Watching as Simon doodled yet another Spider-Man in his notebook instead of writing out the math problem, his parents realised that in their family, only the cat was destined for a carefree and comfortable future.

Looking back now, when Henry would doodle yet another Spider-Man in his exercise book instead of tackling his maths problems, his parents realised their familys only real prospect for a comfortable, carefree future was the cat.
Dozens of tutors had tried, all to no avail, to instil an appreciation for the sciences in the boy. On the contrary, the more teachers he saw, the more Henry drifted into pondering philosophy. The rest of the world, to his mind, was all meaningless hassle. True happiness was to be found in laziness, chocolate éclairs, and cartoons on his phone.
When their spirits had nearly reached rock bottom, Henrys father found a most unusual advert online: Selling weights and will foster a love of academic and sporting subjects in your children, relations, friends, and neighbours. Unique methodology. I teach maths, history, English language and literature, biceps, triceps, legs, shoulders, reading, chest. Arnold, private tutor.
Parental caution faded away in the face of despair. His father dialled the number, and after a few rings, the phone was answered by a breathless, gruff voice.
Yes? Metal clanged rhythmically in the background.
Good afternoon, Im ringing about your advertisement.
Sold the weights, said Arnold with a grunt, ready to end the call.
No! Id like my son to be tutored in maths, English, and literature.
How old, whats his weight, what can he do?
Arnolds brevity was both alarming and somehow reassuring. The sound of metal changed to the swish of skipping ropes. Henrys father could almost smell sweat through the earpiece.
Nine years old, about three and a half stone, almost able to add in columns, and
How many press-ups can he do?
I beg your pardon? Henrys father ran a little finger around his ear.
How many press-ups and pull-ups? Arnold repeated.
Im not sure five, maybe?
Does he know the difference between a prefix and a suffix?
I… Ill have to check with my wife.
What equipment do you have at home?
Equipment?
Compass, protractor, resistance band, dumbbells?
We have a wooden ruler.
Right. Send me your address, Ill be over within the hour, said Arnold abruptly, then bellowed, Wider stance, back straight! Not you, Im in a history lesson, and ended the call.
Henrys father stood for a moment, still with his legs planted and back ramrod-straight, before heading to his son.
The news of a new tutor left Henry entirely unfazed he simply turned the telly up and asked for a cuppa with a sandwich. Books and learning had never stirred much interest.
The doorbell rang. Henrys mother peered through the little glass in the door. The only thing she could see was a chest to inspire envy in the boldest Roman statue.
Good afternoon, came the greeting as a mountain of muscle named Arnold entered, clad in a fitted vest, coconut shampoo wafting from him. Now then, wheres your Olympian?
T-t-there you are, his wife stammered, voice wavering. Perhaps hes the bespectacled chap with the Vauxhall, the one you left a note for about adjusting his vision.
Sorry, misunderstanding was an optician in a past life, sounded a voice from the depths of the house.
My names Arnold James. Im the tutor for the present.
Oh, its you! declared Henrys father, appearing from behind the piano. Sorry didnt recognise you. May I take your bag?
Arnold handed over a hockey kit bag and, as soon as Henrys father took the handle, the weight of it knocked him to the floor. The cat, petrified, blitzed through two rooms and a closed door.
What on earth have you got in here? Henrys father wheezed, dragging it to the boys room.
Teaching equipment. For primary and practical subjects.
Henry was, as usual, part of the sofa, eyes glued to his phone. The sudden opening of the door startled him away from his routine.
Ease up! Steady! cried Henrys father, but it was too late. Arnold was inside, unconcerned with his new pupil, studying the rooms walls instead.
Do you have a drill?
Why? asked Henrys father.
To work on English, answered Arnold, producing a pull-up bar, a punch bag, and a climbing rope from his kit bag.
Ill see if next doors got one, muttered Henrys father, barely containing exhaustion. You two get acquainted. Henry, this is Mr Arnold James, your tutor.
How did you get all those muscles? Henry asked, instead of a polite hello.
I added them up, Arnold replied, stacking spare weight plates atop each other.
Right, carry on, said Henrys father, fleeing the room.
Are you stronger than Spider-Man?
Can Spider-Man bench two hundred kilos?
Henry didnt understand the question, but sensed the answer was no.
I dont like lessons, declared the boy, setting down boundaries at once.
Lessons are for the losers. Well do abs.
Arnold settled cross-legged on the floor and began abdominal exercises. Henry stood by, waiting for the strange tutor to tire, but the man only quickened the pace or added another plate. When Arnold shifted to dumbbells, then the resistance band, then to press-ups, Henry simply stared.
Now, got all that? Want to be strong? Or fancy spending your life in a mess like your mutant, caught in webs and fluff?
