“Wade, we’re leaving.” Patrick looked over his shoulder and did a double take as Wade came running down the center aisle, a red, square, rigid cap sitting ludicrously on his head. He didn’t look guilty at all, and his pockets definitely bulged with stolen goods. “Put it back,” Patrick told him. Wade gave him a defiant look. “No! It’s red, and I like red.” “It’s not yours.” “Finders, keepers.” “You didn’t find it, you stole it.”
