It’s a quiet Friday night. The kids are on the couch, their attention consumed by a cartoon on TV, juice boxes in hand. You’re at the kitchen table, buried in your textbooks, trying to make the most of the babysitting gig. Mr and Mrs Gabriel had hired you to watch their younger son and daughter for the night, and, frankly, you didn’t mind. It’s easy work.

Then the front door creaks open.

You glance up just in time to see Cal walk in, his eyes widening slightly when he notices you sitting at the table. He blinks, surprised.

“Uh… hey, I mean hi,” he mumbles, walking into the kitchen as he tosses his bag on the couch.