Henry shook his head.
Good! Do each exercise three times, forty-five minus thirty-nine reps. Starting with abs.
How many is that?
You tell me.
No drill, just found the hand drill, rushed in Henrys father, catching sight of his son pressing up, and stood like a statue in the doorway. Ill check back later, he whispered, tiptoeing off and carefully closing the door behind him.
***
The following morning at half-five, the phone rang. Bleary-eyed, Henrys father shuffled to the hallway, ready to properly tell off whoever dared wake him so early. But one glance at the mountain-like bald Arnold filling the doorframe, and he swiftly reconsidered there werent enough words to cover a head that size. Arnold seemed even bigger than the day before, with bags under his eyes shaped like biceps.
Were having history and geography today. Dress code: trainers, vest, shorts. Long-distance run, exploring the local terrain and town history.
Hes only in Year Four; he hasnt covered those yet, yawned Henrys father.
Well add in poetry. Fancy coming with us?
No, thank you. I did quite well enough at school.
What year did the Vikings retreat from this county?
Um, well, Ive got work to get to Ill go wake the boy, Henrys father dodged, retreating to Henrys room.
Moments later, he whispered, He wont wake up.
Dress him, hell wake up on the march, Arnold advised.
***
Three times a week, Arnold showed up on their doorstep for training. Mondays: chesttricepsshouldersmathsEnglish. Wednesdays: backbicepsliteraturelanguage. Fridays: legsgeographyhistory.
After three weeks, Henry wandered into the kitchen shirtless, and his father, on seeing the beginnings of a six-pack, quickly shielded his beer belly with the kettle. The boy had straightened up, gained muscle, and started nagging his parents about how sedentary theyd become.
I dont like any of this, Henrys mother said one night at supper. Do you know what hes asked for his birthday?
He wants an Xbox. Already asked me.
No, he wants a climbing frame and a blender for smoothies. I worry Arnolds no real tutor just another health-obsessed gym instructor, and hell do Henry in.
Are you sure? Seem to do maths and all that.
Have you ever seen them hold a textbook?
Calorie chart.
Thats exactly what Im saying. You know what they say all brawn, no brains.
Youd rather he was a nerd than a blockhead?
Id rather he was normal! I want these sessions to stop.
Just then, the phone rang.
Its his teacher, she said, answering it.
Hello? Oh, whats he done now?… Yes, Ill come at once.
Whats up?
He got into a fight! I told you nothing good will come of this.
Ill come with you.
***
Arriving by taxi, Henrys parents were ushered straight to the headteachers office.
Would you look at that, a Year Four pupil and already sent for a dressing down by the head!
The room brimmed with parents, children, the school psychologist, and Henrys teacher. The commotion was so great, it seemed the piano next door went out of tune.
This is a school, not a gym! one mother hollered at Henrys father.
What happened then? Can someone explain?
The form teacher spoke up.
Henry forced the others to play ladder at breaktime and keep score using fractional division.
He did what?
Told them to do pull-ups on the bar in turn, gradually increasing the count, Henry explained.
Quiet! The other children didnt want to. Henry threatened them.
They started it. Wanted to hit me for correcting their grammar when they called names.
How did you correct them?
Told them how to decline dimwit and show-off. They rushed at me, so I said, as Mr Arnold says, If youve energy, do some pull-ups and rather than fighting, teach them fractions.
And he said if we bothered him again, hed finish things with extracting roots! one boy wailed.
This primate shouldnt be among our children! shrieked a mother.
Wait a minute, Henrys father regained composure. So there wasnt a fight?
The supposed victims nodded.
So, my son, in reply to aggression, gave them maths and the bars?
And made us run laps and recite Wordsworth!
You see? And you thought hed turn into a thick meathead, he said to his wife, who nodded in agreement.
I owe you an apology, suddenly said the headteacher.
Make him apologise! one parent barked, pointing at Henry.
Not to you to Henrys parents. Your son is fantastic, she told them, but, in light of all this, well have to move him up.
See! Justice at last! Serves you and your muscle-bound brute right! cheered the others.
Im advancing him to Year Five. Hes clearly ahead of the curriculum, pronounced the head.
A hush fell. You could practically hear jealousy and resentment gnawing at the opposition. People streamed out quietly, eyes averted.
Arnold, its me a quick update: were moving to Year Five, more subjects ahead, Henrys father said, calling the tutor outside the office.
***
Within a week, Henry was in Year Five as promised. Two weeks later he was off to a crossfit competition, preparing for the national childrens literature olympiad. A month after that, the parent of one of the former classmates rang, asking for Arnolds number.
Soon, a childrens club was formed with a combined focus: children were not asked to leave for poor sporting performance, but if their grades were anything less than satisfactory in their journals.