Chapter 117

“Me,” I said. “Anything you want.” Chinese was his favorite. I figured I could swing an eggroll and a pint of General Tso’s chicken with a side of rice.

My dad relinquished the bill with a sigh. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Did you get your script for the commercial?” Devon asked, his eyes flickering like the candle in the little red jar.

“I did.” It was a single sheet of paper.

“Me and you are the only ones who get to talk.”

“I know.” We had one sentence each.

“What is Macon Charter again?”

“It’s a bank,” I told him as I finished my diet ginger ale.

“By where we live?”

“No. They probably have a branch in Poughkeepsie. New York City for sure.”

“Then how will we go there?”

“We don’t have to go there.”

“How will we get our money?”

“They’ll send it in the mail.” Though I was still hoping they’d hand it over before cameras rolled.

“Oh. But aren’t we saying we go there…in the commercial.”

“Not really.”