I've barely stepped from behind the Thatcher billboard before someone calls my name. White coat billowing, kicking back gravel, an A&E nurse races toward me down the path. My knees nearly collapse under me. Until I blink.

It's just Miles.

He slows to a halt in front of me and plucks the white earphones from his ears to wrap them around his iPod as I do my best not to choke on my heart. 'Hey.' He smiles. 'What're you doing?' 

'Planning a terror attack,' I snap, pleased that my voice is sharp and doesn't give away the fact blood is still gushing in my ears.

The energy in his posture wanes as he massages his collarbone, however, he decides to brush past his discomfort and speaks in a tone that attempts a few seconds of time travel. 'It's good I found you.' Were you looking? 'I were wondering if you could tutor me in maths too.'

Gravel grousing under my trainers, I turn and continue my way home. This is why Sonia should've lied. 'No chance.'

'I'll pay you, obviously.' He falls into step beside me and I accelerate my pace. 'I need a B for my offer, and if I don't get into uni, my dad'd be so disappointed and Má will kill me.'

I glower at his dusty New Balances. Why do people keep acting like their personal ambitions are my problem? 'Find an actual tutor, innit.'

'Then I'll have to tell my mum. If you help, I can pretend we're just hanging out, like.'

As if I'd hang out with him.

Jaw clenched, I redirect my glare from his trainers to meet his eyes. 'Why can't your besties help?'

'They're dense...'

Oh, Kilometres! What grand deduction skills you have.

As if he reads this from my mind, he drops his head forward for a laugh. Then his near-black eyes pour into mine, sticky as date syrup that'll stain me for days no matter how hard I scrub my skin, and he brings his hands together to beg.

'Look, the only GCSE I got an A in were PE.'

This alone would be enough to infuriate me and it certainly suffices as the last straw. Somehow, I manage to speak with every muscle in my face and neck flexed to the point of snapping. 'Who the frick does PE for GCSEs?'

'Those of us who weren't child prodigies.' Is he trying to be funny? If he is, he accurately gouges from my expression that I'm entirely unamused and gives a dog-like shake of the head. 'How much does Sonia pay?'

'Tenner.'

'I'll pay fifteen.'

How is possible that every time I think we've reached the peak of how much he can do my head in, he reveals a whole new mountain? 'I'm not gonna make you pay me fifteen and her pay me ten when you live here and she lives in Eastwick.'

Clamping hands over my eyes, I curse myself for being weak enough to care. He is not my problem. He is not my problem. I have my own exams to pass. Don't–

'Fine. Ten is calm.' I interrupt before he can get too excited. 'But only if you let me ask you an intrusive question.'

Miles freezes. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with his wrist. 'Er... sure.'

'Why do you live here?'

The question is vague but he understands exactly what I'm trying to get at. 'My grandparents pay my tuition — my dad's parents. My mum's too proud to "accept handouts" but they only let us move here under the condition we go to "proper" school. Not that they ever said nowt bout the state school I went to in Leeds so I dunno why they care.'

I nod. Makes sense.

Jaddi and Henna's house in Fez is twice the size of ours, complete with an enclosed orchard of apricot and fig trees and three toilets that all have a bathtub. They're always generous with their eidi, the benefit of being their only grandchild, which I now firmly regret spending on Ikea soft toys and unevolved Pokémon sticker packets — had I saved them, I'd have paid for Edenfield a year ago.

From overheard conversations that some people would call eavesdropping, I know they offered to pay for Edenfield, but Iya refused. Would she have accepted money from her own parents if they cared enough to know about it?

My cheeks set on fire when I realise Miles is still here and I've spent several minutes gazing into nothing. Maybe everyone is right: I spend far too much time alone.

He's inattentively picking at his fingernails and I notice the nail varnish that decorates them. I assume they're supposed to be watermelons. His ears tinge red when he sees me looking. 'It's my sister. She has these YouTube tutorials...'

