The Queen of Brooklyn~A Spot Conlon Fanfic

Chapter Fifteen: Memories in the Key of C

After Jack is out of sight, the newsies look at each other in disgust. "What do we do now?" Skittery asks Davey, nervously shuffling his feet.

Davey sighs, looking at all of us. "Uh..." He hesitates, then admits, "I don't know. How about you guys just...walk around the city." He sighs, glancing down at his strike sign as he grumbles, "It's not like there's anything better to do."

So the newsies part. I ask Spot if he wants me to show him some cool places in Manhattan, but he just shakes his head and walks off, saying he'll be back. Suspicious, I stay there in Newsie Square for a second, watching him walk off. Finally, I can't help it—I start following him. Around corners, past alleyways, and...

...all the way to Medda's theater?

What's he doing here? I think. Not wanting to give myself away, I stay quiet as he slips inside. Medda's not here today, and the theater is deserted. What's Spot going to do in there? 

He creeps down the hallway...and stops in front of the piano. The piano? What's he going to do with the piano?

Well, play it, you dummy, I think. But...can Spot play the piano?

My question is answered soon enough. Spot takes a seat at the bench and opens up the case, then presses down on a couple of notes to figure out what they are before launching into a professional-sounding melody, with pounding low notes and sparkling high notes. It's beautiful. He plays the tune again and again, each time getting a little bit faster until he can't possibly go any quicker. He ends with a loud finish—I think it's called a crescendo—and just sits there for a second, catching his breath.

"That was beautiful," I say timidly.

Spot jumps, then whirls around. He sees me and just stares at me for a second, then shakes his head and sighs, turning back to the piano. After a moment of silence, he says, "Thanks."

"How did you learn to play like that?"

"Well..." Spot looks down at his shoes, pressing the lowest note on the piano—I'm pretty sure it's A—again and again. I can tell he doesn't want to talk about it. I'm about to say 'never mind' when he says, "Back when I lived with my folks...when they weren't angry at me, which was rare...my mom would teach me piano. She would play me this song sometimes, and eventually I learned it, too." He runs his fingers up the notes, starting at low A and ending at...uh...I think high C. (I'm not really a piano player. Correction: I'm not a piano player at all.) Spot added, "It's the only good memory I have of her, so I hold on tight to it."

"What about your dad?" I can't help asking.

Spot shrugs. "Uh...sometimes, at night, he'd take me out for a walk. When he wasn't angry at me. He'd tell me to look at the stars and tell him what I saw." I stay quiet, listening. "I told him I saw stars, but he would always tell me 'Look harder. There's something more.' But he never told me what."

"He was probably talking about you," I venture gingerly. "You know, like, the star inside of you."

Spot chuckles. I probably sound like a corny greeting card, but I feel like it's true. Everyone has a star inside of themselves...even the king of Brooklyn. "Okay, Red," he says. "Whatever you say. Anyway, I haven't played piano in years...in fact, I haven't played it since I was nine, before my parents left me at the Refuge. That's, what, eight years?" He shakes his head, as if to clear the thought. "I can't believe I still remembered the song. It's what my mom used to call 'muscle memory'."

"How did you know Medda had a piano?" I ask.

"Well, I saw it last night at the rally, and I was like 'I've got to play that thing before I get back to Brooklyn'."

I hesitate for a second, thinking about what he'd just said. I mean, I know that deep down, he has to go to back to Brooklyn sometime, but...I never really thought he'd have to go back. He's been in Manhattan for a week or so now, and I've just gotten used to it.

Although, who says he'll be going back soon? The strike, for all we know, could be far from over.

Spot stands up from the piano, closing the cover. "Well," he says, "we should probably get going now."

"Yeah." We start walking, but it's kind of dark in Medda's theater, and I trip over something sticking out on the floor—maybe a chair? Spot grabs my arm before I hit the ground and pulls me back up. "Thanks," I say.

"No problem." We look at each other for a second, then start to lean in.

We're about to kiss when we hear the shrieks outside.

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Heh heh...please don't kill me after the ending of this chapter!