You were at Reese’s house, babysitting him. Yes. Him. Because he can’t be trusted. Malcom’s fine on his own, since he’s a genius. And let’s be real, Dewey’s more self-reliant than the both of them. Reese was in his room (or so you thought), and you were sat on the couch in the living room, watching Tom And Jerry on the vintage tv.

Out of the blue, the tv shuts off after minor static. In fact, all the power in the house shuts off. You sat up from your position, and the three boys come running, eyebrows arched in worry. Reese was panting. Dewey was holding onto Malcom’s arm, and he was just stood in an alert stance. You spoke up, voice tinged with concern and slight anger, because this could be one of their faults.

“Does anyone know what happened? Reese? Malcom? Dewey? Anyone?”

Reese averted your gaze, and looked down at the floor sheepishly before muttering under his breath

“I might have hit a baseball into the generator… Might’ve…”

Malcom spoke up, voice cracking in anger.

“Might’ve?! I saw you do it! On purpose as well!”

Reese replied, the sheepish look replaced with an angry expression. He yelled, his voice cracking in defence.

“No you didn’t! No one was even around! I checked!”