Disclaimer: I dunno. That in itself says everything.
Chapter Eight: The Unknown
T.J. searched the entire town, but still found no sign of Spinelli. He asked everyone he could find if they'd seen a girl about his height, with black hair and an orange cap. But they hadn't seen anyone like that. He reached 56th Street and had nearly given up hope, when he saw an old man pushing a cart.
Feeling desperate and clinging to the chance that his could be his last resort to finding Spinelli, he ventured further into 56th Street.
The street gradually grew darker and darker and he neared the old man. T.J. pulled his jacket tighter around him and picked up the pace. He stopped in front of the old man, but the old man didn't look up. He was staring at his dirty, wrinkled hands with a look of utter despair on his weather-beaten face. T.J. cleared his throat, but the old man continued to stare at his hands.
"Uh, excuse me," T.J. said uncertainly. "I – I was wondering if you could tell me – " he broke off when the man looked up at him with empty eyes.
"Cross into the unknown," the man said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "There your angel will be waiting."
"What – "
The man turned away from T.J. and walked into a crumbling building. T.J. stared after him in confusion.
"Wait!" T.J. yelled. "The unknown? What the hell does that mean?" He kicked a pop can in frustration, and watched as it rolled into a dark alley. He looked down the deserted street to his right, and the brightly lit street to his left. "The unknown," he muttered and followed the Pepsi can into the alley.
*~*~*~*
Spinelli wandered dejectedly up and down 57th Street, afraid to leave in case someone decided to come looking for her.
"First rule of Boy Scouts," she muttered. "If you get lost, stay in one place." She looked sullenly around her, and sighed in defeat. "No one's ever going to find me here. Who would bother looking?"
She slumped down on the sagging bench, and put her head in her hands. "This sucks," she groaned.
"Spinelli?" a voice said from across the street. "Hey, Spinelli!"
She jerked up straight and stared at the person who had called her name. "Chad?" she said, unable to believe her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" he asked her as he crossed the street and sat down next to her on the bench. The aging wood groaned with the effort of holding up two bodies. "Shouldn't you be in school?"
Spinelli narrowed her eyes. "I was going to ask you the same thing."
"Ah, well you see, it's a long story," Chad said, scratching the back of his head.
Spinelli leaned back on the bench. "I've got time."
He sighed. "Look, I should probably tell you now before you find out from someone else," he said, receiving a confused look from Spinelli. He sighed again, more dramatically this time, and said, "Me 'n Bruiser 'n Mouse got kicked out of the last six schools we've gone to." He looked at Spinelli, and she just stared back.
"So?" she said, shrugging. "I've nearly got expelled tons of times. The only reason none of us have been kicked out of school yet is because of T.J." When she said his name, her face crumbled and she tried to fight back the tears.
Chad saw this and was going to pretend he didn't, but curiosity and an inexplicable feeling of protectiveness for this girl took over. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"
Spinelli shook her head and stared at the ground, tears occasionally falling to the dusty street.
Chad narrowed his eyes. "What'd he do to you?"
She gave a watery laugh. "Nothing. T.J.'d never do anything to hurt me. It's just – " she hesitated.
"Just what?"
"You remember that kid, Randall Weems? The one you guys nearly beat to a pulp yesterday morning?"
Chad's face contorted into disgust. "That ugly weasel? Yeah, I remember him. Kid tried to break my finger." He looked lovingly down at his hand and Spinelli gave him a funny look. "My guitar," he reminded her.
"Oh, right. Anyway, he was gonna blackmail me and T.J. with some – information he found out about us."
"What does he want, a recess of no beatings?"
Spinelli shook her head. "No. Mission TPD."
"Mission TPD? What's that, like Toilet Paper Duty or something?"
Spinelli snickered. "No. It means Total Playground Domination. He's been trying to take over the playground since third grade. He actually stole my diary – ah, my journal once and threatened to tell everyone what page 13 said if I didn't help him overthrow King Bob."
Chad nodded. "There's one of 'em at every school." He was quiet for a few seconds, then he asked, "So, what was on page 13?"
