I pulled another carton from the pile.

The cardboard had split at one corner, and a row of dented cans showed through the opening.

“Have you thought about applying to a program?” he asked.

“With what money?”

“That’s a different question from whether you’d be good at it.”

“Not at my house.

Dad has a way of making every question cost two hundred and fifty dollars.”

Marcus looked toward the stockroom door.