If you're confused, I rewrote the beginning of this story, so I had to add an extra chapter because I wrote too much lol.

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“Here.”

Mr. Heywood watched me intently as I placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, making sure it was on a coaster. My mom would kill me if I damaged the wood on her table. Mr. Heywood gave me a polite smile as he picked up the hot mug, putting it to his lips, and taking a sip. He made a face, putting the cup back down on the table. “Sugar?” he requested in a sweet voice.

“Um, sure, I’ll go get it,” I told him, treading back into the kitchen.

It took me a few moments to locate the small, porcelain jar that we kept the sugar in. After grabbing a spoon and some half-and-half just in case he wanted it, I returned to the living room. Mr. Heywood looked at me expectantly as I placed the condiments in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I awkwardly stood in front of him for a moment before taking a seat across from him on the couch. He picked up the sugar, and began to pile spoonful after spoonful into his cup. So much to the point where I doubted you could even taste the coffee. “Isn’t that a little unhealthy?” I commented as he raised the mug to his lips and took a sip.

He shrugged. “Most likely. But I like it better this way.”

“Like a kid,” I commented, twiddling my thumbs.

Mr. Heywood chuckled. “I suppose, yes.”

It went silent again and I awkwardly stared at the floor. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I could say. I barely knew the man, how could I think of small talk? Saying something like “how’s the weather?” seemed incredibly lame. I glanced up at Mr. Heywood quickly. He was staring at me with a pained expression. Confused, I furrowed my eyebrows. Why was he giving me that look? He abruptly looked away, a scowl appearing on his face. I dropped my eyes back to the floor quickly.

Eventually the silence started getting to me, so I asked the question we both knew I was going to ask eventually. “So the other day… Did you… did you know those guys back there?”

Mr. Heywood nodded his head. “Yeah…” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “They were from the gang I used to be in.”

I nodded as he spoke. And then what he said actually processed in my mind. My jaw dropped. “You were in a gang?”

Mr. Heywood nodded, grinning at me. “Yep. Get me more coffee.”

I stared at him, my mouth still hanging open. Did he actually just order me to go get him more coffee when he was a guest in my house? What happened to the nice, suave, and handsome biology teacher?

“Get to it,” he said, shooing me with hands.

Still in shock, I stood up and went to the kitchen to make him another cup of coffee. So, not only was our new biology teacher an ex-delinquent, but he either had a split personality, or he was a total fake at school. There was also the possibility that I was just reading into this wrong… No, that seemed almost impossible. He was definitely ordering me around. But maybe he meant it in a friendly way? I almost laughed at the thought. Yeah, right.

After I had finished his fresh cup of coffee I went back into the living room. Mr. Heywood was pawing through a bowl of candy on the table, frowning deeply at the bowl. He sure was making himself at home at my house. I set the new cup of coffee down in front of him and he pulled it closer to him, pouring in heaps of sugar once again.

I sunk back down onto the couch across from him. “You weren’t really going to let those thugs beat you up, were you?”

Mr. Heywood barked out a laugh. “No way. I could take them.”

“You sound confident. What if they did manage to get you?”

“Impossible. No one can beat me. But it was funny when you hit that guy in the head with a bag of cans.”

I frowned at Mr. Heywood who was now downing his coffee. Was this guy serious? An ex-gangster? How had he managed to become a teacher then? And did he still fight for fun?

“More coffee.”

“Are you kidding me?” I responded, gaping at him. “More than two cups in one sitting? That’s really unhealthy.”

“Who are you? My mother?”

“No, but—”

“I want more coffee,” he interrupted me, holding out the mug. “Now.”

I jumped when he cracked his knuckles. This guy was really serious! I took the mug from him and hurried to the kitchen, hurriedly making him his third cup of coffee. I wondered momentarily how he could be so tall if he drank so much coffee, or how his teeth could be so white. He must have gained immunity to it or something. Lucky.

“This is your last cup,” I told him as I gave him the mug back.

“I get to decide that,” he told me, wagging his finger at me. “I’m hungry. Go make me something to eat.”

“No!” I cried, staring at him incredulously. “I just made you three cups of coffee! Now you want me to make you something to eat?”

“Obviously… because I’m hungry,” he said slowly, emphasizing every syllable.

I stared at him. “Get out!”

“No.”

“No?” This man was unbelievable!

“What if the thugs are out there?” he asked with mock fear. “They might have come back.”

“I don’t care!”

Mr. Heywood smirked and cracked his knuckles. “Should I teach you a lesson about kicking me out?”

I stumbled backwards away from him, falling over my front table. My hands shot out in panic as I felt my feet slip out from under me. I landed on my back with a dull thud while I stared up at the ceiling in surprise. At least it didn’t hurt when I fell.

Mr. Heywood chuckled. “I’m not really going to beat you up.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was unbelievable. He seemed like such a nice guy at school! But he was actually such a demanding devil! What happened to my suave mystery man? How would the people in school take it when I told them? “They won’t believe it,” I muttered to myself.

I heard Mr. Heywood stand up and he appeared over me momentarily. He brought down his hand and grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me to my feet. I scrambled up myself to save myself from being choked. He smiled innocently at me. “I hope you don’t mean the students and or faculty at school when you say ‘they’,” he remarked.

