A/N: The format of this story is set up in two parts. It may be a little long, but then again, if you've read any of my stories before, you'd realize I always write long ones! It chronicles the relationship between Spot and Emma(my new FOC) over several years, and also the road to Spot's legendary status. Oh and I can't forget lots of internal conflicts, troubled young souls, and rough 'n tough street kids; all the makings of a romantic drama. For Part I, the chapters will jump dramatically in time between some of them, so keep an eye out for that. So sit back, relax, and don't forget to review!
Disclaimer: Don't own any Newsies characters and I'm not making money off this. Damn.
Part I, Chapter I
April 10, 1890
Brooklyn, New York
They met in Brooklyn, at the corner of Pine and 4th, to be exact. It was an ordinary day for the both of them and ordinarily they never saw each other. Yet today, they did.
"I cannot keep track of you for this long," the impatient mother chided with an adamant jerk, "keep up!"
An energetic eight-year-old girl tagged along to her side as they weaved in and out of the crowds in Benham's Market. Mrs. Helen Corwell had been having trouble watching her daughter ever since she first learned to walk.
"Emma Marie Corwell!"
The fair-haired girl snapped to attention at the sound of her full name. Her big, round eyes widened and promptly she gripped her mother's hand and looked straight ahead. The sun cast a ray of light directly onto the girl's face amidst the hustle and bustle of the hectic market. She felt a burst of energy again and proceeded to skip a few steps in front of her mother, but only a few.
Not far away, a young but fierce boy went to work for the afternoon.
"Gatherin' 'a top secret officials in Red Hook! Foul play suspected! "
The loud, high-pitched voice echoed from the corner of Pine and 4th. Patrick waved his newspapers in the air, fifty copies of The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, and scanned the headlines continually.
"Mayor to investigate Red Hook officials!"
Sure, his headline exaggeration was a bit rusty, but it did not stop the young newsie from doing his job. As far as he was concerned, he was the biggest, bravest, most intimidating newsie in Brooklyn, even if his eight years of age and short stature worked against him at times. After a man presently purchased a paper, Patrick felt a forceful shove to his back.
"Outta heah, Patty, I'm sellin' heah now," commanded a boy no older than thirteen. He kicked over the younger boy's papers and set his own place at the corner.
"You get out, Spits, this is my spot!"
"Oh, yeah? Cry me a rivah, kid! Whatcha gonna do about it?" Spits turned his back to him and planted his feet firmly into the ground.
Patrick pursed his lips and furrowed his piercing, light blue eyes. This was his spot. He grabbed a marble from his pocket and kicked the back of Spits' legs hard, sending him to his knees. He speedily placed the marble into his slingshot. He aimed the shot directly at his face and pulled back the rubber band, prepared to launch the marble.
"You don't got the guts, Conlon," tempted Spits.
"Try me."
On the double Spits held up his hands and got up from the ground. Gathering a torn heap of papers, he rounded the corner and left him alone. Patrick placed his slingshot back into the band of his pants and smirked.
Meanwhile, in Benham's Market, Mrs. Helen Corwell huffed and sighed almost childishly trying to gather all the groceries in her arm and still keep track of her daughter Emma.
"Your father's just got to have his paper, doesn't he?" she scoffed. "Didn't buy it this morning, might as well pick one up now…not that we don't have a thousand other things to do, right, Em?"
Emma had strayed away from her mother for a moment and picked a fully blossomed daisy from the cart of a vendor who had his back turned. The girl smiled obliviously as she pressed it to her nose.
"Emma!"
She looked up briefly and tore off towards her mother, whose face was growing more impatient as the day wore on. They made their way towards their home and family-owned business, Corwell Bakery.
"Your father is the one who usually does all the bakery shopping," complained Mrs. Corwell in a frustrated tone with her head up in the air. "'Didn't quite feel like today,' did he?" She shook her arm with her daughter attached and Emma quickly nodded, adoring and smelling her daisy the entire time.
They approached a boy, no older or younger than the girl, where Pine St. met 4th. He shouted the newspaper's headlines in a booming voice in another direction.
"Boy! I'll take one 'a those."
Emma looked up from the flower and met her evergreen eyes to the boy's blues. Immediately she looked back down and made to hide behind her mother.
"Sure thing, ma'm," he replied after hesitation.
Mrs. Corwell set down her groceries and searched for a penny. The boy held the paper to his side and glanced at Emma through the tops of his eyes. Mrs. Corwell retrieved a penny and held her hand out. After a moment, the boy came back to his senses and put the coin into his pocket. Emma smiled subtly, coming out from behind her mother and taking the flower from in front of her face. Patrick's lips spread to a small grin which he tried his best to hide.
Interrupting, Mrs. Corwell cleared her throat loudly and held out her empty hand prompting him for the paper. The boy lost his smile upon seeing Mrs. Corwell and he immediately gave her a paper.
"Sorry, ma'm."
"Let's go, dear," said her mother.
Emma and Mrs. Corwell began walking away, her mother a fair deal ahead of her. Not unexpectedly, Emma wandered from her mother's side and made her way around the boy again. He had turned already, hoping to find another buyer. She walked nervously in a square behind him, tripping over her feet and toying with the daisy.
"I think I seen you before," said Emma.
The boy turned around and looked at her. "Me?"
"Yeah. You're always right here."
"Well, that's 'cause this is my spot."
"Your spot?"
"Yeah. My spot only, no otha newsie can take it. I'm heah every mornin' an' aftanoon edition."
Emmae giggled. "Is that what they call ya, then? Spot?"
Patrick looked around. "I guess you could say that. 'Spot' is a kinda wimpy name for a boy, though. I can't have that kinda name seein' as I gotta be tough an' all."
Emma furrowed her eyes and said defensively as though she had coined the term, "'Spot' ain't a wimpy name."
"Yeah, it is. What d'they call you?"
"Emma."
"Well, that's a wimpy name, too."
"No, it ain't!"
"You'se just a girl, though. Girls never act tough."
Upon hearing this, Emma instinctively balled up her fist and placed it on her hip. Her lips pursed, making her cheeks seem rounder, and her light eyebrows knitted together, creating a scowl.
"Or not," said Patrick in response to her reaction.
From a distance, Mrs. Corwell called for her daughter. Emma stuck her nose in the air haughtily and straightened herself up. Before marching away, she grabbed Patrick's wrist and placed the daisy in his hand.
"There ya go. Spot."
"It ain't 'Spot!'"
Patrick opened his palm and looked down at the flower. The name "Emma" resounded in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it. He shook his head and instead of throwing it to the ground, he shoved the daisy in his pocket. He committed the name "Spot" to his memory. Though he wouldn't understand this significance until later, the names would stick with him for longer than he could ever imagine.
