BABYSITTER'S GUIDE TO SURVIVING SLASHERS

9 - Reagan

First period English goes by smoothly but slowly. I'm in second period now and starting to believe this might actually be somewhat of a normal day when the intercom buzzes, interrupting our math lesson on advanced quadratics.

"Reagan Tucker please report to the guidance office."

The room goes silent. All eyes are on me. I really should have seen this coming. So much for a normal day.

I get up from my desk, stuffing my notebook into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. Quickly, I hurry out of the class so that nobody gets the chance to take pictures of me. It wouldn't be the first time my father paid a fellow student for pictures and scoops on me. What a lucky daughter I am to have such an intrepid reporter for a father. If only he hadn't sold out my story, or more importantly, me, out for every penny he could.

Maybe I could have forgiven the bullshit book filled with inaccuracies he wrote, despite it putting my trauma out for everyone with fifteen dollars to read. The step too far was taking a job as a live news reporter and using me as his first piece when I had only just started to talk again after all those years, putting me live on national television. I will never forget.

Mom and I have had our troubles the last few years trying to navigate the minefield that is my mental health. But that woman has always put me first. I'll always remember after that ambush interview, the punch to the face he got, followed swiftly in the next few days by his suitcases on the front porch, separation papers, and a restraining order.

The hallway is empty. I'm in no rush to get to the guidance office. Every few months or so we get a new guidance counselor like it's clockwork. Some poor schmuck who doesn't realize just how screwed up everyone here really is and ends up realizing it isn't worth the minimal amount they're most likely paid. I don't care what any expert says. No amount of education can prepare them to truly help us deal with this.

I wonder what new 'expert' Principal Shyne managed to rope in this time. Lord, I just pray it's a woman. Yes, they come off as judgey sometimes, but they're almost always easier to talk to.

I should really tell Mom I saw Drayton. So I send a text. He was here outside and tried talking to me. Maybe she can get to work on getting that restraining order back.

Only a few feet away from the guidance office she responds. Ewwww. Followed by the vomit emoji. I'll take care of it.

I knew she'd understand.

Okay, let's get this over with.

The guidance office is a small cramped room that is almost clausterphobia inducing with barely enough space for the bookshelf, desk and two chairs on either side. My mind is completely elsewhere as it is every other time I come in here while I take my seat.

"Hello Reagan." It is his familiarly warm voice that snaps me fully back into attention and I realize instantly who I'm sitting across from.

I almost can't believe it. Despite what my eyes are seeing I truly can't believe who this handsome yet alarmingly young supposed new counselor is. But the name plate on his desk confirms it.

Carter Dawes

I can't even get out a syllable to say to the childhood crush that was my babysitter's younger brother. We set in silence, staring and it almost feels like eternity while my mind struggles to comprehend this. He can't really be the new guidance counselor, can he?