[BEING REWRITTEN] Stuck With You (Ben Pincus x Reader)

You're Going to Camp [REWRITTEN]

I sat in the guidance counselor's office, slouched on a worn-out chair with arms tightly crossed against my chest. I was sweating in this ironed blazer and clawing at the collar.

The front office lady, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, one whom I had never bothered to learn her name, peered over her glasses at me with a disappointed expression.

She didn't look surprised to see me, because Ms. Prissy-of-the-office and I have seen a lot of each other over the years.

An annoyed scoff escaped me and scanned around the room so I didn't have to look at the hag. My eyes land on the various motivational posters tapped on the walls. The words 'Be the Reason Someone Smiles Today' and 'Spread Kindness like Confetti' seemed to mock the very situation I was here for.

The guidance counselor's office was a modest space, like most of the school, decorated with a few potted plants and a bookshelf filled with self-help books and pamphlets. They talked about everything from how to deal with bullying to period problems.

They were going for a safe, "You can trust us" vibe. But it only made me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

As the minutes ticked by, I tapped my foot against the floor faster, trying to let someone know I was ready to get this over with. That's when the front desk lady looked over at me and lowered her glasses with her fingertip.

"You can go in now," she said, eyeing me up and down before adjusting her glasses back up.

Reluctantly, I rose from my seat and walked toward the office door. But before I opened the door, I shot the front office lady a resentful glance, hoping she silently acknowledged that I didn't give a shit about what she thought of me.

I couldn't care less to see her reaction and quickly opened the door. When I walked inside, the principal, Mr. Buticus, stood there staring out his window with his back facing me. He had his office phone up to his ear, and his hand clenched into a fist.

Mr. Buticus is the kind of guy who wants to be taken seriously but works against himself. He had a big beer belly hanging over his pants, a coffee stain on his shirt, his tie loosely undone, and a Kick Me posted note stuck on his back.

"You tell Mr. Rud my school is full of capable students. And it does deserve an A!" He angrily yells into the phone before slamming it into the telephone hook.

He rubbed his temple, frustrated, as he leaned over his desk. Then, when he looked up and saw me, he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Please sit down," He said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk as he sat himself.

I grabbed the chair and tugged it forward, plopping down on the seat. I leaned back and spread my feet out with my hands resting on the armchair.

Usually, Mr. Buticus would give me a stern expression and tell me to sit up straight. But this time he seemed unfazed, probably giving up on trying when he knew I'd slump back down 10 minutes into the conversation.

"Welcome back Ms. (Y/N), I see my new seats are working since you keep coming back to test them." Principal Buticus began, his voice laced with a hint of weariness.

"A little back pillow would be nice. These conversations go on for quite a while." I retorted, meeting his gaze unwavering.

He huffed an irritated breath but gave me an appropriate smile. "Well, I figured you knew why I called you in here today."

"No idea," I said with sarcastic confusion.

"I think you do." He said, pulling the keyboard on his desk forward and typing quickly. "Word travels fast and you seem to be popular amongst our troublemakers." He then slightly dragged his mouse and clicked on the screen.