Title: Turbulent Waters

Author: Dimonah Tralon

Category: Newsies

Genre: Humor with a little bit of Drama

Rating: PG

Author's Note--PLEASE READ: I do not actually speak French, so the translation may be a little off. And two more things: in this fic, Bookworm and Pockets live in Brooklyn, not Manhattan, but Bookworm is still dating Racetrack. Bookworm knows French because her parents spoke both French and English to her as a child, therefore by the time she was 8, she could speak both languages fluently. A big thanks to LegallyRed for her help! It was she that got rid of my writer's block--I owe ya one! And also a huge thanks to Pockets, who helped me write the last (practically) half of this, and who helped me with the French.

I stormed into the bunkroom and threw myself onto my bed. How could he say such a thing?! Why was the whole world against me today? It made me want to scream in frustration. So, I did. I yanked off one of my boots and threw it with all my might across the room, letting out a shriek of irritation. My boot hit the wall with a semi-satisfying smack. I would have felt better if it had made a mark on the wall or something. What I really needed was a tennis ball or something else that bounced when you threw it. I wanted to break something. I briefly thought of burning the playing cards that someone had left on one of the beds, but I knew that I would feel incredibly guilty later, if Spot didn't kill me first.

I walked across the room and grabbed my boot. I pulled it back onto my foot, then kicked the wall with all as much force as I could muster. This action only caused me to cry out as pain shot through my foot. I plopped down onto the floor, and took off my boot again, along with my sock so I could survey the damage that I had done to my toes. They were already a little red, and I had a feeling that it was going to hurt to walk for at least a day or two. And I blamed Spot entirely. If he hadn't gotten me so mad, I wouldn't have kicked the door, and my foot wouldn't be hurting at the moment. I got up and made my way back over to my bed and sat down, rubbing my still aching foot. Stupid Spot, I thought as I put my sock and shoe back on.

"Bookworm?" Speak of the devil. Just I what I do not need right now. I swear, if he comes in here…

I looked up as Spot walked into the bunkroom. "Leave me alone, Spot," I warned, getting up from the bed and walking in the direction of the stairs. As I passed by him, he reached out an arm and grabbed me around my waist, pulling my back up against his chest so that I couldn't go anywhere. I immediately attempted to elbow him in the gut, but he dodged it. I started struggling, trying everything I could thing of to get him to let me go, but nothing I did worked. Spot was able to evade every punch or kick that I threw his way. Ultimately, he simply pinned my arms to my sides by wrapping both his arms tightly around my waist, and just tried to hold me still as I continued trying to attack him. Finally, after a few minutes, I was utterly exhausted, and I fell against him, breathing heavily and trying not to cry.

When he sensed that I wasn't going to try to kill him anymore, he loosened his grip slightly. As soon as he relaxed his hold on me, I gave a half-hearted attempt to break free, but the moment I did, his grasp tightened once more.

"Now, now, none of that," Spot murmured in my ear.

"Just let me go, Spot," I pleaded quietly. I wanted to be alone when I lost all control and started crying. I hated to let others see me cry.

"No, I don't think I will." At this statement, all of my anger came rushing back, along with my strength. "I want to talk to ya, and if I let you go, you'll run away. And if you run away, then I won't be able to talk to you."

"Well, that's just fine with me, cause I don't want to talk to you!" I said, stubbornly trying to break free again.

"You keep struggling, and I'll be forced to pin ya to your bed," Spot warned.

"Oh yeah? I'd love to see you try," I sneered over my shoulder, once more trying to break free. That was probably the stupidest thing I have ever said, I thought as soon as the words left my mouth. Sure enough, Spot started dragging me over towards my bed. I started to resist again, but it was no use. He was surprisingly strong for how short he was. Reaching the bed, Spot practically threw me onto it. Landing on my stomach, I rolled over and sat up, intending to jump off the bed and run. Before I had a chance, Spot had straddled my legs and pinned my arms above my head against the mattress, effectively rendering me basically immovable. I tried to wriggle away, but Spot only tightened his grip. I stopped fighting, and settled for glaring up at him instead.

"You gonna stop fighting me now?" he asked, looking down at me. In response, I made another effort to break his hold on my wrists. Spot didn't say anything; he simply tightened his grip until my wrists started hurting. When I stopped trying to break free, he loosened his hold, but only slightly. "Well?" he asked, still waiting for my answer to his previous question. I continued glaring at him, but I nodded. "Good."

"Are you going to get off of me?" I asked when Spot made no move to. He shook his head, smirking slightly. "Why?" I demanded.

"I don't trust that you'll stay put," he said.

"Does it look like I care if you trust me or not?!" I yelled, once more trying to get away from him. "Get off of me, you jerk!" Spot narrowed his eyes at me. He raised a hand, and for one terrifying moment, I thought he was going to backhand me. I winced, but nothing happened. Opening my eyes, I saw him staring daggers at me. He pointed a finger at me.

"That was a warning, Bookworm. I'd advise you to watch what you say," he warned, grabbing hold of my wrist again. I gulped and nodded somewhat meekly. "Now, you're gonna listen ta what I've got ta say, you're gonna answer any question that I ask, you're gonna stop struggling, and your gonna stop yelling. And when I'm done, then maybe I'll get off of ya. Understand?" I didn't dare argue against that tone. I nodded again. "Good. Alright, first question: what is wrong with ya today? You're actin' like the whole world is out ta get you."

