, passing to the left of her, she stepped through, feeling the stares of the early-morning crowd burning into her back. Thoughts went through her head: I bet they're wondering what I'm doing here. I bet they're wondering what I'm doing here. I bet they're wondering who the hell I even am. Oh, God. Oh man. Oh God oh man oh God oh man.

She arrived at Perry's cube to find an empty seat, and a computer that wasn't turned on. Her train of thought was climbing up a mountain of stress: Oh man oh God oh man oh God she's not even here did I do something wrong oh God did I read that e-mail right oh man what if I'm at the wrong cube wait no the cube is labelled Berry last I checked that was her nickname what if someone else's nickname is Berry oh my God that'd be embarassing lemme go check the cubicles in the front and the back.

She checked the cubicle across from her: it was supposed to house a Edward Crimm. The cube in front and the back of Perry's yielded Jonathans, also gone — Perry was sandwiched between Jonathans.

She thought, perhaps, that maybe she interpreted her e-mail wrong, that perhaps she was on the second floor, fifth cubicle above the stairs. She decided to backtrack.

Passing by the front desk again, she heard another quip from the secretary: "Did you find her yet~?"

"No, not yet, I haven't."

"Oh, okay~. She should be around, I saw her walk in not too long ago~."

Oh man oh God, Cecille thought. Maybe I am right, and maybe she *is* on the second floor. Let's do this, oh man it's seven-fifty-five.

She hopped up the stairs, counting them as was tradition for her: thirteen steps in total. She took it as an omen, and started panting.

She counted the cubicles in: one, two, three, four, five. The fifth cubicle housed a tall chair, and a man actually at his cubicle busy at work. The cubicle sign declared this to be the domain of one Leon Dill, and below that was a whiteboard, in the shape of a comic book speech bubble, written with one red word in underlined capital scrawl: IN.

She nodded, and retraced her steps, figuring, you know what, I'm gonna go and retreat back to the first floor. She stepped down the thirteen-step curved staircase once more, and went back to Perry's cubicle. She still wasn't there.

She started sweating, ideas pounding through her head: Oh god, I might actually get fired. I really don't want to go back to the Gap, I really don't, screw that place. And I'd just announced my declaration to move out, too. Oh man. Please let this be just a nightmare.

She decided to pull from her experience in exercising control over her dreams. She took a look at her fingers and counted the number of them: five on each hand. She plugged her nose and and tried to breathe through it; it didn't work, obviously; it was plugged.

She was in the middle of trying to defy gravity — flying was her favorite thing to do in dreams — when Perry popped up with a video camera, LED blinking red.