“Oh yes I did,” I told him.  “When they find out you’re actually like this…”

“But they aren’t going to.”

“What? Of course they are if I tell them.”

“But you won’t… right?” Mr. Heywood smiled at me, but I could sense the danger behind his words. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, would you?”

Was he threatening me? I gawked at him. He definitely was. He still had that sweet tone to his voice, but his eyes were screaming, “tell anyone, and you’re dead.”

I didn’t want to die.

“Um, okay. I won’t tell anyone,” I muttered, looking to the side.

Stupid, blackmailing, devil of a teacher.

“Good. Now make me some dinner.”

“What?”

“Make some food,” he told me, frowning slightly. “Is your hearing okay?”

“It’s fine,” I snapped. “But why should I make you food?”

“I’m hungry.”

Obviously. “Why can’t you go home and eat?”

“Don’t you have to make dinner for yourself? Why don’t you just make me some as well?”

After a moment of silence, I sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

“Great.”

“But you’re going to help.”

Mr. Heywood groaned, but he followed me to the kitchen. I ordered him to unload the groceries while I got out the cooking utensils and supplies. So much for having all that steak to myself. I grabbed a pan for the steak, a baking sheet for potatoes, and a pot for vegetables. I didn’t care what he wanted to eat, if he demanded I made him something, he would eat what I wanted to eat.

“Wrap two potatoes in tin foil,” I told him, tossing him the roll of tin foil. “And then put them on the cooking sheet. When you’re done, start peeling carrots.”

He grunted in response and I heard him mutter a complaint, but I ignored him. After a few moments of searching through the drawers, I realized my vegetable peeler was missing. Frowning, I pulled out two knives as a replacement. I started peeling the carrots as Mr. Heywood continued to wrap the potatoes in tin foil. When he was done he sat next to me and picked up a carrot and knife.

I was aware of him watching me for a few moments as I peeled the carrots and finally I looked over at him. “What?”

“You’re good at that,” he commented, slowly and awkwardly peeling his own carrot. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Every night,” I told him, continuing in my peeling.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She has to work late in order to support us. I don’t want her to have to worry about unimportant things like cooking, laundry, cleaning, and stuff like that so I do it.”

“Impressive,” he commented, nodding his head.

“What about you?”

“I live alone. I don’t really like cooking, so I usually go out or something.”

“That’s unhealthy…”

Mr. Heywood chuckled. “Sometimes my neighbor will make me dinner. She’s a nice lady.”

I hope you don’t order her to do that, I thought to myself with a grimace. I watched Mr. Heywood peel for a second and reached out my hand to stop his.

“What?” he asked, pausing in his motions.

“You’re going to cut yourself like that!” I told him, taking the knife away. “Be careful!”

“It was working fine,” he told me, shrugging.

“Hold it going down and hold the carrot from the top,” I ordered, putting the knife back in his hand the correct way and showing him how to do it.

“Fine.”

By the time dinner was finally finished, I was worn out. Cooking with Mr. Heywood was something I didn’t ever want to do again. It was like he was purposely doing the wrong things. I placed both our plates at the dinner table, where Mr. Heywood was already seated.

“Get me some water,” Mr. Heywood demanded as soon as I sat down.

I smiled a fake smile at him and stood up. “My pleasure.”

I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water for both him and myself and a few ice cubes from the freezer. After putting ice cubes into two glasses, I brought them over to the table. Mr. Heywood grabbed one of them and poured his water into his glass, taking a large gulp.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Oh. Thank you.”

I nodded approvingly, thinking he was just going to ignore me. We ate in almost complete silence, with small comments here and there, or Mr. Heywood demanding something. I started on my steak, and began shaking excessive amounts of salt on it. Mr. Heywood’s hand shot out to stop me.

“Whoa, relax on the salt!”

I frowned at him. “I like salt.”

“You’ll die early,” he warned me.

“Like you should talk! You use way too much sugar in your coffee, and you drink too much of it too!”

“But it’s not as bad as salt,” he told me, shrugging.

“How do you know?”

“I’m a biology teacher, remember?”

I blanked at that. I had completely forgotten he was a biology teacher! How could I have forgotten I was having dinner with my biology teacher? With his soft looking hair and an attractive voice and… I mentally slapped myself; what was I thinking? He was my teacher! I couldn’t be having these thoughts.

Mr. Heywood stood up abruptly, effectively pulling me away from my thoughts. I stared at him curiously, puzzled by his sudden movement.  He stretched for a moment, and then waved at me. “I’m leaving now.”

“You’re not even going to help me pick up?” I asked incredulously. “Or finish?”

“Nope,” Mr. Heywood responded with a wink. “I’ll stop by some other time for another meal.”

“You can’t,” I told him, slightly surprised.

“Why not?”

“You’re my teacher and I’m your student. It’d be… weird.”

Mr. Heywood laughed. “No it wouldn’t. It’s not like we are doing anything bad. And besides…”

“What?”

“You’re the only one who knows, and will ever know, about my ‘other’ personality,” he told me with another wink.

“Wait, don’t you want me to get the gas for you?”

He shook his head. “It’s cold outside, you should stay in here. I can figure it out.”

I frowned slightly. “After you open the barn door it will be the shelf directly to the right.”

“Thanks,” Mr. Heywood responded, turning to give me a quick smile. “Goodbye, Holly Evers.”