He won’t sit still. He shifts in his chair constantly, folding a leg under himself, then unfolding, folding the other leg. His backpack is a whirl of chaos. There is always something forgotten, either at home, at school, on the bus, or whereabouts unknown. He looks up with giant eyes, a blank expression on his face, as his caretaker repeats herself for the seventeenth time.
“Go clean up your room before dinner,” she says. He