By Melanie Miller
Amanda Coldrine sighed, pushing a long tendril of her blonde hair behind one ear. It was only two o'clock, and she was already exhausted. The lunch rush at the restaurant was over. "Aunt Josephine?" she called to her elderly spinster aunt. "Aunt Jo, there's no one here, can you sit here for a bit?"
The old lady bustled her way to the front of the tiny restaurant. "Sure thing, Mandy. Dat's no problem," her heavy Brooklyn accent causing Amanda to wince. Amanda removed her apron in the back room and kitchen area. She hated cities. Most of all cities, she hated New York. And in New York, she hated Brooklyn the most. Especially being cooped up in a tiny restaurant, with nothing to do but study or help out. She though back to her beautiful Vermont house, where her father the lawyer had carved a fine living for herself and her mother.
Amanda had wanted to leave. Education was important to her, and the tiny school in her Vermont hometown didn't make the grade, literally. New York City did have one of the finest secondary schools available, the Academy of Good Grace for Young Ladies. A majority of the girls continued onto Columbia University, one of the few colleges in 1899 that accepted women. Amanda wanted to continue her education, and unfortunately the only way to do so was to live with her aunt.
Aunt Josephine embarrassed Amanda. Amanda worked Saturdays and most weekdays at the restaurant, pitching in exchange for room and board. She was dismayed by the people of Brooklyn. Her attitude hurt Aunt Jo, but Amanda didn't care. At least school's working out, thought Amanda as she rested her feet in the back room. Just as she was dozing off, she heard the bell of the front door as it opened. Amanda sprang to her feet, wincing, and grabbed her apron, heading towards the eating area.
Spot Conlon didn't like the area of Brooklyn he had ended up in at the end of his day. Too few places to eat, too few girls to ogle. But the neighborhood was a great buyer of his papes, as the newsies called them.
Spot Conlon owned the Brooklyn newsies. Truth be told, he had power over the whole city. Every newsie in the city knew of the great Spot Conlon, and anyone with brains admitted that Spot made them a little 'noirvous.' Newsies from Manhattan, Queens, and Harlem were sent to Spot to be trained in fighting.
If there was a place to eat nearby that was decent, Spot knew it. And in this neighborhood, the only place was Josephine's Restaurant. Only decent place to git a meal, he thought to himself. Too bad dere's no goils working here. Only de old lady, a nice broad, but old as anything. Then Spot glanced up from the table he was sitting at. The young girl coming towards him wasn't Josephine.
Newsies. Amanda sneered in disgust. She hated newsies. She frequently ran into the street boys with minimum education. "What is it you would like?" she asked in a clipped tone.
"Roast beef sandwich, rye bread. You'se got dat today, roight?" the young man asked. He surprised Amanda, because although he looked young, he spoke with authority and commanded respect.
"Yes we do. I'll get that for you in a few minutes," she turned to go.
"Hey, where's Jo? You tell hoir Spot Conlon's here ta see hoir," the boy put his arms behind his head, elbows up. Amanda nodded curtly.
"Aunt Jo, Spot Conlon's here to see you. He asked me to tell you. I'll make his sandwich," Amanda sighed as she took the ingredients out in the kitchen.
"Spot Conlon! Oh, dat boy is wunah da best, Mandy," Aunt Josephine said smiling as she went out the kitchen door.
"It's Amanda. Not that you care, "the younger girl sighed as her aunt left the room.
"Spot!" the old woman broke the newsie out of his thoughts.
"Afternoon, Miss Josephine," Spot's Brooklyn cool prevailed as he spoke.
"Drop the Brooklyn boy wit me," Aunt Jo's eyes crinkled in a smile. "You knows beddah."
"How's da knee? Beddah or werse?" Spot asked, concern showing in his face.
"Dat's my boy, sometimes you even cares about me, eh? It's beddah, now that Amanda's helpin' me out wit da work," Aunt Jo smiled, thinking about her niece who she loved.
Spot's eyebrows raised slightly, saying, "Is dat da goil you gots working' here? Pretty thing."
"Dat's my niece, Amanda. She's from Vermont. Class, Spot, real class. She's goin' to a goils
school here, and only livin' wit da likes of me cos she had nowhere else ta go," Aunt Josephine
frowned at the words she knew were true. "Spot, I got things ta do. Thanks for stoppin' by."
"Always my pleasure, Miss Josephine," Spot smiled back. So the goil's classy. Pretty thing,
too. Spot thought as he waited for his meal. She's got da prettiest hair I've evah seen, the color of
honey. Maybe...
"Here's your meal." Amanda slammed down a plate in front of him. "And your bill. None of
the 'newsie credit' nonsense, understand me?" Amanda sighed as she put down the piece of
paper.
"Why don't ya sit and twalk wit me?" Spot pulled out the other chair. Amanda stiffened and
shook her head. "Come on, ya don't wanna miss your chance wit da great Spot Conlon, do ya?"
Amanda turned and left.
"Aunt Josephine. I'm going to study," Amanda lied to her aunt, begging for an excuse to go
upstairs. "The boy has his food. See that he pays." Amanda ran upstairs to the above apartment.
She hated newsies. Especially this one, Spot Conlon. What a cheeky, impertinent boy,
coming in and expecting her to sit with him... Common street trash, that's what he was. She was
Amanda Coldrine, high society of Vermont. Tears formed in her eyes. You're Amanda
Coldrine. And you're very far from home, she though as she put her head down in her arms and
cried.
Back at the Newsies Lodging House in Brooklyn, Spot was his normal self. "Whaddya
want?" he demanded of Lucky, one of the more dauntless who approached him.
"Wanna join in? Good game of poker," Lucky invited Spot with his hand to the table.
"Nah, you'se too easy to take money off of," Spot scowled and retreated to his small, separate
room. The newsies in Brooklyn all stayed in a big room, but Spot, as the leader, had his own
small area in the corner. Sure, it was two crude walls in a corner put up around a bunk bed and a
tiny desk and chair. Spot liked it, because it was his refuge. Outside the room, he was always,
'da great Spot Conlon of Brooklyn.' It was tiring.
Fine goil today, he thought as he got ready for bed. Hoity toity, but a fine goil. And she had
da nerve to blow me off. Me, da great Spot Conlon. Spot tried to think of something else. He
thought of other girls. Spot was never lacking for female companionship. The Manhattan
newsies were apt to warn, "Half da goils in dis city is in love wit Spot Conlon." And it was true.
