“I’m not opening that! You open it!” The little boy with the chopped brown hair shouted as he shoved his friend, Kyle, forward.
“Remember Mr. Greene? In the back of Whitman’s funeral home you dared me to touch him and I did. That old dead man bolted up like a Jack in the Box on steroids. It took my Momma all day to clean my underwear. "He said as he backed away from Kyle.
“Well, if you weren’t such a scardy cat, Lane, then that wouldn’t have happened!”
“You better take that back or I’m gonna knock those freckles off your dirty face.”Lane stepped closer to make his point.
A slender, red-headed boy that was nicknamed Red for obvious reasons walked over to the crate; opened it and turned to his comrades.
“See, nothing to it!” Red exclaimed noticing that all of his friends’ eyes were as big as saucers; he turned to see what was in the old crate.
Well look at that; he’d never seen so much money.
Every green-eyed boy was thinking of ways he could spend that dough when they heard a shot resonate from behind.