Piece of cake, right?

Perhaps not.

As soon as I told the class their challenge, Stu grew suspicious. I could tell by the set of his mouth and his narrowed gaze. I plastered on an innocent expression and sat back down at my desk, setting the timer on my phone for twenty minutes.

After a while I shot a furtive glance in Stu’s direction, relieved to find he had his head down, his pen scribbling away. When the twenty minutes were up, I discreetly took a picture of Stu’s work and texted it to my dad. His response came quickly.

Dad: We’re onto a winner. Bring him by the house later.

Shuffling through the papers, I saw that although they made decent efforts, nobody else had come close to getting it right. Clearing my throat, I announced to the class, “It looks like Stu’s the winner. You can come collect your prize at the end of the day.”

“Well done, Stu!” Larry congratulated.

“Shit!” Kian yelled. “Sorry, I mean, congrats, man.”

“Thanks, buddy,” said Stu, his shrewd eyes landing on me. He smelled a rat, I could tell. Now even my neck was sweaty. I’d never make a good magician. People could see my tricks coming a mile off.

“Damn, I could’ve done with that ten quid,” said Susan.

“That’s you and me both, hon,” Mary commiserated.

“Miss Anderson, can we do a competition for who’s the most fabulous next?” Susan asked, all sassy. “Because I’d definitely ace that shit.”

“Language, Susan.”

“Sorry.”

“Forgiven. And maybe we’ll make the competitions a weekly event, though I’m not sure I can afford ten pounds every time.”

“If there’s no cash on offer then I’m not interested,” Mary said with a cheeky grin.

“How about a night off homework? Would that tempt you?”

She smiled wide. “It might.”

“All right, well, I’ll see what I can do. Will you all take out the art history workbooks I gave you and open to page eleven?”

I busied myself with the next lesson, trying not to look in Stu’s direction again. I could feel his mounting suspicion like a physical thing. By the time class ended for the day I was a nervous wreck, worried he was going to outright refuse my dad’s offer of tutoring the same way he’d refused mine.

“So, where’s this ten quid I’ve been hearing about?” he asked, approaching my desk once the room had emptied out.

I picked up my bag and rummaged for my wallet before pulling out a crisp ten-pound note and sliding it across the desk. When Stu went to pick it up I held on. His eyes flicked to mine.

“There’s just one condition.”

He smirked and let go of the money, rising to his full height and folding his arms across his chest. “I thought there might be.”

“Please don’t get mad, but I talked to my dad about you. He’s the one who gave me the equation.”

“So it was a test?”

“Sort of. But I promise it was only because I have your best interests at heart.”

Stu’s eyes hardened as he stared at me, but then, unexpectedly, they softened. “You’re very lovely, Andrea, but I promise you, I don’t deserve it.”

“Just give it a shot, please. For me? You do realise that the percentage of people who could’ve solved that equation on the first go without any prior learning is tiny, right? Minuscule. You’re special, Stu, and incredibly lucky to have been born with such a mind.”

He shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with my compliment. I wondered if anyone had ever really praised him like this, or encouraged him to develop his skill.

“Look, I’ll give this tutoring thing a try, but if I don’t like it then you have to leave it at that. No pestering me to keep at it, are we clear?”

“Clear as crystal. So, are you free now? My dad is really looking forward to meeting you.”

Stu lips twitched. Clearly he found my eagerness terribly amusing.

“Yeah, I’m free. I’ll follow you in my car.”

About forty minutes later we arrived outside my childhood home. Stu scoped the place out when we got there, his eyes scanning the street.

“Nice neighbourhood,” he said as he came around to meet me.

“It is. I was very lucky to grow up here.”

“No offence, but where you live now seems like a bit of step down,” he went on, raising an eyebrow.

His comment made me tense. “Yeah, I um, I’m not in the best position right now, financially speaking. It’s all I can afford at the moment.”

“It’s a basement, right? Even I think that’s depressing, and I live in a shithole.”

I frowned. “Now you’re just being rude.”

“I speak my mind, luv, always have. You ever thought of doing something to make more money? Something that would help you pay for a better flat?”

“Of course, but what could I do? I work full-time. It doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

He eyed me closely, weighing his words. “What if I told you there was a way you could make a lump sum in just a few weeks? Would you be interested?”

I narrowed my gaze at him. “Stu, where are you going with this?”

The conversation was an eerie reminder of what we spoke about at the art gallery. It made me feel like he was suggesting something illegal. Stu’s eyes moved back and forth between mine, measuring, calculating. Whatever conclusion he came to, it seemed he’d decided I wasn’t prepared to play ball.

“Nowhere. Never mind.”

I didn’t like how he just dropped the subject, because although I was wary, I was also curious. I wanted to know what all these cryptic conversations were about, and why he was having them with me of all people. However, if I’d learned anything about Stu so far, it was that there was no point pushing him to explain himself when he didn’t want to.

“Okay, well, come on. Let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you to my dad.”

Now he wore a cheeky grin. “Do I get to check out your old room, too?”

I pointed a stern finger in his direction. “No. Definitely not.”

We stepped through the gate, past my mum’s hydrangeas and to the front door where I knocked twice. When Dad appeared, he wore his favourite grey jumper, and his brown eyes shone as he smiled and welcome us inside.