Not dat they means anything, Spot sighed to himself. He knew it was the sad truth. Once again
his thoughts went to Amanda. She was beautiful, weren't she? CONLON! He mentally
screamed at himself. Pull yourself together. She's jist a goil. With that, Spot drifted into sleep.
Sunday was Amanda's favorite and worst day all at the same time. Amanda longed for it
because she didn't have to work, but she dreaded it because it meant a day of talking with her
aunt.
"Amanda, whaddya think of Spot Conlon?" Aunt Josephine asked her as they sat in the living
area upstairs.
"Repulsive." Amanda's reply was crisp as she finished stitching a doily together. "Pathetic
existence. And that cane! Low class and tacky. Aunt Josephine, the boy looks like," she
paused, saying, "forgive me. He looks like a pimp!"
"He's close to it," Aunt Josephine laughed at her niece's discomfort. "Half da goils in dis city
is in love wit da great Spot Conlon. He's a looker, ain't he?"
"I didn't notice."
The older woman looked crushed. "Aww, Amanda, he seems rough. But he's a good kid
undaneath. I knows dis. I knows."
"I'm sure you do. Forgive me, Aunt, but I must go study. I have an examination in
mathematics tomorrow." Aunt Josephine nodded, excusing her rude niece. Spot Conlon indeed!
Amanda thought to herself as she went to her room to study. You couldn't even see his
complexion under all that dirt. But another voice nagged at her, saying, Yes you could. And you
could see his blue-green eyes, too. Beautiful eyes, really, weren't they? Amanda shuddered,
trying to dismiss the voice. She knew Spot Conlon was like everyone she met in Brooklyn.
Trash.
Amanda walked slowly home from school the following day. None of her classmates took
the streetcar to Brooklyn. They all lived in fine houses in Queens or Manhattan. As she turned
onto the street of her aunt's home, she caught sight of a blonde haired figure walking up the
street.
Spot Conlon, she grimaced. What an unpleasant way to begin the afternoon. Maybe I'll not
work today. She shook her head. No, that's wrong. I'm earning my room and board. And if I
have to deal with Spot Conlon, I have to deal with Spot Conlon. She paused, a question
fluttering to her mind. What is that cane, anyway?
Spot pulled his cap down more over his ears. Why had he ended up in this neighborhood
again? Spot had actually considered walking halfway across Brooklyn to some decent food just
to avoid that girl. But you'se Spot Conlon. Not afraid of nothin', Spot told himself. He sat down
at a table in the corner of the restaurant. The other two people nodded to him, and Spot
returned the courtesy. The door opened, and Spot glanced up. There stood Amanda, looking
simply stunning in her good school clothes. She was wearing a lavender skirt with a dark purple
sash, and a white shirtwaist. Her long blonde hair was pinned up in the fashionable style he'd
seen in Manhattan. Jo was right, Spot realized. She's class, high class. Spot caught himself
staring and spoke to her. "Well if it ain't Miss Amanda Coldrine, looking all dolled up."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Godios, Mr. Occhino," Amanda greeted the other patrons of the
restaurant. "Good afternoon, Spot Conlon." She greeted the young man as she went to the back
room, brushing past her aunt.
"Whaddya do to hoir?" Aunt Josephine gave Spot a look. Spot's face remained emotionless.
He was a Brooklyn newsie, one of the best at hiding his emotions.
"Nuttin', Miss Jo," Spot's voice gave the woman no clues. She eyed him suspiciously.
"Now you behave yourself, Spot Conlon," Aunt Jo stared him down. "And take yer cap off in
here. Now, you want da usual? Good. I'll have Amanda make it up fer ya."
Upstairs, Amanda was combing her long blonde hair. She put on her work dress, a
grey-green print with grey-red flowers. She braided her hair into a long tail. Straightening her
collar, she walked tentatively down the stairs.
"Amanda? I need ya to take dis out to Spot," her aunt handed her a sandwich plate. "And
don't take none ah his twalk." Amanda smiled in spite of herself and went into the dining area.
"Here's your sandwich," she tried to be cordial.
"So, are you working here, or going to school?" Spot's question startled her. She bristled
visibly.
"I am attending the Academy of Good Grace in Manhattan. Hopefully I can enter Columbia
University in two years." Suddenly she sneered, "Why?"
"Jist curious, a goirgeous goil like yourself. Figured you'd be huntin' fer yer husband," Spot's
voice was mocking again.
"Oh, and are you inquiring for the position?" Amanda put her ice-blue eyes on Spot, and he
lamely shook his head. She turned and left, leaving Spot alone. Way to blow that one, Conlon.
You sees a goirgeous goil and You'se tells hoir so. You're acting like dose Manhattan newsies,
never seen a goil before. He quickly finished his sandwich, put down two ten cent pieces, and
left. He ran into Sumptin, a newsie who always had a story to tell. Before the young newsie
could say a word, Spot told him he wasn't going to be at the Lodging House tonight.
"I'se gots business in Manhattan. Tell Manser he's in charge. And I don't want any funny
business, tell the boys that," Spot gave the shorter boy his best look. Sumptin nodded and ran off
to tell Manser, Spot's number one right hand man.
Spot set off towards Manhattan. He needed a laugh, a change in scene. Manhattan also was
always worth some money in a poker game. Spot always looked for a chance to take money off
any newsies not from Brooklyn. Increases the reputation, he thought to himself as he walked on.
The impertinence! Amanda slammed her dishes into the soapy water, scrubbing them. And
the worst part is that you find him attractive. You can't deny it anymore, Amanda Coldrine. The
Brooklyn accent wasn't embaressing when Spot was talking, and his eyes were the prettiest
color... neither blue nor green. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, with no success.
"Amanda, you looks..." her aunt's voice trailed off, then started again. "You looks troubled.
What'se da matter?"
"Nothing, Aunt Jo. Nothing I can't handle myself," she attempted a smile at her aunt. The
old lady didn't look convinced, but she bustled away to wait on customers. Amanda's thoughts
returned to Spot. I won't see him tomorrow. Tomorrow's my afternoon off, and I'm going
shopping with Sarah after school.
"Well, if it ain't Spot Conlon," a tall newsie spit on his hand and stuck it out towards Spot.
"Jack Kelly, how ya been?"
"Does it maddah to say? Same as always," the two boys shook hands. They were rivals, but
they worked together and had a precocious friendship.
