Chapter 3: Tutor or Tormentor?

I cocked my head, feigning innocence. His smirk faltered just a little.

He followed my gaze and suddenly froze, disbelief all over his face.

“Ho…how could it be you!”

His voice cracked, and for once, he looked genuinely rattled.

Standing behind me was Mr. Williams, the head of household security!

Mr. Williams was built like a linebacker and had a stare that could freeze boiling water. He nodded at me, then turned his attention to Graham.

He bowed respectfully:

“Young master, Mrs. Whitaker has already arranged for Miss Annie to be your study companion. You should follow her instructions in your daily routine.”

His words were calm, but his tone brooked no argument. Even Graham knew better than to push his luck.

Graham stared at me for a couple seconds, then doubled over laughing:

“Hahahaha! Are you two putting on a show for me?”

He clapped his hands, his laughter echoing off the walls. “Seriously? This is the best you could come up with?”

“Mr. Williams, what are you talking about?”

He shot the security chief a look of disbelief. “This has to be a joke, right?”

“She’s just a maid, skipping chores, and now she wants to teach me? What a joke!”

He scoffed, but there was an edge to his voice. The room felt charged, like a summer storm was brewing.

“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s not easy for you to come at night, so I won’t argue. Go to my room, take two silver dollars, and don’t ruin my fun with Annie.”

He tried to wave us off, but his bravado was slipping. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He came forward and grabbed my hand, refusing to let go.

His grip was tight, but I didn’t flinch. I just stared him down, unblinking.

I said calmly:

“Mr. Williams, show the young master what the rules are.”

I nodded, giving the signal.

In the next second, Mr. Williams moved like lightning, twisted the young master’s arms behind his back, and pinned him to the couch:

“Young master, forgive me. Mrs. Whitaker ordered me to obey Miss Annie in all matters.”

Graham yelped, thrashing against the couch cushions. His pride took a bigger hit than his wrists.

Graham cried out in pain and cursed:

“Mr. Williams, are you nuts? Let me go!”

His voice cracked with outrage.

I stood calmly to the side:

“Keep going. Don’t stop.”

I folded my arms, doing my best impression of Mrs. Whitaker herself.

That day, Graham screamed for a good long while. He finally remembered the terror of being forced to run laps by Mr. Williams as a kid.

The echoes of his protests bounced down the hall, but no one came to his rescue. By the end, he looked more exhausted than angry.

Early the next morning, at dawn, I dragged the young master out of bed on time.

The sun was barely up, the dew still clinging to the grass. Graham blinked at me like I was the devil incarnate.

“No struggle, no gain—a life lived in vain! No pain, no exhaustion—life’s got no flavor!”

I barked out the slogans like a drill sergeant, waving my little wooden ruler for emphasis. Molly peeked out from the kitchen, eyes wide as saucers.

“Go! You can do it! You have to! Even if you can’t, you gotta try!”

I chanted, my voice echoing off the marble floors. Graham shuffled forward, grumbling under his breath.

“Valedictorian on your left foot, salutatorian on your right—trip on both and you’ll end up back in the sticks!”

I tossed in the last one for good measure, watching Graham’s face twist in confusion and annoyance.

With a little wooden ruler in hand, I supervised the young master as he chanted these slogans. If he slowed down, I gave him a whack.

The sound of the ruler snapping against his calf was oddly satisfying. He yelped, picking up the pace.

I forced him to run three laps around the Whitaker estate, making his pale face flush red from exhaustion. His gasps echoed off the stone walls. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

After running, he didn’t even have the strength to curse at me. He could only raise his trembling hands:

“You… you… you… Annie, you’re killing me.”

His voice was barely a whisper, more pitiful than angry. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

Hearing this, I almost burst out laughing.

It was poetic justice, really. For once, the tables had turned.

Ha, those words sounded so familiar. Weren’t they exactly what I’d yelled at him when he tried to grab my hand a few days ago?

I smiled:

“Young master, you better not keel over—save your strength. Next is our morning reading!”

I waved the SAT book in front of his nose, grinning like a cat with cream.

After morning reading came breakfast.