Rewrite the Stars - A Spot Conlon Fan fiction

Chapter 2 - A Run In While in Brooklyn

Chapter 2
A Run In While in Brooklyn

Brooklyn
1899

"I still got three papes left," Race complained to me, as I handed a man a paper, "It's almost time for supper and I still got three papes. How many do you got?"

"That was my last one," I told him, and when his jaw slacked in surprise I continued, "I'm a girl selling to a bunch of grown men. I can't pretend I don't use it to my advantage." Race huffed as I let out a laugh.

"Give me your last two," I told him before reaching into his paper sack and pulling them out myself, "I'll sell them." Race tried to protest but I ignored him and continued around trying to sell the papes.

I threw out some obscene headlines, trying to get someone's attention. I wasn't having any luck though. As I was just about to shout another headline I saw him.

Walking along, with a walking stick, he looked more interested in the people around than the actual races taking place. I ducked behind some crates hoping he didn't see me.

"Speedy, what are you doing," Race said, startling me. He looked confused as to why I was suddenly crouched behind crates instead of selling the papers like I said I was gonna do.

"Get down," I hissed, pulling him down next to me. I peeked over and he was still there.

"What's going on?" Race looked miffed at having been dragged to his knees behind a bunch of old crates.

"He's here," I said quietly. Hopefully he heard me and understood. The only thing Race and the others know is that I'm a runaway and I would like to keep it that way. A lot of us who lived in the lodging house were either orphans or runaways. An unspoken rule among us was not to ask anyone about their past. Most of the Manhattan Newsies didn't even know my real name. Only Spot and Jack knew my whole story, Race just knew I was running from someone.

Race stood quiet, patiently waiting for me to give the all clear. When it was safe, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a minute. I could smell the odor of Race's cigar on my face as if he was purposely blowing the smoke in my face. After taking another deep breath, I pulled Race up with me. We hurriedly worked together to sell the remaining papers and headed back to Manhattan before everyone else came back. We were so early, we ended up catching Miss Castellan's and Mr. Kloppmann bi-weekly meeting — the one they had to talk about their charges and the running of the lodging houses.

Race didn't ask me about what happened at the Sheepshead, which I was grateful for, but I could tell he was confused about the situation. We sat on his bunk, him still gnawing at his cigar, and putting away his recently stolen one.

Jack was back first with Crutchy in tow behind him. Jack stopped in his tracks enough to wrap his arm around Crutchy's shoulders, sorta helping Crutchy to the door. "Good sell today, boys?" I asked. Like I really needed to ask, though, Crutchy got sympathy with his bum leg and Jack was the best seller of the boys.

"The best," Jack said dryly, leaning against Race's bunk. Crutchy shifted over his crutch. "Good sell for you two? Where were you today, Navy Yard or Sheepshead?"

"Sheepshead," me and Race said at the same time.

"Did your horse win?" Jack directed the question at Race who usually betted on at least one of the horses while we were there.

"I didn't get a chance," Race replied, looking at me, though it wasn't out of frustration. I shifted uneasily, trying not to meet Jack's eyes. I wasn't in the mood for a lecture if I told him I saw my father at the races today — according to him, this was the reason I should never be in Brooklyn.