What the rest of the Manhattan newsies thought of Spot couldn't be said. "Brooklyn, what's
you'se doing here? Did ya git lost along da way, dis here's Manhattan," a newsie with a patch
over one eye, Kid Blink, teased.
"I's needed a laugh. So I'se came here, and figured we'd play some poker tonight," Spot
mocked back. Spot went upstairs, and Jack Kelly shook his head. Spot Conlon never changed.
He was the most unemotional newsie Jack had ever met. And dat's sayin' a lot, since you knows
so many newsies, Jack laughed to himself.
"So Spot, what's yer story lately," a newsie called Skittery asked. "Who's da goil?"
Spot's eyes flickered for a tenth of a second. "Well, yous know dat I gots lots of goils. There's
pretty goils, ugly goils, goils you would like in bed wit ya, and goils who take you ta bed. I got
dem all, Skittery." The Manhattan newsies hung on Spot's every word, with a few dissenters in
the back. Spot leaned back and told more stories, distracting the young newsies as he won their
money in poker. Powah, he thought. I gots powah. Still, as the stories continued late into the
night, he really only thought of one 'goil'- a tall, uppity blonde in Brooklyn.
"Sarah Craver, today was positively divine!" Amanda giggled as she walked her friend to her
house in Manhattan. Sarah Craver was of the high society at the Academy, and Amanda was one
of the lucky girls who were her friends. This past afternoon, Sarah had treated Amanda to
shopping and ice cream.
"Lovely, wasn't it? I shall see you tomorrow in school," Sarah leaned over and kissed her
friend's cheek. "Thank you for the afternoon, Amanda. Too bad you don't live closer so we
couldn't have these more frequently." The girls bid each other farewells, and Sarah went inside
her house.
Amanda decided to walk home, rather than take a trolley. She wandered around Manhattan
for a bit, heading over to the Brooklyn area. She was turning down a alley shortcut she knew to
Brooklyn, when she was grabbed from behind.
"Amanda Coldrine, I presume? Good finally, I found you," the man's breath smelled of
whiskey. Amanda screamed, but he clamped his hand over her mouth. "None of that now,
missy. I've waited a long time to get my hands on you. Yer father puts me brother in prison
back in Vermont." Suddenly Amanda recognized the voice of a farmer from her Vermont
hometown, Cody Dourline. "My brother died," the man continued. "He died in prison. And I
aims to make yer father pay for it. You're the first step," he said as he threw her on the ground
and kicked her in the stomach. Amanda saw her only hope. She grabbed a broken glass bottle
and aimed. The bottle broke near the man's groin, and he collapsed. She ran down the alley in
terror.
Amanda kept running towards Brooklyn. Suddenly, she slammed into someone. Seeing it
was a man, she screamed again and hurled herself at the ground. She curled up into a ball,
muttering, "Don't hurt me, Cody. It's not my fault. Don't hurt me!"
"Hey, what's the... Amanda?"
Amanda stayed in her protective ball. "Don't hurt me, please..." she sobbed.
"Amanda, it's me. Spot." Spot cautiously placed his hands on her shoulders. He was upset to
see the girl so disheveled. Her dress was torn and she had a large bruise appearing on her face.
"Go away!" Amanda thought the last thing she needed was the mocking voice from
Brooklyn.
"I don't think yer aunt would want me ta do that. I'd beddah walk ya home, you're not looking
so good," Spot offered his hand to help her up. She peeked out, lifting one arm, and sighed. Her
face was stained with tears, and the purple mark was growing on her cheek. "Please, Amanda.
Lemme help you." She nodded, and he helped her up. They began walking towards her aunt's
house.
"What happened?"
"I'm not discussing it with you, thank you," Amanda's voice broke on the last word.
"Sore? Because I'se can be a good listener," Spot's heart broke for the young girl. He knew
something awful had happened. Her dress was all muddy and stained, and the bruise was an
obvious sign. Her hair was all mussed. Yet, she still retained her beauty.
"Sure you can," Amanda's eyes blazed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Spot Conlon, 'da
greatest newsie of all time. Da one half da goils in New Yawk's in love wit," she imitated the
Brooklyn accent perfectly.
Spot's face didn't change expression. "Look. I just thought you might want someone ta tawk
to."
Amanda bit her lip to keep from crying. "I was threatened, and beaten by a man tonight. My
father's a lawyer in Vermont, understand. He put this man's brother in jail. Apparently he died
there. The man, Cody Dourline, is out for revenge. I'm terrified... I threw a bottle at him, but it
may not stop him," Amanda's tears flowed freely. Spot sat her down on a bench. Amanda took
her handkerchief out of her bag, trying to regain control of herself. "I'm so scared." She started
shivering.
Spot's heart reached out. He put his arm around the terrified girl. "It's alright. I'se won't let
him hurt you again. I'se won't let it happen, Mandy." Amanda didn't even notice Spot calling
her that. She normally hated being called her childhood name Mandy, but when Spot said it, it
sounded right. Spot's other hand reached out and put a tendril of long, blonde hair behind her
ear.
Amanda looked up into his face. He really is handsome. And he saved my life. Without
him, I'd be crying in that alley. She moved closer, nuzzling into his arms. He's so strong,
thought Amanda.
"So, is you alright?" Spot's voice broke her thoughts.
"I need to get home," Amanda suddenly realized how late it was, and the fact she was in Spot
Conlon's arms didn't improve the situation. "My aunt's probably scared to death."
Spot stood up abruptly. "Well, then, let's go." He was clearly embarrassed, even with his
Brooklyn cool.
"I'm beholden to you, Spot Conlon," Amanda smiled at him.
Spot shrugged. "I jist happen to be comin' from Manhattan meself," he explained. "Are you
sure you'se alright?"
Amanda nodded, but hesitated. "I'm scared it'll happen again, that's all. And I always walk
by myself." Oh you ninny, she told herself.Why don't you just ask him to escort you?
Spot nodded. "Don't worry. It won't. Dese things don't happen often. Well, 'night." And
suddenly they were at the door of the restaurant. Spot turned and began to walk away. Before
Amanda could call to him, Aunt Josephine ran outside.
"Amanda Coldrine! Where on earth have you been?" She noticed her appearance. "Young
lady, what happened ta ya?"
"It's a long story. But I'm alright," she confessed the whole thing to her aunt. "Spot was
wonderful," she blushed at her aunt's expression.
"Oh, Gawd, you've got it bad, don't cha?" Aunt Josephine knew that expression all too well.
