The Queen of Brooklyn~A Spot Conlon Fanfic

Chapter Four: Brooklyn

We walk across the Brooklyn Bridge the next day. This is honestly the first time in my life I've been to Brooklyn, and the bridge is amazing. I can see the ocean from it, with boats parked at their docks.

"So, is this Spot Conlon really dangerous?" Davey asks nervously as Jack, Boots, Davey and I walk across the bridge. I wanted to ask the same question, but Davey beat me to it.

Jack and Boots simply laugh. "Nah," Jack says. "He's fine. He's just tough."

"Is he fine with..." I don't wanna say it because I don't wanna feel like a wimp. Finally, I just blurt it out. "Is he fine with girls?"

"Yeah, he's all right with girls," Jack says. "Don't worry, Red. You'll be fine. So'll you, Dave."

We walk across the dock, where there's kids swimming. A boy climbs out of the water and steps right into Jack's path. "Going somewhere, Kelly?"

Jack simply pushes him aside and moves forward.

A voice overhead from us says, "Well, if it ain't Jack be Nimble, Jack be Quick." It's not deep or high—and it's a little smug, like the kid's saying it with a smirk. I look up. There's a boy up there, wearing red suspenders, a checkered shirt, brown pants, and a grey cap. He's carrying a black and gold cane, and he's skinnier than I expected. Shorter, too. He's taller than me, but not as tall as Jack. His eyes are ice-blue. He's what some girls would call 'cute' if they cared (which I don't).That must be Spot, I think.

"I see you moved up in the world, Spot," Jack says. "Got yourself a river view and everything."

Spot smirks, spits in his hand, and holds it out. Jack spit sin his hand, too, and they shake. "Hey, Boots, how's it rollin'?" he greets Boots. Then he notices me with Davey. "Well, look at this. Two new kids."

"That's Davey," Jack says, be king to Davey, "and this is Red." He pushes me behind him a little, but I shove my way back out beside him. I don't want him treatin' me like I'm some baby.

"A girl, huh?" Spot asks, pulling a rock and a slingshot out of his pocket and shooting it at an empty glass bottle. I notice, though—it's not alcohol, it's water. That's weird—just about every newsie drinks. I assumed Spot would, like everyone else. Oh, well—maybe he does. I guess it doesn't really matter. "And I assume youse calls her red 'cause of her hair?" He's looking at me like my hair is on fire or something. Self-consciously, I touch it. It's not that red, is it?

Jack nods. "Yeah. We do."

"So, Jackie boy," Sport says, carefully placing his slingshot back into his pocket, "I've been hearing things from little boids."

"Yeah?" Jack says.

Spot nods. "Things from Harlem, Queens. All over. They're chirping in my ear. Jackie boy's newsies is playin' like they's goin' on strike."

"Yeah, well we are," Jack shoots back. Spot takes a single step forward, and Jack shrinks back. Woah. How scary is this guy? He doesn't seem that scary to me. So I speak up.

"We're not playing," I insist. "We are going on strike."

"Oh, yeah? Yeah?" Spot gets in my face, but I don't shrink back. Instead I say, "Yeah." 

I can tell Spot's caught off guard at that, 'cause then he turns to Jack and asks, "What is this, Jackie boy? Some kinda walkin' mouth?"

"Yeah, it's a mouth. But it's a mouth with a brain, and if you got half of one, you'll listen to what he's gotta say."

Spot stares up at Jack for a minute. Then he sighs, sits down on a plank of wood, and crosses his arms, staring at Davey.

"Go ahead," Jack says to Davey gently. "He's listening."