I force blades into my voice so he knows I'm not charmed by the fact that he lets his sister paint his nails. 'What's your number?'

He blinks at me. 'What number?'

'The number of girls you've shagged. Your cell number.'

Ya Allah, ce gars-là c'est un génie.

Fidgeting with his earring, Miles recites it to me. But once I've rung him so that he can save my number too, he's still in front of me.

I have to get home for dinner, lest Iya grounds me for another month, so I offer a mumbled "later then" before stepping around him. When he trails after me, I'm slapped on the back of the head with a reminder that we're neighbours and since we're both headed home, we walk the same way.

Nonetheless, I do my best to pretend I'm ignorant of his presence and not bolt up my lawn to the door too eagerly.

He stays on my mind even as I sit down for dinner. Sonia is one thing but I can't bring Miles inside. Sure, he's been here once for dinner but he wouldn't dare anything with his mum and my parents around. Him alone is entirely different. What if he tells Tristan and Lysander about it? It? I dunno, anything.

Something cold pours into my stomach — the lock. The last thing I need is for them to have new material to harass me about: we'll have to do the tutoring somewhere else.

I look up from my bowl of harira, rotating my spoon. 'Um... can I get ungrounded?'

Iya laughs. 'Tu es si drôle.'

Though she speaks French, which means I shouldn't press on, I do. 'Because I'm actually tutorin people from school and I don't wanna have to bring them here every time. It'd be loads easier if I don't have to come home right after school.'

'You're tutoring?'

In addition to surprise, there's something like hope in Baba's voice. Because I spend too much time alone and I don't have friends, which isn't healthy for someone my age — if I don't start practising now, I'll go to uni not knowing how to socialise.

He could try to pretend he hasn't lost faith in me.

'You wanted me to get a job. I reckoned it'd be a good idea. It's just an hour or two after school on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.'

Baba frowns as if he doesn't have to work most ejjem3a anyway. 'Friday?'

I do my best to shrug in a way that doesn't reveal I'm irritated at his hypocrisy. 'I don't wanna do it on the weekend. I can be grounded the rest of the time.'

'Qui?'

Why does it matter who? Completely irrelevant.

I speed over Miles's name as quickly as I can so Baba can't make fun of me after I've spent every opportunity since their arrival in Sufsfale to profess how irritating Miles is and how I'd almost rather have Margaret herself as a neighbour. 'And Sonia.' When their faces remain blank, I add, 'Mokonyane.'

Iya nods. 'Yes, her mother is very nice. I see her often at the hospital.'

The mention of her jogs my memory. 'Oh, speaking of, can we get rooibos tea? Sonia said it's good for your skin.'

Baba melts, his voice brimmed with sombre disappointment. 'What's wrong with mint tea?'

Partly waiting for him to break into laughter, I stare, but when seconds pass and he doesn't whip away a blanket to reveal the stupid paternal "got your nose" joke, I'm forced to accept this isn't a mime act. 'Nothin... I know it's confusin... but I can actually drink more than one type of tea.'

Iya moves on though Baba is clearly still wound up in the possibility of me forsaking all of Morocco. 'D'accord.' This is her agreeing to the tea. 'Okay, d'accord.' This is about tutoring. 'But remember to text me at four and when you get home, always.'

Notes

A&E: Accident and emergency,  department at a hospital for major, life-threatening illnesses and injuries

Nowt: Nothing

Jaddi: (Tamazight) Grandfather

Henna: (Tamazight) Grandmother

Eidi: Money gifted to children and families members by older relatives or family friends as part of the Eid celebration

GCSE: General Certificate of Secondary Education. A qualification received after completing your GCSE exams at the end of year 11 (aged 16)

Ya Allah, ce gars-là c'est un génie: (Arabic & French) My God, this guy is a genius

Tu es si drôle: (French) You're so funny

Ejjem3a: (Darija) Friday