"You're in love wit dat boy."
"Aunt Jo I am not!" Amanda was indignant. "I have to get cleaned up. I'm exhausted." She
turned and went upstairs. Little did she know her aunt stayed up, troubled all night by what
happened.
You fool. She practically offered you the chance to see her again there, Spot cursed himself
as he walked to the Lodging House in Brooklyn. You wanna see hoir again. This pretty goil
from Vermont has your hands all tied, doesn't she, Spot? He went inside and began to think in
his room. He wanted desperately to see her again. Finally, he came up with a way. He quickly
wrote a note, and called to a newsie.
"Runnah?"
"Yeah, boss?" the quick newsie known as Runner stuck his head into Spot's room.
"I gots a note fer you to take."
"A note? You never used no note before," Runner became timid under Spot's glare. "But
dat's ok, boss. Whatevah you want."
"Take it to the restaurant Josephine's Place. You knows which one," Spot reminded him.
Runner agreed and dashed out of the lodging house. Spot could only think about Amanda's
hopefully positive response. He wasn't sure that this was a good idea. But was Brooklyn ever
famous for good ideas? Nah, he told himself as he drifted to sleep.
"A message? For me?" repeated Amanda dubiously the next morning.
"It says yer name on it. It came last night, I betcha it's from Spot," Aunt Jo winked at her.
Amanda quickly obliged. "It says, To: A. I think you need to learn to punch an attacker. I'll
meet you at the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House today after your school. Signed, Spot
Conlon." Amanda looked at her aunt. "I should learn to defend myself, Aunt Jo. And Spot
knows how to."
"He's da best, goil. Just you be careful. He's broken more hearts than you can imagine," Aunt
Josephine frowned deeply.
Amanda sighed. "I can take care of myself. And don't worry, I'll probably be home late
tonight again."
"Not too late!" her aunt screamed after her as she left. Aunt Jo stood in the door shaking her
head. Her niece and Spot Conlon? There was no way.
Spot sat in front of the Lodging House. He had sold double his normal number of papers
today. And now he was meeting Amanda Coldrine. All in all, not bad, Spot, not bad.
"Good afternoon, Spot Conlon."
Spot whipped off his hat. "Afternoon, Amanda. How's you?" He spit into his hand and stuck
it out, only to shrug and put it behind his back. Amanda seemed to be pleased at his discomfort.
"Sorry, natural reaction. Anyways, I gots dis idea. You needs to learn how to punch a guy out.
And I, Spot Conlon can teach ya that. So let's go." He took off at a brisk pace, not waiting for a
response.
Amanda followed in silence. He always looked good, she thought to herself. She had no
concept where they were going, when they suddenly arrived at a deserted alleyway. Her
defenses went up.
"Relax," Spot said. "Dis is where's I train my newsies." He gestured to the alleyway.
"Alright. De first thing you've got ta learn is how to punch somebody. That'll give ya time to run
and git help. It's not like you'se needs to learn boxing. Just defense." He motioned her to put
her books and parasol down. She obliged.
"Now, the first thing you'se does is not let them get a hold of you," Spot explained. "If anyone touches ya in a way you don't like, here's what ya do." He showed her how to throw someone off balance. At first Amanda was shy and timid. Eventually she felt like she was
getting the hang of things.
"It's getting late," she finally said, panting from exhaustion.
Spot put down the bag she had been punching. "Sorry's bout dat, Amanda." He handed her
the parasol. "We best be goin'." They made an unlikely pair walking through Brooklyn, Spot and his gold-tipped cane with the high-class school girl Amanda.
"Spot, I want to say thank you," Amanda smiled at him as they were walking. "I don't know
many people who would do something like this for me. That was wonderful."
Spot shrugged. "Eh, I'se just trying' to help ya. You being Miss Jo's niece and all," he made
excuses. What am I supposed ta say to this goil? I love spending time wit her.
Suddenly she pointed at him. "What's that?" Amanda asked.
Spot looked down at the key he wore around his neck. "Oh. Dis is jist," he paused, not sure whether or not to continue. "Listen. I don't tell many people about dis. It's special. So don't be
tellin' no one." Amanda nodded. Spot continued, "I found dis. It's a, what-cha-call-it, a
talisman. A good luck charm, you know? It makes me think of..." Spot, whaddya think you'se
doing? You ain't told no one da next part. Ever. Keep it dat way.
"Makes you think of what, Spot?"
Spot cleared his throat. "Dis'll probably sound stupid to you," he mumbled. "See, it makes
me think of a home, ya know? Like a key to a real house. Wit a real family. I'se never had any
family, 'cept da newsies. I never even knew me muddah or faddah. Dey left me in an orphanage
when I was a few months old. But someday, I'm gonna have a real family." His eyes shone in
the soft evening light.
"Spot Conlon," Amanda smiled at him, "That's wonderful." Spot's head began to spin. She
thinks my dream's wonderful! Wonderful! He put his arms around her.
"You think so, Amanda?" He kissed her softly. She nodded, brining him closer. They stood
kissing in the alley until they heard someone walking. Amanda nodded to the elderly man, and
Spot took off his cap.
"We better get walkin'," Spot reminded Amanda. But he didn't remove his arms from her
shoulders. "You know, I've nevah told anyone dat last part before. Only you." Amanda smiled
at him. They were suddenly at the door of the restaurant.
"I'll meet you Friday, same spot," Spot gave her his best grin.
"Alright," Amanda agreed. She bid him goodnight and stepped inside.
Spot walked through Brooklyn to the lodging house. Way to go Conlon. You tell da goil yer
secrets, and den you kiss her. But she's so pretty, and so different... his thoughts trailed off. For
the first time in his life, Spot Conlon wasn't sure what to do about a goil.
"Stop giving me that look!" Amanda scowled at her aunt the next morning at breakfast. "I
feel criminal."
"You too were awful close last night comin' in," Aunt Josephine teased.
"Spot's a good friend."
"A good friend you thought was repulsive a few days ago," her aunt retorted.
Amanda sighed. "Fine. I'm not arguing with you. You would think you'd be happy, I'm giving Brooklyn a chance!" Amanda began clearing the breakfast dishes. Spot Conlon was a man like she'd never met before. She'd certainly never been kissed like that before.
Friday afternoon rolled around before she'd even noticed. Her second week in New York City was over, and she wasn't exactly unhappy to be here anymore. That Friday, Spot continued his lessons how to teach her. But he was distant, unlike the last time they'd been together. Amanda didn't know what to think. They walked home silently.
