New Boy (A Javid Story)

Brooklyn

That night, Race did end up in Brooklyn. He found himself knocking on Spot's door, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was a bit worried that Spot's foster mother would open the door, but instead it was opened by Spot himself, who seemingly had no idea why Race was there. The look on Spot's face made it obvious to Race that he hadn't been the one to send the text. After all, when had Spot Conlon been known to "talk things out?" 

"Race? What're you doing here?" Spot asked, looking up at the taller boy. 

"I invited him." A voice from behind the door spoke, and Race leaned a little to see who it was. "You has been a mess without 'im, Spot. Admit it." The boy moved a little and brought himself into view. "Hi, Race. I dunno if you remember me, but I'm Blue." 

"Yeah, yeah I remember you. The one with the blueberry muffin addiction, right?" Race asked. 

"Yeah." The boy laughed a little. "That's how I got my nickname. Blueberry muffin shortened to just Blue." 

"Well, Blue, you ain't gettin' any muffins for a little bit cause of this stunt." Spot glared at him. 

"Aw, come on Spot. You have to admit you miss him." Blue motioned to Race. 

"Spot don't admit things if he doesn't want to." Race shrugged. "I'll leave, if ya want." He offered. 

"No, you is here." Spot shook his head. "Come in." 

"I gotta go, but you two have fun." Blue wiggled his eyebrows, letting Race in before he left. As Blue shut the door behind him, Spot sighed and turned to Race. 

"I'm sorry that idiot made ya make the trip out here." Spot rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes staring at the floor. It was something Race had noticed a long time ago. Spot never directly put his head down, only his eyes. That seemed to be a sign of weakness, and if there was one thing Spot Conlon didn't have, it was weaknesses. But Race knew he did have a few weaknesses. Race also knew he was one of them. 

"No, it's okay." Race shook his head. Then, a small smirk formed over his face. "So, you has been a mess without me?" He teased. 

"Nah, he just stretches the truth. Might as well call 'im Fibber." Spot rolled his eyes. 

"Fibber? What are you? A suburban white mom who tells her ten year old that 'shut up' is a bad word?" Race laughed. 

"It's a better soundin' nickname than Liar, ain't it?" Spot challenged. 

"I suppose you is right." Race shrugged. "But really, I missed you, Spot. We got a lot to catch up on." 

"Well, better start talkin' then." Spot led him over to the couch. The two talked until Race fell asleep on Spot's shoulder, going back to his old habits of using Spot as his personal pillow. Spot didn't have the heart to move him, so he fell asleep on the couch too. 

The two woke up the next morning cuddled together with an old episode of "Full House" playing on the television. There was a note on the couch from Spot's foster mom saying that she had gone to work and that she would be back around noon for lunch. She also wrote that she was glad to see he had gotten back together with Race. 

When Race heard that part of the note, he tentatively asked the question he had been waiting to ask. "So, uh, can we get back together?" 

Spot didn't respond. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed two packs of Pop Tarts, tossing one to Race. "Strawberry. Those is your favorite, right?" 

"Spot did you-" Race started. 

"Yes! I heard you." Spot sighed. "I do wanna get back together. I do. But we're both stubborn as hell and you is an idiot an-" 

"But I can be your idiot!" Race cut him off. 

Spot chuckled a little. He put down the pack of Pop Tarts and walked back over to Race. "Yeah, my idiot." He stood on his toes, kissing the other boy gently and cautiously. When Race wrapped his arms around Spot, the two fell into their old groove, kissing like they'd never broken up. After a minute, Race broke away, leaning his forehead against Spot's.

"So, that's a yes?" He whispered quietly. Spot chuckled again, nodding. 

"That's a yes." He confirmed, pressing his lips to Race's again. 

Race spent that night in Brooklyn too, and finally made his way home Sunday morning. He texted Jack that night and told him what had happened. Then Monday, before school, Race was smiling down at his phone, which obviously caught the attention of the other boys. 

"Hey, Racer, who ya textin'?" Jojo asked. 

"You get another boy or girl already?" Specs asked. 

"It ain't like he's got no choices. He's got a few people willin to date 'im." Finch spoke up. Albert quietly looked down at the table.

"Ah, not him. Crutchie's got the girls wrapped around his finger." Sniper added. 

"Oh, that is true." Mike nodded. 

"Yeah, how come he's not datin' anyone?" Ike asked. 

"It's none 'o ya business." Jack growled. 

"Jeez, I is sorry." Ike fiddled with his hands a little. 

"Hey, I gets the girls around here." Romeo grinned. 

"Ah, you get as many girls as a monkey who hasn't showered in three weeks." Finch dismissed. 

"Monkeys don't shower, idiot." Mush rolled his eyes. 

"Still, has any of you guys seen Romeo do more than flirt with someone?" Finch pointed out. 

"Can we focus on the mystery at hand?" Henry asked. 

"Yeah, who is Race texting?" Buttons asked. 

"I dunno, but it's gotta be someone good." Sniper bit his lip. 

"Yeah, he's got that look on his face." Buttons added. 

"What look?" Race asked. 

"You gets this...look." Elmer said. 

"Wow, great description." Mush rolled his eyes. 

"Ah, shut it." Jack crossed his arms. 

"Anyways, you guys is right. It's someone good." Specs refocused. "Look at how he's smiling." 

"Well, of course he's smilin'." Albert rolled his eyes. "He spent Friday and Saturday night in Brooklyn."