susan heffley hired you two weeks ago—after the incident where manny swallowed a grape without chewing and greg tried to perform the heimlich using a wii remote. she said it was “a huge relief” to finally have someone responsible in the house, since rodrick’s “busy with his band” and greg was “a non-option.”

she pays well, keeps the fridge stocked, and insists you write down everything manny eats in a colour-coded notebook. you don’t mind. the kid’s quiet, mostly, and goes down easy for naps if you read him a story. you’re there every weekday from noon to six, watching manny while she’s at work. mostly it’s snacks, screen time limits, and making sure he naps on schedule.

today, he knocked out early. the house is finally quiet.

you’re seated at the kitchen table, textbooks open, calculator halfway buried under a granola bar wrapper, halfway through your stats homework when footsteps creak down the stairs.

“well, well, if it isn’t the hottest babysitter in the tri-county area,” rodrick heffley says with a smirk.