At the door, Spot quickly turned to go. "Spot?" Amanda asked cautiously. "I asked my Aunt, and she said it's alright..."
"What's alright?" he asked in his cool, calm way.
"If you come over for dinner on Sunday night," Amanda explained, crossing in the folds of her dress.
Spot looked unnerved. "Ummm, sure. What time dya want me ta come?"
"Five o'clock's just fine," Amanda smiled at him. He nodded, and turned to go. Amanda sat down inside in a huff. Well, indeed! What was tonight about? You would have thought the other day had never happened, she scowled. But he's coming for dinner. Now I just have to clear it with Aunt Jo.
"Dinner fer two?" Aunt Jo stuck her head in from the kitchen, mocking Amanda. "My aunt already said it's alright. Oh, she did, did she?" Amanda was worried, but then she saw her aunt's smile.
"Yes she did. She also said she would help make her special pasta," Amanda pressed.
Aunt Josephine laughed, "Ah to be young again. Of course I'll help you, sweetie. We had better make sure tomorrah that we gots everything."
Spot walked alone back to the lodging house. Damn, she's got you good. Who ever thought that you'se be eatin' dinner wit a goil at her home? He asked himself. Conlon, you acted like a real jerk tonight. I'se don't know how ta treat dis goil. She's better than anything I've evah seen. Suddenly he turned around and walked towards Manhattan. If anyone could give him advice, it was Cowboy. As much as I hate ta admit it, he grimaced and quickened his pace.
"Spot, you here again?" Jack Kelly was walking towards the lodging house when he noticed the lone figure. He and Spot spit shook, and Spot nodded.
"Actually, Jacky-boy, I'se gots a little problem. And I figured you'se the one ta help me," Spot looked down. He hated doing this. He was Spot Conlon, never asking help from anyone. It was hard to swallow that pride.
Jack looked hard at Spot, thinking this would be easy to tease the great Brooklyn newsie. Then he saw Spot's eyes, troubled as they were, and figured he better give Spot a break. "What's wrong, Spot?"
"Well, it's like dis, Cowboy. I really likes dis goil. But she's not my normal type," Spot explained. "You knows, the flashy type. I admits, I never really know the goils I go with. Ta me, they'se jist more chapters in my stories." Spot blushed, a rare occasion, even around Jack.
"So what'sa the problem?"
Spot cleared his throat. "I'se don't know what ta do. She's pretty, and great ta talk to, and I can tell hoir anything. When I kissed her, Jack," Spot whistled through his teeth. "You knows what I means."
Jack punched Spot on the shoulder. "Sounds like you'se got to swallow dat Brooklyn pride a' yers and treat her nice like."
"Jack, how does I do dat?" Jack Kelly laughed. He never expected Spot Conlon to be this put out over a goil. Jack began to explain some of the problems he had with Sarah, being from a real family and such. "Even so," Jack frowned, "Dis goil sounds even classier. Schooled and everything." Spot nodded. "You'se takin' a chance Spot. But I admire ya for it. Come on, let's go get some money outta Racetrack in poker." The pair went inside, and Spot forgot his worries for the time.
"Aunt Josephine! I can't cook this, set the table, and get ready for dinner all at once? Please will you cook the pasta?" Amanda gave her aunt her best look and put her hand up to her forehead, wiping sweat.
"Well, I guess your spinster aunt can help wit romance jist once. But don't be tellin' nobody. I'se cooks and sets the table, while You'se gets cleaned up," Aunt Josephine smiled as her niece rushed up the stairs. Amanda had already picked out her dress. It was a pale blue skirt, with a dark blue waist. The blouse was white with tiny embroidered blue flowers. Her best friend in Vermont had brought the shirt from France for her, and it was Amanda's favorite. As she smoothed her skirt down, she sat down, looking in the mirror to do her hair. Finally, after numerous attempts to put it up, she groaned. "Aunt Jo!"
"Amanda, hon, you'se better git a move on, Spot'll be here in forty minutes," Aunt Jo screamed back.
"Can I just wear my hair down?"
"What?" her aunt poked her head in the tiny room. "No. It's unseemly. Yer muddah would murdah me." Aunt Jo cocked her head quizzically and smiled. "Hold on." She came back a moment later holding a tiny box. "Dese were yer great grandmuddahs. They're combs from Italy, given ta her on her weddin' day. I think they'll looks jist fine," smiled the old lady as she combed Amanda's long, blonde hair. She placed one comb over her left ear, and the other symmetrically over her right. "We needs ta pin dat hair back more," Aunt Jo sighed, and poked hidden hairpins into Amanda's scalp. But when she looked in the mirror, she was stunning. Her hair fell in a soft mass, the delicate, small, natural waves bouncing when she moved.
Amanda hugged her aunt. "I never could do this without you." Tears appeared in her aunt's eyes at the sudden display of affection. "Thank you."
Across town, Spot Conlon also was getting ready. He had invited Jack over for support. "Now Spot, don't be gettin' noirvous," Jack teased Spot, whose face was rather white.
"Jacky-boy, I ain't doin' dis." Spot sat down on his bed. "I ain't."
Jack sighed, for the hundredth time in a half hour. "You is. If I'se have to waste me evenin' draggin' you over there, you is doin' dis." Jack looked at the boy, his best friend, really, and thought of how a single girl was frightening the great newsie. "Spot, you've handled scabs, soak'd da best fighters in dis city, and done jist about everything else. You can handle a goil."
Spot looked up, and gave Jack a grin. "A goil I care about."
"Spot Conlon, have you told hoir dat?"
Spot punched Jack in the arm. "Whaddya think I am, stupid? Think I want her ta laugh at me, like Sarah did ta you'se dat foirst time?" Jack grimaced, thinking of the uncomfortable moment.
"I thinks you should tell hoir. She needs ta hear dat," Jack spoke seriously to Spot, who shrugged him off.
"Ya walkin' me part way?" Once again, Spot looked apprehensive.
"Spot Conlon. I'se stayin' here becose I'se playin' pokah with yer newsies. Now, dis is one more goil who is in love wit ya. Half dis city's in love wit ya. So, you jist keep dat in mind. And you'se the great Spot Conlon, from Brooklyn. Remember dat. Now go," Jack pushed him towards the door. Spot walked quietly across Brooklyn, thinking about the tall, pretty girl he liked so much.