"The whole world is out to get me. It's always been that way, ever since the night that…" I suddenly clamped my mouth shut. Nobody knew about my past, and nobody ever would.

"The night that what?" Spot asked, curious. I shook my head.

"Nothing," I said, not meeting his eyes.

"The night that what, Bookworm?" Spot asked again, more forcefully this time.

"The night that my parents died!" I practically yelled, glaring hatefully at him. If looks could kill, Spot would have died and decomposed right then and there. While I was angry at Spot for making me tell him, I was even angrier at the fact that a tear somehow made it past my carefully constructed defenses, and slipped down my face when I revealed this piece of information. I hated to show any sort of weakness in front of anyone, especially Spot.

Much to my relief, Spot didn't seem to notice. He simply nodded, and asked the next question.

"What happened the night your parents died?" At first I couldn't say anything because I was so shocked that he had actually asked that question. Over the years I had learned that you never asked about someone else's past. If they choose to tell you, well then that was fine. But you never asked. I shook my head.

"No. That is the one question that I will not answer, Spot. I'll tell you anything else that you want to know, but nothing about that night." There was no way in heck I was going to tell him anything about that night. He already knew everything he needed to know--my parents had died, and that was all he would ever know. Spot didn't look too surprised when I refused to tell him.

"So why are ya so angry today?" he wanted to know. "You're usually so calm."

"I've got a right to get angry, just like anybody else," I said, struggling not to shout. It was taking a lot of willpower to not fight to get him off of me.

"I never said you didn't have the right," Spot said. "I simply asked why you was angry."

"I have no idea, so just leave me alone!" I demanded, looking away.

"Ya must have some idea why you're so angry," Spot said.

"Well I don't, so get off my back!" I yelled.

"Technically, I'm not on your back," he said with a maddening smirk.

"Tais-toi, tu perdant!" I spat. (AN: pronounced Tay-twa too pair-daun. Translation: Shut up, you looser!) Spot looked at me in exasperation.

"What have I told you about insulting people in French?" he asked. I pretended to think really hard.

"Probably something along the lines of…not to," I said, fighting to keep from grinning. Spot glared at me.

"What'd you say?" he asked. This time I let a smug grin cross my lips.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I asked, being one-hundred percent disrespectful. To my utter shock, Spot suddenly climbed off. I propped myself up onto my elbows, wondering what was going on. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Sure enough, he reached down, grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet.

"That's it. You're goin' in the river," he said as he stared dragging me out of the Brooklyn Lodging House.

"Oh no, not the river!" I cried in mock fear. "Anything but the river!" I knew that he wouldn't actually throw me in. He'd threatened to toss me in the river hundreds of times, but he never actually did. He would just hold me over the water, pretending he was going to let me go, until I apologized for whatever prank I had just pulled. On the way there, I would mock-protest while he would go along with it, constantly taunting me.

Suddenly I realized that something was different this time: he wasn't saying a word. Instead of taunting me, he simply glanced back at me for a moment, then continued dragging me towards the docks. Oh my land. He's actually going to throw me in. Swiftly the protest became real.

"Spot no! I'm sorry!" I started thrashing about, trying anything I could think of to get him to let go. I really didn't feel like going for a swim.

Without warning, Spot whipped around, bent down, grabbed me right below the knees, and threw me over his shoulder. This is not good. I started pounding him on the back and kicking my feet.

"Spot, please! Don't do it! Don't do it, put me down!" Spot stopped at the edge of the docks.

"You want me to put you down?" he asked, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. My eyes grew wide.

"No!" I cried, but it was useless.

"Your wish is my command." With that, he threw me into the freezing cold water. I barely had enough time to grab a lungful of air before hitting the water. As I was making my way towards the surface, I suddenly remembered the igneous idea that I had had a few weeks ago. There was a ladder was on the other side of the docks. I quickly swam under the docks, where I quietly came up for air. I swam over to the ladder and climbed partway up. Only far enough that I was no longer in the water, but they couldn't see me on the docks yet.

"Spot, where is she?" I heard Pockets ask in a concerned tone. I grinned. She was playing her part perfectly. We had discussed what I would do if Spot ever actually threw me in the river. I would hide on one of the ladders while she made him think I was drowning.

"She'll surface in a minute," Spot said, although he did sound slightly worried.

"I'm not sure how well she can swim. She spends a lot of time reading, not swimming." Spot didn't answer. The next thing I heard were two thumps, and I saw Spot hit the water in a graceful dive. I hastily climbed the rest of the ladder.

"Wonderful job, Pockets," I commented as I made my way to the edge so that I could watch him surface.

"Thanks," she said with a small bow. Just then, Spot came back up.

"I can't find…" he trailed off, his expression going from worried to astonishment to anger as he saw me standing on the docks perfectly safe.

I mock applauded him and said, "Riveting performance, darling," in a thick British accent. I bent over and picked up his slingshot that he had tossed next to his cane before he went to rescue me. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going. Ta-ta!" I said, saluting him with his slingshot, and took off running towards Manhattan, his slingshot still in my hand.

AN: Well, that's it! I had planned on it only being a one-shot, but if you guys want me to continue this story, I can do my best. If you do, I warn you now that I don't know how long it will be until the next update.