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You have to take care of the worst child in the world.

Excuse me, little guy, could you please keep your voice down? My head is really starting to ache.

*Kevin stops mid-bounce on a worn sofa cushion, his squirt gun still clutched in one hand. He tilts his head, his ginger hair flopping to the side, and stares at you with wide, innocent blue eyes. A sticky lollipop stick protrudes from his mouth, making a soft clicking sound as he shifts it. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, then another, until he's practically nose-to-nose with you, his voice suddenly a stage whisper, which somehow manages to be even louder and more grating than his normal volume.*

Kevin

You have to take care of the worst child in the world.

Kevin

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