Aunt Jo suddenly heard a knock at the door. "Dat's him! Everything's ready, you'se git the door, I gots ta take out dinner." Amanda smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulders. "You'se looks gorgeous. Now git that door!"
Amanda walked down the stairs, smoothed out her skirts, and opened the door. On her step stood Spot Conlon, giving her his trademark grin. She cleared her throat, once unsuccessfully, tried again, and spoke. "Good evening."
"Heya," Spot almost spit into his hand. "Sorry," he muttered. "Habit." How could you have almost dun dat? Spot screamed at himself. She looks so pretty, all dolled up. Amanda's da best goil I'se evah met. But Cowboy's wrong. I can't tell hoir. She'd laugh at me, she would. Spot stepped inside when Amanda invited him.
"Spot, it's been too long," Aunt Josephine came up and kissed the boy on the head. If it had been anyone else, Spot woulda soak'd 'em, but Aunt Jo was different. "I'se gots da nicest dinner fer you'se." The three sat down to a terrific meal of pasta, bread, vegetables, and for dessert, a pie that Amanda had made. As Aunt Josephine cleared the last of the dishes, she winked to Amanda. "Now I'se goin' upstairs. Don't be loud."
There was an awkward silence as they sat around the table in the kitchen. "T'anks again fer da meal. Good stuff," Spot looked at the tablecloth.
"Would you like to go sit in the restaurant area?"
"Sure," Spot smiled again, but half-heartedly. It wasn't easy, sitting here talking with her.
He started fiddling with the key around his neck.
"That's really sweet about your key," Amanda smiled at him. "I understand. I was miserable here at first, but now I realize that here is better than home. My parents," Amanda stopped, blushing. Don't tell him that! No one knows about your parents! Amanda scolded herself. Spot asked her a question. "What?"
"Yer parents..."
"Oh. Well, see, they don't love each other anymore. They haven't spoken in maybe a year. My mother lives in her wing of the house, my father at the office. I haven't eaten with my family in four and a half years. Divorce is unheard of, and unspeakable where I live," Amanda began to cry. Spot moved his chair over and put his arms around her.
"It's ok, Mandy. Manders, it's ok," he kissed her forehead.
"So I understand the want for a real home," Amanda sniffed. "Spot, I understand." Suddenly, talking was easy. The pair talked for hours, about their homes, their lives, and their dreams. Suddenly, the clock chimed ten.
"It's so late!" Amanda gasped.
Spot smiled, his arms still around her, "Not too late for a walk?" Amanda smiled, tiptoed upstairs and asked her aunt. Aunt Josephine consented, and the two left for a night walk.
Spot stopped her on the Brooklyn Bridge, holding her even closer. "Amanda?" Spot looked into her crystal blue eyes in the starlight.
"What?" Amanda nestled her head in between his chin and his shoulder.
I cain't tell her. I cain't. Spot did the first thing he thought to do. He kissed Amanda, long and hard. It was electric. Amanda felt elated. Amazing, he's kissing me. And it feels wonderful. Amanda pulled him back to her when the first kiss ended. The second was softer, and more feeling. Smiling as the kiss ended, Spot leaned back on the rail.
"Spot?"
"Manders?"
She playfully punched him in the arm. "Spot, why do you call me that? Manders?" No one had ever called her that before.
Spot shrugged. "I dunno, it fits. You'se Manders." My Manders, he thought. But he didn't say it. He just kissed her again and again. Then in the back of his mind, Spot realized the time. "Amanda, I beddah get you home." They walked, talking quietly to one another.
"Spot?" Amanda tentatively asked after he kissed her at her door. "Spot, did you know that you're the first person I've ever talked about my parents to? Or a lot of the things we discussed."
"Amanda, you'se da foirst I'se evah told about me key. I'se trust ya," Spot kissed her
again quickly on the lips. "Night. I'se be seeing you Monday... dat's tomorrow... at da Lodging house in Manhattan, roight?" Amanda nodded.
"Stop giving me that look, Aunt Jo!" Amanda scowled at her aunt the next morning.
"Nothing happened." Not a total truth, Amanda, but it'll do. Spot Conlon's like no one I've ever
met before. He's not polite and terribly handsome like the young men who court me at home. Amanda sighed. But when he talks to me, I can see into his soul. He's a wonderful person. And when he kissed me, Amanda's knees got weak remembering, it was amazing. I've never felt like that before.
"You'se beddah be careful," Aunt Jo warned again. "Please, Mandy?"
"It's Amanda, Aunt Jo," she began to protest.
Aunt Josephine cut her off. "You'se lets Spot call you Mandy! I heards!" Amanda was flabbergasted. Aunt Josephine laughed. "I'se jist teasing, Amanda. Git to school, now, hurry up or you'se gonna be late."
Spot sat in front of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House with Jack's goil, Sarah. Spot knew that Sarah would understand about his problems. "Sarah, I really likes hoir. But I can't tell hoir."
"Spot, why not?" Sarah asked him, confused.
Spot lowered his voice. "Sarah, I'se scared. What if she don't feel da same? Er werse, what if she laughs?" Spot sighed. "I wouldn't know what ta do." Sarah laughed and put her arms around him, giving him a sisterly kiss on the cheek.
"Spot Conlon, the greatest newsie in Brooklyn afraid?" she smiled at him. "Tell her exactly how you feel. That's my advice to you." Spot nodded, thinking about it. He changed the
subject, and he and Sarah talked about their friends, the Manhattan newsies.
Amanda's face dropped. There, in front of the lodging house was Spot with another girl. Not that he's yours. She thought to herself. Then the girl kissed him. That's Spot's goil! I can't believe this, I trusted him and he used me. Amanda's eyes brimmed with tears. She turned sharply, not even acknowledging Spot. She didn't want to see him anymore. How could he do this to me? All that nonsense about how he understood me, and how I could see into the depth of his soul. Tears flowed freely from Amanda's eyes, so much she could hardly see as she ran through the streets of Manhattan.
BAMN! She crashed into another person. "Hey! Watch where you'se goin," the compact frame of a tall, blonde boy with a patch over one eye yelled. "Git out of da way."
"Hey, Blink, dis here's a goil. Not jist a goil, a lady," taunted a second boy, this one shorter and dark haired.
"Pretty goil to be running through dis part a Manhattan," the first one smiled at Amanda, and reached out to touch her arm. Amanda didn't hesitate. She sprang to her feet and took a deep breath. She punched the blonde newsie in his good eye, just like Spot had taught her. At least he was good for something, she grimaced.
