Nate wasn't sure what was weirder—seeing himself on TV, or the fact that his dad was actually considering opening a stock account for him. Both felt like they belonged to some alternate reality, though only one involved Cadbury chocolate and the potential for his face to be seen by every household in England.
But before the fame, there was the money.
It started over breakfast.
Nate sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly spreading Marmite on his toast while his dad, Richard, flipped through The Times. Rusty, their ever-loyal golden retriever, lay at his feet, occasionally thumping his tail against the floor whenever Nate "accidentally" dropped a crumb.
Richard made a thoughtful sound, lowering his paper. "You know, Nate, I was thinking about that money you earned from the ad."
Nate perked up. "Yeah?"
His dad sipped his tea, then set the mug down. "Fifteen hundred pounds is a lot for a kid. Your mum and I don't want you thinking you can just spend it all on toys and sweets."
Nate frowned, feigning deep offense. "Dad, come on. I'm not five."
"You're eight."
"Exactly. A mature eight."
His dad chuckled. "Regardless, you need to learn how to save. That's what grown-ups do with their earnings."
At the word save, something clicked in Nate's brain. The newspaper. The article about BP's stock price.
"Oh! Wait right here!" he blurted, jumping out of his chair so fast he nearly tripped over Rusty. He dashed to the living room, where Richard had left The Times from the other day. After a few frantic moments of flipping through pages, he found the business section and raced back, slamming it onto the table.
"Here, look! BP stocks are going up! And it says that some guy—Soros or something—made, like, a billion pounds off the pound crashing last year. Isn't that insane? A billion!"
Richard raised an eyebrow. "George Soros?"
"Yes! That guy! He knew the money would go up and down, and he—he bet on it, or something? And now he's got more money than—than God."
Claire, who had just entered the kitchen, gave him a look. "Nathaniel Taylor, we do not compare people to God over breakfast."
"Fine, fine," Nate waved her off, then turned back to Richard. "But Dad! If people like him can do it, maybe I can too! I mean, not a billion pounds. But like, a little money. If I put my ad money in something like BP, and it grows, I won't even need to do loads of ads forever. I'd already have money working for me!"
Richard exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"
"I read." Nate puffed out his chest.
Claire snorted as she sat down, stirring her tea. "He's right, you know. He does read. I caught him sneaking my magazines last week."
"They had business stuff in them," Nate defended.
His dad still looked half-amused, half-bewildered. "Alright, alright. First of all, investing isn't that simple. You don't just throw money at a company and expect it to make you rich."
"But it could grow, right?" Nate pressed.
Richard sighed, rubbing his chin. "It could. But it could also go down."
"Everything can go down. That's how money works, isn't it?" Nate argued.
Richard let out another chuckle, shaking his head. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Nope!"
There was a beat of silence. Then, finally, his dad spoke again.
"Alright. Here's what we'll do." He folded his newspaper and set it aside. "I'll open a savings account in your name. That way, your earnings go somewhere safe, and you won't be tempted to waste them. And if you still want to invest in something, we'll do it properly—together."
Nate grinned, barely holding in his excitement. "You mean it?"
"Only if you promise not to be reckless with money," Richard warned.
"I promise!"
Claire sighed. "You realize he's going to talk about nothing but stocks for the next week now."
"I know."
Nate ignored them, already planning. Step one of his grand plan to not be a broke stuntman ever again? Complete.
It started with Jack.
"Nate," his best friend whisper-shouted during morning assembly. "You didn't tell me you were famous!"
"What?" Nate blinked.
Jack practically vibrated with excitement. "You! The ad! You were on telly last night! My mum saw it and said, 'Isn't that your little friend from school?' And I said, 'No way,' but then I looked and it was you!"
Oh.
OH.
The Cadbury ad.
The one where he had to take a bite of chocolate, smile, and look delighted (which wasn't acting, to be fair). He hadn't even known it was airing yet!
By the time the bell rang for their first lesson, half the class was whispering about it. Some kids were impressed, some jealous, and a few skeptical.
"You're lying," said Jamie Carter, who never liked when other kids got attention.
"I'm not!" Jack insisted. "It was him!"
Nate just sat back, enjoying the show. He didn't even have to prove it—because at lunchtime, someone's parent had recorded it.
The whole playground gathered around as a kid held up a small TV set in the break room. And there it was.
Cadbury. Chocolate. A group of kids. And him.
Taking a bite. Smiling. Looking like an adorable, innocent child.
The kids lost their minds.
"You're actually on TV!"
"Can you get free chocolate?"
"Are you gonna be in a movie next?"
Nate shrugged, feeling smug but trying to play it off cool. "Maybe."
At home, his mom couldn't stop smiling. "You were so cute!" she gushed, cupping his cheeks.
"Mum—"
"You should've told me it was coming on! We would've all watched together!"
"I didn't know!"
"Well, next time, tell me!"
She was already on the phone with her friends, excitedly mentioning how her son was "the little one in the Cadbury ad." Nate rolled his eyes but secretly enjoyed it.
Fame wasn't so bad.
Two Months Later
By the time November rolled around, Nate had fully settled into his new life.
He went to school. He went to drama club. He hung out with Rusty. And, most importantly, he wasn't getting random memory attacks anymore—his past and present had finally merged.
Acting was fun. He wasn't amazing, but Mr. Harris still took time to help him improve. He had even started considering more auditions, though nothing had come up yet.
Until the phone rang.
Claire picked up. "Hello?"
Nate, half-listening while feeding Rusty, heard her voice shift. "Oh! Yes, this is Claire Taylor—oh! Ohhh!"
She turned to look at him, wide-eyed.
"Yes, he's here. Of course! I'll check with his father, but I'm sure he'd love to!"
By now, Nate had abandoned the dog food bowl. "Mum?"
She hung up, beaming. "That was Simon Greene, the director from your Cadbury ad. He has another commercial lined up and he wants you in it!"
Nate grinned. Step two of his grand plan? Coming right up.