Spenser kept his back turned. He was crying, and he did not want the man with him to see it. He heard Jack Watson sigh "Fine." His voice, a mixture of American, English, and Scottish accents, sounded upset.
His tears grew as he heard Jack turn and walk away. In their years of friendship, this was the second time they fought. Jack did not remember the frist time, but Spenser did.
They were just 12; their parents both died in America when both boys were eight. Spenser hated the orphanage. When he met Jack, he snapped angry at his happy-go-lucky attitude.
Jack had, much to his surprize, snapped right back. After three minutes of glaring at each other, Spenser giggled as Jack let out a small snigger. He held out his hand. "Spenser Holmes"
"Jack Watson." Spenser could not hold back his laugh.
Jack's fist clenched, as if he was going to punch the slightly taller boy. "What's so funny?!"
When Spenser was finally able to answer, he gave a low chuckle. "Nothing. It's just a conicid, con, coincidence, that's all. My family's last name is, after all, Holmes." he put a small emphasis on the last word. Jack looked at him, confused. Then, he too began to laugh.
Four years later, Spenser gasped as he awoke from his dream and his bedroom door flew off the hinges. "Spenser, are you okay?!"
He looked at the door, then at his friend. Jack"s black hair was messy and hastily tied back, as if he had got ready in a hurry. His eyes were wide with panic. Spenser nodded. "It, it was just a bad dream."
Jack planted himself on the edge of the bed, his brown eyes baring into Spenser's silver eyes. "Wanna tell me about it?" A small part whispered 'no' while a bigger part screamed 'yes'. The bigger part won out. By the end, Spenser had fallen asleep. As if it was second nature, Jack grabbed a chair and settled his twelve-year-old self into it.
Two days later, on Christmas Eve, the two got into a fight. "What do you mean you can't stay at Christmas?!"
"Just what I said"
"Couldn't you have, I don't know, talked them out of it someway?!"
"It don't work that way, Spenser!" Jack's voice raised with anger. They continue yelling back and forth. They both stormed off. That night Spenser slipped his gifts for Jack, a hat and scarf, into his few belonging. More importantly, waking up too late to tell Jack goodbye and finding an Afghan blanket folded caringly over the footboard.
Spenser sighed as he got home. For some reason, he could not shake the feeling Jack could get into trouble.