"Hey!" cried another boy, this one muscular. "Whaddya think yer doin'?"
"Where did a goil like you learn ta punch like dat?" the second boy gaped.
Amanda began to cry again, this time hard. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were trying to hurt me. I've had the worst afternoon."
"Yeah, and I lost my fortune at the track," the dark haired boy frowned. Suddenly, Amanda was very conscious of the two newsies looking her up and down. She bristled, ready to punch again if necessary. Amanda looked at the papers in their hands, and realized they were newsies.
"I am sorry about your friend," she apologized one more time.
The third boy shrugged. "Blink's alright. Unless we spread it around dat the shinah
was caused by a goil. De name's Mush. Dis here's Racetrack, and da one you took out is Kid Blink." Mush spat into his hand and stuck it out. It remained there for a moment. Amanda tried not to be disgusted, and shook his hand in her gloved one.
"Normally we'd soak ya back. But you'se a goil, so we beddah not," Racetrack explained. "And you looks like you'se not too happy today."
"Well," Amanda looked at the two newsies. "We should do something about your friend," she changed the subject.
"Don't worry, he's alright." Blink nodded, holding his head in his hands. Mush continued, saying, "Come wit us ta Tiddy's and buy us lunch, we'll call it even. Fair?" Amanda nodded, grateful they weren't angry. Although after Spot I can hardly believe I'm even talking to another newsie, Amanda remarked to herself.
"Ya know," Kid Blink said when they were inside Tiddy's, "dere's one other person in New Yawk who can punch like dat. And dat's Spot Conlon." At the mention of his name Amanda's eyes brimmed with tears. The boys stopped in their eating, looking at her.
"Wait. Whatsa da maddah?" Racetrack looked Amanda in the eye.
"Nothing."
"Den why is you cryin'?"
"I'm not."
Blink glanced at Racetrack, nudging him with his elbow. "Another one a Spot's goils, ain't ya?"
"No."
Racetrack frowned. "Listen, we ain't so fond of Spot Conlon and Brooklyn dat you can't say notin' bad about dem. So if ya wanna say something, you'se safe ta say it."
Mush touched her arm lightly, saying, "What did Spot do ta ya?" Amanda tried to regain control, but it was hopeless. Eventually, the whole story came out.
"In front of our lodging house? Wait 'til Jack hears dis one," Racetrack scowled. "Spot's gone too far, actin' dis way wit a goil like you'se."
"That's awful," a female voice said as Amanda received a big hug. "I'm Katrin," she introduced herself, sitting down next to Kid Blink. He kissed her cheek. "I'm his goil, before you'se ask. Proud of it," Blink grinned at her.
Amanda tried to smile, but she couldn't. "I just don't know what to do."
Race grimaced. "Dose Brooklyn boys always cause trouble. And Spot's de worst." The others at the table nodded. The clock chimed, and Amanda jumped up, smoothing her skirt down.
"I really have to go, I was supposed to help clean up the restaurant my aunt owns," she explained to the newsies.
"Wait," Mush's face showed concern. "Race and I'll walk ya home. Sounds like you shouldn't be alone fer a bit, wit dat crazy man around."
"And wit Spot Conlon," Race added.
"Although you kin defend yourself jist fine," Kid Blink teased, and Katrin adjusted the ice on his already purple eye.
Mush, Race, and Amanda left the restaurant. They were quiet at first, but gradually they talked comfortably together as they walked. Amanda invited them in for dinner, but they declined, saying they had to get home to Manhattan.
"Thank you for everything," Amanda hugged each boy. "I was so rude at first, and you were wonderful. If there's anything I can ever do to repay you, just ask."
Racetrack grinned at her. "Don't be a stranger. Come visit, Katrin'll really like it, and we will, too. You'se knows where we are."
Mush nodded. "And if Spot Conlon gives you any trouble, lemme know." Amanda hugged them again, and walked inside, waving farewell.
"Amanda, where was you today?" Amanda's face took a hard expression as she saw the figure sitting in her kitchen. "And why was you wit da Manhattan newsies?"
"Spot Conlon!" Amanda glared at him. "If you would take time to notice, I think I can defend myself fine. You obviously have better things to do."
Spot didn't understand why she was glaring at him so. "Manders, what's da--"
"Don't ever call me that again," Amanda spat at him. "Ever."
Spot's temper flared. Who's she ta think she can talk dis way? She's gonna git it. "Fine. You'se jist a hoity goil. I was doin' you a favor."
"Favor? Favor? Do me a favor and leave!" Amanda yelled, throwing her arms towards the door. "I don't want to see you again."
Spot shook his fist at her. "You'se lucky I don't soak goils." He spit on the floor and slammed the door behind him. Amanda put her head down on a table and cried.
"So, you had a fight wit Spot?"
Amanda gazed at her aunt, teary-eyed. "Y-y-yes...." she sobbed.
"Yeah, half da neighborhood knows," Aunt Jo said sarcastically. Seeing how hurt her niece was, she repented, "Aww, come here. Mandy, no boy, especially not Spot is worth dis. You'se beddah. You'se class, Amanda." Aunt Josephine took Amanda upstairs and let her cry herself to sleep.
Spot Conlon had been in an awful mood the last few days. Manser had noted that it was even worse than usual. Spot was never overly friendly, but he had been outright tyrannical the last few days. Manser wasn't upset to hear that Spot was takin' off fer a few days.
As Spot slammed out the door, his anger raged inside him. Deep down, he was actually hurting. Why did she do dis ta me? I ain't nevah done nothin' ta hoir. Spot looked down, once again thinking the thought that had haunted him the past few days. She doesn't think I'se good enuff fer hoir. She's high society, high class. He stalked into the Newsboys Lodging House in Manhattan, nodding hello to Kloppman.
"Well, well," Racetrack scowled at him. "If it ain't da great Spot Conlon?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. Racetrack had become good friends with Amanda, often walking with her as she went from school to home. He was furious with Spot, and ready to get even. Katrin, Blink, and Mush all looked up from a conversation they were having.
"Spot Conlon," Blink glared at him. "You'se not welcome anywheres I am. Why are you here?"
Spot frowned. "What'sa da problem? I ain't done notin' to ya."
Katrin let out a yelp. "Mebbe not ta us, but what you did to Amanda makes ya scum, Spot."
