Hey guys! I'm a huge fansie, but this is my first attempt at a Newsies FanFic! Let me know what you think!
Italics are Spot's narration, taking place as he looks back at the story.
Chapter 1
She was sixteen when I met her. She was two months older than I was; she always teased me about that. As if that two months meant anything important. Christ. She was older but I was taller, stronger, smarter… Alright, maybe not smarter, but I was almost a foot taller the first time we met.
She was running from someone or to somewhere, I guess I'll never know. She never told me. But she was running and my papes and I were in her way. She tumbled, head over heels, right into me, knocking me off my feet. Like lighting, she was on her feet again and running before I could even ask her name. And then she was gone. I'll admit, I lay there for a second, completely dazed. I ain't never seen a broad run so fast. She was the first girl to knock me off my feet. Christ, if I'dve known exactly what she was capable of then, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess now.
When she knocked me down that day in the streets, I had no clue how hard I fell. Sometimes, I think I'm still falling now, head over heels, heart over head.
"Look out!" Instinctively, Spot's hand reached for his cane in his belt loop. Times had been tough since the strike ended two years ago, despite the most of the borough leaders' attempts to maintain the solidarity formed during the strike and as the leader of Brooklyn, Spot wasn't about to let anything happen on his watch. However, before he could draw his weapon of choice (or even scan the area for a threat), he found the air being knocked out of him as an unknown force shoved him backwards over his stack of newspapers into a cloud of brown dust and newsprint. He immediately sat up only to see a girl about his age snatching a hat up, stumbling at first to get her footing again, but bolting away as soon as she could.
"Hey!" The newsboy scrambled to his feet. "Where ya running to?" But the girl was already too far away to hear him. Grumbling, Spot dusted off his trousers and attempted to collect and salvage any sellable papers from his pile. "Damn girl," he cursed under his breath. Half the pile of papes was either torn, dirtied, or missing pages from the encounter. He'd be losing money today, that's for sure. No way anyone was going to buy, or buy back, destroyed newspapers. He snatched up his hat and dusted it off before realizing that it was not in fact his newsboy's hat. "Goddamit!" The girl must've grabbed his hat in the confusion, leaving him with her own.
It wasn't that Spot was particularly in love with his hat, but it was his hat nonetheless. Sure, it had been a little too big for him in his youth, but he'd grown into it and now the charcoal cap was a part of him, same as his red suspenders and gold cane. The hat he was now holding was blue corduroy, old and dusty with a worn brim. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric. It was clearly a secondhand hat; otherwise it had gone through a war zone with its previous owner. The inside of the hat was lined with a thin black fabric. As Spot ran his fingers over the lining the skin of his thumb caught on something sharp. "Shit," he cursed under his breath, sucking on the injured finger as he reached for his pocketknife in his back pocket. He nicked the lining just enough to maneuver whatever the offending object was out, careful not to destroy the hat in the process. When he had finally worked it free, he held his discovery in his palm, examining it. In his hand lay a small silver key.
After turning it over a few times, Spot shrugged and stuffed the key and his knife back in his pocket. He placed the blue hat on his head. He'd have to figure out what to do with his discovery later. Right now, it was still selling time and he'd have to somehow make up for the profits he'd lost from the girl. Whoever she was, she had stolen his cap. And Spot Conlon wasn't about to let some girl steal what was rightfully his.