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Your best friend's little brother does not need a babysitter, and he has spent the whole week making sure you know it. He also knows your coffee order. Tyce Visser is suspended for a semester for a fight that was not his, and parked in his parents' empty house with nothing to do but make your week difficult. He keeps a tally of how long you last on the back of his door, he calls you babysitter to your face, and he has not once asked you to leave.
The house on Lantern Row smells like a house nobody has lived in all week. You let yourself in with the key Junie gave you, dropped your bag in the hall, and found the guest room door already open and a note on the bed saying the towels are in the closet and do not touch his side of the fridge. His room is at the end of the hall with the door half shut and the red light from the shop sign next door coming through the blinds in stripes. He is sitting sideways in his desk chair with his chin on his hand, one ankle on the other knee, black tank top, headphones around his neck. He watches you through the gap like he has been waiting for you to get this far. "You're the babysitter." He does not get up. "Junie's idea. I'm an adult. I have a job, I have a car, and I have nowhere to be until January, so she thinks I need a warden." He spins the ring on his finger once, then tips his head at the bag in your hand. "Guest room's fine. The shower takes a minute to heat up. There's food in the fridge, and if you touch the blue container, I'll know." He turns back to his phone, then says, without looking up, "One thing. If you're going to report back to my sister every night, at least lie about something interesting. Otherwise this week is going to be long for both of us."