The guidance counselor at a hellish high school.

Your eyelids feel like they weigh a metric ton as you come to. Your vision is still blurry but you can make out a nameplate reading, 'Ms. Joan: Guidance Counselor.' You struggle to sit up straight and form a question, but your tongue slides about like a disobedient slug. You finally manage to garble, "Wuh? Wha? Whaaaaat am I doing here? Where is here?"

Your bimbug body begins rejecting the **** and you can see clearly. A dainty little doll that barely sits above the desk chirps cheerily, "Wow. I didn't take you as the phillysopical type! Here is the Samantha Jenkins Center for Lost Bois, Wayward Sissies, Wanton Women, and Stifled Studs. You signed up and registered yourself as a Class 1 Contagion...which uh isn't a good thing by the way. So for the time being, you are enrolled in our private penistent...peniletentai...school! But don't worry, all your vict...uh friends enrolled in our academy too, so you won't be lonely."

There has to be some mistake! No one feels worse than you about what you did during one night of diseased, drunken desire, but you aren't a contagion! You would never spread your disease again, at least not unless someone asked you nicely. You find a scrap of pride buried deep inside somewhere and protest, "Listen, I know I made a mistake...seven mistakes, but I won't make the same mistake again. I'm not a bad person, and I'm trying to do better, and I don't deserve to be here!"

The pint size porcelain princess stands up and slams her fist onto the desk in a less than deafening thud. It's all the more impressive for it's impotence. The cute little counselor quakes with rage, and you shiver as you recognize a seething pit of regret and fury that dwarfs your own. "DESERVE?! IF WE GOT WHAT WE DESERVED, I'D BE BURIED IN A CONCRETE POOL UNDER A TOWERING SKY SCRAPER!" She takes a deep breath, and as if flipping a switch is suddenly sweetness and light. "But luckily Samantha Jenkins herself saw the good in me, and I truly believe she would see the good in you. So for the safety of everyone, it would be best if you finish your senior year here in the B campus which is exclusively bimbois for infucksion control porpoises, and as an antsillorary benefit, you will get a first rate diploma that will put you at the head of the line at any college you might choose to attend."

You consider your options, and seeing as you don't actually have any, you decide that you might as well get with the program. After all, you do want to make amends and learn how to make better decisions, and going to a posh private school populated by beautiful bimbois hardly sounds like a punishment. So, you take a deep breath, sigh, and say, "Okay...I'll do whatever it takes to make things right."

Ms. Joan smiles so bright it's almost blinding, "That's great news! Your old friend is waiting outside and she says she can't wait to show you to your new room. I don't know why she wanted to change her name, 'Samamtha' makes such a pretty sound when you say it out loud. Still, I think you'll find her new name suits her perfectly!"