The Boiling Point | ✔️

11 | secrets we keep

SUMMER

I'm fuming. On Friday night, Mrs. Villa decided to throw a hissy fit because I went out and didn't ask her. She called me outside the theater, grilled me about what I was doing, who I was with, and if I was 'partying with boys'. I was so annoyed I hung up, only to get bombarded with texts.

The weirdest thing is that she's barely acknowledged it over the weekend, but now on Sunday, I've just gotten off the phone with my mom. Mrs. Villa actually sent her an email.

According to Mrs. Villa, I'm disobedient and messy. For going to the movies and leaving a couple pieces of clothes on my bed, which means she was in my room as well. Luckily she didn't email my dad.

I stop myself from throwing my phone down, placing it gently on my desk as I catch Mr. Villa in the corner of my eye. He's just climbed the stairs and is heading for his study down the hallway.

"Mr. Villa!" I rush out, bare feet slapping against the hardwood. "Can I talk to you about something?"

He's paused with his door half-open, coffee mug in hand. "Sure, come on in."

When I think of a study, I always picture them to look like my dad's. Wood paneled and dark and shadowy. But Mr. Villa's is totally different.

It's light and modern. A sleek glass desk with an Apple computer stands in the middle, a potted ficus in the corner, a wide window overlooking the garden, and minimalistic art hangs on the walls. He's really made this room his own compared to the rest of the house.

"So, what's up?" he asks, sitting behind his desk.

I sit opposite him and fidget with my hands. "My mom just called me, and—"

"Denise complained about you."

"Yes! But I... I honestly don't understand why," I say in exasperation. "I've been following her rules. I keep my room clean and wash the dishes and take out the trash and... culinary school is only getting started and I know it's going to be way more stressful, and living like this is just—"

I stop when I look up and see a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, god. I shouldn't be complaining to you, I'm sorry. I'm just putting you in a weird position, aren't I?"

Mr. Villa shakes his head. "No, it's not that. It's just that I figured you'd want to speak to me about this at some point."

"You did?"

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "My wife is set in her ways, but I admit it's gotten a lot worse. You see, the last time a student stayed here was four years ago."

"That long ago?"

"That long ago. We rented the guest room out to a girl called Kelsey. And, to put it shortly, Kelsey was a nightmare." He shrugs. "Since I travel so much for work, Denise was the one who dealt with her on a daily basis. She threw parties, trashed the house, brought boys back here, did drugs. Anything you can think of, she probably did it. And it skyrocketed Denise's trust issues, that's why it took four years for her to be open to another student. You."

That explains her strictness. "But I'm not that girl. I don't want to cause any problems here."

He folds his arms, his navy sweater outlining defined muscles. "I believe you. The thing is... you're not what Denise had in mind when your mom described you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she pictured you as being a homebody. A quiet bookworm who never went out. But you're not. You're outspoken and social and, you know..." He gestures to me as a whole.