Author note: Hi hi! Wow, have I missed writing Newsies stories. Well, as some of you may know, I'm the one who wrote that sick, twisted story called "Game of Life," and stupidly left the sequel floating out there. Sadly, that sequel will not be continued. I did have a wonderful storyline prepared, but it went downhill. So, we'll start over new with a different story (and I think it's best to keep away from sequels, don't you think?) So, here is yet another Spot story because, face it, who can resist Spot Conlon?
The breeze was troublesome as it blew rhythmically through Irish's hair, sending it into a frenzy of dances. The wind was cold and it only brought chills up her spine that Irish couldn't resist. The sky looked dark and the once white puffy clouds threatened rain. But that didn't worry her. She stood alone on the pier, thinking solemnly to herself. Her thoughts had been jumbled up into a tangle of confusion lately and she didn't know whether to worry about the upcoming downpour or just wait for its arrival. She had half a heart to head back home and sort things out there, but that was the problem…she had nothing to sort out.
Irish didn't know what suddenly brought her down. Perhaps it was the change of season; autumn always brought her down. But then again she felt like this a lot lately and she didn't like the feeling at all. The feeling of doubt, of fear, of worry – it truly was exasperating. Irish knew it wasn't because she was soon to turn 18, that couldn't be the problem. It had to be the weather. Its rained a lot, recently, she thought bitterly. It's not easy sellin' in the rain.
Brooklyn was nothing but a hectic and chaotic town; there was always hustle and bustle and it was rare when the streets were awkwardly empty. But today was somehow different. Nobody but Irish stood on the pier and nobody wandered the streets. It was as if it were a ghost town, barely even populated. Everyone seemed afraid of the rain – everyone except Irish. She was nothing but a puny Italian girl living small and second to the middle class, third to the upper. You couldn't compare her to the rich broads in the high class area; no, she was too plain. She had no looks. She wasn't beautiful, but she wasn't ugly. She was 17 and her body still lacked feminine curves. Her hair was only a dark shade of brown in which was stuffed under her hat most of the day.
Irish felt she put most girls to shame. She refused to wear skirts and nice blouses only because nobody really bought anything from a girl. So she stuck with dirt covered brown trousers that were too long for her legs and a pink button up shirt that was twice her size. She kept her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a tradition with most newsies. She was short in stature and that only made her look like a weak kid.
Irish took the cap off her head, letting her hair fall just below her shoulders. It felt good to let it down and just relax. She didn't like pretending to be a boy, but then again most of the other girls didn't much like it either. Irish rather missed her old life and her old name. It was as if it were all alien now.
"Ey', whad're you doin' out heah?" a voice asked, causing Irish to suddenly jump. Her calm, sad feeling was gone.
Irish turned her attention to the girl making her way towards her. "Oh, heya Suds," Irish greeted her. "Just thinkin'."
"Well can ya think a little fastah we'se is supposed to be at da Lodgin House before da rain hits," Suds said as she settled a lit cigarette between her lips.
"What for?" Irish asked, curious as to why it really mattered.
Suds shrugged, blowing smoke out of her nostrils. "Dey said dat everyone jus' needed to be there."
Irish shrugged. "Maybe Spot needs to have a word with us," she said, not really caring. Sure, everything their leader said was supposedly important but Irish didn't see why they had to be indoors before the rain hit. She had to admit she hated the rain but it felt refreshing when she just stood out in it.
"Maybe," Suds shrugged, glaring at the sky. "I jus' wish it wouldn't rain. Its gonna be muddy tomorrow."
Irish nodded in agreement as she took one last look at the sky. Suds was right – it was going to be hell. Not many rich folk came out when it was wet and muddy; they were obviously terrified of the filth. They should try living life as a newsie. They definitely wouldn't last two seconds.
Suds turned and began walking away. Irish quickly followed after her, replacing her cap on her head though she didn't pull her hair back up. Nobody was around to judge her so why should she take the time to suffocate it under her hat? She half jogged to keep up with Suds; she was never good at keeping up with people. Everyone took big steps as if they were in a hurry and Irish knew Suds was desperate to keep out of the rain.
The walk wasn't long at all. The Lodging House was quite close to the pier which gave the newsies the advantage. Irish noticed several things wrong as they approached the Lodging House. Spot was standing outside the door, his arms firmly crossed over his chest with a clam yet serious look on his face. His cane hung through his belt loop as always and he had that superior aura. It only made Irish stifle a laugh at how serious and manly he looked tonight.
Spot Conlon was definitely a good looking guy, that was true, but in the end the rumors that people whispered about him just weren't true. Spot was a good leader, but Irish believed that the rumors only ruined his reputation. She knew for a fact that Spot wasn't the type who bedded almost half of New York's population. And she also knew that there was more to him than just Brooklyn. Sure, he put on that cheesy mask that got him through the day, but all of his newsies knew who he really was. Some things weren't just rumors, though. Like how dangerous he could be and how superior and calm he really was.
Girls did fancy him, but that was it. It wasn't love like many people would think. A crush is most certainly not love. Irish thought Spot was charming, but that was about it. Just charming and handsome. He was clever and sly, and he knew how to use his head. He even gave Irish her nickname.
"You look like an Irish gal I used ta know," he had told her.
She tried to explain to him that she was Italian, but he didn't care. Irish was the name for her. And it stuck like nails. Everyone called her Irish…even Italy. It really irritated her the most when her older brother called her by her nickname as well. She wasn't Irish! But nobody listened.
Miller was Irish's older brother and everyone called him Italy. Mainly because, unlike her, he was actually born in Italy. Irish just stuck with calling him Miller.
"Ey' Spot," Suds greeted the boy who wore the red suspenders so proudly. He really was a king.
"Suds," he nodded. He then noticed Irish. "I see you found one a' dem," he said.
Irish ascended the stairs to stand with Suds in front of Spot. "What's with the new curfew rule?" she asked suddenly.
A smile played at Spot's lips. He and Irish weren't very close, but close enough to not have that awkward feeling in the other's presence. "You'll see," he said mysteriously.
Suds immediately frowned. "But I wanna know da secret," she said. "Da coppers ain't aftah us are dey?"
Spot grinned this time. "If dey were don't you think dey'ed be here already?" he asked.
Suds grunted. She was a burly girl and a tad big boned. Nonetheless she was a fun person to hang with. She swiftly walked past Spot who was several inches shorter than her.
"She's a riot," he said with a laugh that almost sounded fake. Something was surely bothering him.
"She is," Irish agreed with a nod. "Anything wrong?"
Spot raised his eyebrows, stunned at the question. He had been caught off guard.
"Not at all," he said convincingly. But Irish was already suspicious.
"Alright," she shrugged, not really wanting to annoy him with her 'concern.' She walked past him into the Lodging House, greeted with the strange sound of silence.
