Who cares about a pudding cup eight years later? He winks and tries to look cute. You know who cares? I do. “Apology not accepted.” His face falls. “Who stole your dessert, Cash?” He doesn’t rush to answer. “No one, right? ‘Cause no one would dare mess with a Wall.” “You want me to buy you an ice cream sandwich?” He’s aiming for playful, but he knows he’s poked the bear. “I didn’t buy the ice cream sandwich. I got what came with the lunch.” “You want me to buy you a cookie then?” He’s keeping the tone light, and he’s not losing his patience, but he’s utterly oblivious, and it’s throwing him.
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