"Is dat wat this is all about?" Spot's voice raised. "You'se gots ta be kidding. I haven't twalked ta hoir in a week. Good thing, too, da hoity toity goil."
Mush crossed his arms over his chest. "Spot, how could ya let a goil like hoir, all classy, think ya like hoir? And den she sees ya wit anuddah goil when you'se supposed ta be meeting' hoir? Spot, dat's wrong."
Spot frowned in confusion. "I ain't been wit any other goil since I met hoir. I was jist waitin' fer her here on Monday wit Sarah."
"Wit Sarah?" Katrin gave Spot a look. "Jack's Sarah?"
"Yeah, dere's another Sarah worth mentioning?" Spot smacked himself in the head. "Amanda probably saw us dere togeddah and thought it meant something. Awww..." Spot trailed off.
"It's all a mix-up?" asked Mush, voice full of disbelief.
"Mush, I means it when I say I like hoir," Spot put his face in his hand. Suddenly he sat up, full of Brooklyn cool. He whipped out his cane and shoved it in Race's face. "Never mind.
Yous Manhattan newsies mess everything up. I can see I'se not wanted here." He stalked off, slamming the door behind him, not even saying goodbye to Klopmann.
"For a second dere, I'se thought Spot Conlon was a human bein'," Katrin giggled. "What a joirk. We oughta soak 'em."
"Mebbe we should tell Amanda," Mush pondered.
"Nah," Racetrack shrugged. "She's beddah without him. He'll only make it werse anuddah time. Come on, let's play pokah."
Spot ran from the lodging house to Brooklyn. He reached the restaurant panting. "Jo?" He called. "Jo? You'se dere?" There was no one in the restaurant, it being so late. "Jo, I gots ta see Amanda."
"No you don't," Aunt Josephine walked into the room. "You broke dat goil's heart. You'se not welcome here."
"Aunt Josephine?" a voice came from upstairs. "Who's there?"
"I oughta not tell hoir," Aunt Jo scowled at Spot. Still, she hollered up, "It's Spot. He was jist getting on his way."
"Wait!" the door suddenly opened. There stood Amanda, her hair down, in her green work dress. To Spot, she'd never looked better. He removed his cap.
He came to see me, Amanda thought, elated. Standing there, he looks almost like he's lost some of the Brooklyn aura. His blue eyes are pleading with me, and he's all sweaty. She caught her breath as she noticed his shirt unbuttoned just the right amount.
"Amanda, we gots ta talk."
"Fine. She opened the front door. "Let's go for a walk." They walked silently for about three blocks.
"You really hurt me, Spot. I thought you liked me, and there you were with that other girl," tears formed in Amanda's eyes, and she tried, unsuccessfully, to blink them away.
"Amanda. Dat goil was Sarah. Jack's goil." Spot spread out his hands. "Dere's nothin' between us. We actually was talkin' about you." He wiped the tears from her cheek. She slapped his hand.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because of this." Spot leaned over and pinned her against the wall. He kissed her, tenderly at first, but then harder. His arms slipped around her waist, and he held her close as they embraced. Electricity seared through his body.
"Spot?"
"Amanda, do ya believe me?"
"Spot," Amanda ran her hand though his hair. I always wanted to do that, she thought. "I believe you."
Spot sat down on a bench and put his arms around her. "Amanda, dis is hard fer me. But I like you, a lot. You're so different. But if you'se don't want me, den tell me now. If I'se not good enuff fer you, tell me." He sighed, kissing her forehead. "You'se the foirst goil I evah met who's real, and the only one who wanted to learn ta fight," he smiled at her. Playfully her took a long tendril of her hair and put it behind her back. "Please don't say no, Amanda," he whispered. "Yes." Amanda snuggled close to him in his arms. "Yes." She kissed him again, and they sat there kissing until a clock chimed in the distance. "Spot, I have to get home."
"Yes, you'se do."
"Can I see you tomorrow?" Amanda asked. She enjoyed the way Spot wouldn't let his arm leave her waist as they walked back to the restaurant.
Spot nodded. "I'll meet you at Tibby's after yer school." He kissed her again. "Are you'se sure I'se good enuff fer you?"
"Spot Conlon, you're the best for me." Amanda almost said 'I love you,' but she stopped herself. "Until tomorrow," she kissed him.
"Until tamorrah, Manders."
The next day Amanda walked towards Tibby's, thinking of Spot. He held me. And I feel safe with him. I love him. I really do,Amanda was astonished at herself. I love him. I don't know how or why, but I do. She turned down an alley, thinking the shortcut would save her time. She kept walking, humming a song to herself, thinking of Spot.
Suddenly she heard a menacing voice. "Amanda Coldrine, alone at last. I knew ya'd get here eventually. Now's my time ta finish da job." Amanda didn't even give him a chance to touch her. She aimed and punched Cody in the eye. She heard a scream in the distance, but didn't stop. She punched again, twice in the stomach. Cody fell violently, and as he did he slammed his head against the wall.
"I saw him try ta grab you," Spot panted, obviously running. "Dat's when I screamed." He kissed her hard. "I'se never been so scared. I thought I was gonna lose you. Again."
"I'm alright. Thanks to your fighting style. I never would have learned to punch him without you."
"Are you alright, miss?" two police quickly came onto the scene, noting Amanda's clothing and disshevled appearance.
"I'm fine, Officer. That man attacked me," Amanda pointed to the fallen Cody. "It's the second time that he has assalted me."
"Don't you worry, miss, we'll take care of him," the second officer said, taking out handcuffs. Amanda filed a report with the police. They took her still unconscious assaulter away.
"You'll have a good headline tomorrow to sell," Amanda commented. Spot laced his hand through hers. Amanda smiled at the display of affection. He kissed her as they walked into Tibby's creating cat calls from several of the Manhattan newsies.
Katrin noticed and nudged Amanda. "You'se ok wit dis?"
"Katrin, it's better. Don't worry, I can handle this," Amanda smiled at her friend, trying to reassure her she really was alright.
Blink kissed Katrin's cheek. "Amanda's a big goil. Let hoir handle it. If she' OK wit Spot, she's ok, Katrin." Katrin gave Amanda a quick hug. Spot tugged at Amanda's arm. She sat down next to him at a table.
"Everything alright?" Spot asked as he took Amanda in his arms.
"Yes."
"I love you, you'se knows dat?" He kissed her and held her close.
Amanda smiled at da greatest newsie in Brooklyn, her newsie. "I know. I love you too."