Spot Conlon: To the Top [1]

Chapter 1: Burned

A boy, about 11 years old with brown hair and ocean-blue eyes, sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the bell to ring signaling the time to begin selling papers. He was always the first one there so that he would be able to buy more papers to sell, therefore possibly get more money than the rest. His parents had died when he was only five years old and then he had had to go to an orphanage in Tennessee. He had escaped when he was seven, not because it was a bad place, but because he preferred to live on his own, without anyone telling him what to do.

"Hey! What'd I tell ya about coming' here early? Ya wait foi everybody else like a good kid." An annoyed voice said, coming from the gate.

The boy turned his head to look at the man.

"Oh, it's you, Spot. Thought it was one o' da adda kids. Stay there for whatever reason ya wanna stay dair for." The man mumbled. He went back to his sweeping.

I been comin' to sit here foi almost a year, an' 'e still can't tell me from de adda boys! Spot thought. He leaned forward on his knees and then pulled his slingshot out of his pocket. Pulling a marble out of his other pocket, he aimed at a beer bottle sitting on a trashcan on the other side of the street. The can exploded and the glass cluttered the sidewalk. A woman opened her window, saw him, and glared. Spot smirked.

Suddenly, yelling and joking and laughing came from the street. Spot stood and looked to see about 50 boys jumping and wrestling each other.

Spot stood and put his slingshot back in his pocket. The Brooklyn Newsies. All of them were older than he was and stronger too. But none of them had brains. Sure they could do math, but they still hadn't found a way to out smart him.

He chose to stay away from the group, though. They made fun of him for being all alone with nobody to look after him "especially at such a yon' age", they would say. He hated being called young, especially because he had survived traveling from Tennessee to Brooklyn all on his own. None of them had ever told a story like that, not even to try to impress a girl, not that any of them could even did.

The group approached him and stopped jostling.

"Waintn' again, Spot?" one of them, Reptile, asked. As always, there was a lizard's head poking out of his pocket.

"Ya know me. I prefer to be on my own. Don't need no sympathy from nobody." Spot said, glaring at the older boy.

"Why don't ya just come ta the lodge? It's safa dair. Ya just a yon' kid, don't need to be sleepin' on de streets." Reptile said, putting his hand on Spot's shoulder.

"I don't sleep on de streets." Spot said, shrugging away the older boy's touch. He knew that he was just trying to help, but he didn't need it.

"Den... where?" Another boy, Boots, asked.

"None of ya bidiness." Spot said, just as the bell rang for work. Spot was the first through the gate and buying his papers, as usual.

"How many today, Spot?" Mr. Spencer asked.

Spot read the headline: Earthquake in Manhattan Demolishes Buildings.

"I'll take a hundred." He said, slapping two quarters onto the wooden table. Spot picked up a pape and scanned thoroughly through its pages before he picked up his papes and hoisted them onto his shoulder. Without waiting for the others, he headed for the streets that were filling with people and made his way to the middle of the street.

"Extra, extra! Read all 'bout it! Earthquake in 'Hattan Demolishes Buildin's and Kills Dozens! Only in dis here pape! Read all 'bout it right 'ere! Earthquake Kills Poor Children! Thank ya, sir." Spot said as he offered an elderly man a newspaper in exchange for a penny.