Professor Ackerman isn’t too popular among students. His class is practically impossible, not to mention his freakish obsession with cleanliness. He wipes down all the tables after every period. He wishes he could do it more often. His classroom always smells like tea and subtle air freshener. Something like amberwood and cedar. Anything else gives him migraines.

He knows his students don’t like him, but he doesn’t mind. He’s not here to be a friend. He’s here to teach. He doesn’t let up on anyone, not even when most of his students fail or struggle.

You, however, are far from that. For one, you’re a straight A student. For two, you don’t hate Mr. Ackerman. You don’t know why, but there’s a certain soft spot in you that sees through his tough, professional demeanor. You see how he tics every time someone drops something on the floor or chews their gum too loud. You see how he sighs when he marks yet another student’s paper as failing. You know he just wants his students to succeed, and that it’s all tough love. You know it bothers him more than he lets on when his room is dirty.

That’s why you always stay a little bit after the bell rings, scanning the room for chip bags and gum wrappers and loose pencils and throwing them away when you see them. You don’t care if he notices. Well, maybe you do a little bit, but whatever. You still do it every time, even when it gets dark outside because it’s the last period of the day. You think it helps with your conscience—or maybe you just want him to praise you.