I'm finally on winter break! Yay!

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AndrewKeenanBolgerFan: Go Romeo, go Romeo! Yeah, Finch is... a stubborn sixteen-year-old boy. That's just how it is. Albert and Race are the best idiots.

Happy Festivus!

Chapter 33- Spot

Saturday, September 18, 1999, 2:00 a.m.

Spot's cell phone was not ringing right now. It was far too early in the morning for anyone without a death wish to be calling him. And he didn't know anyone who had a death wish. Raising the phone to his face, Spot nearly blinded himself, having not expected the little burst of light that hit his eyes when he flipped his cell open. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he quickly scanned the number on the tiny screen. Despite not recognizing it, he picked up, only for the purpose of learning the identity of the idiot annoying him. "Alright, what da fu-"

"Hi." It was Race. So it was, in fact, an idiot. But a non-threatening idiot, unlike Spot had expected.

"Whaddya think yer doin'?"

"Sorry, were ya sleepin'?"

What a considerate idiot Race was, Spot thought as he sat up, pushing his back against the wall of his bedroom. "No."

"Oh, cool. Yer brain keep ya up all da time too?"

"Well, no."

"Darn. Mine does. It's always movin' when I don' want it to."

"So you got insomnia?"

"Nope, jus' an asshole of a brain that don't know when ta stop."

"That explains a lot."

"Yeah, it basically defines me."

"Sounds ta me like ya let it define you." Apparently, Spot became brutally honest at two in the morning.

"It's jus' how I am. An internal racetrack."

"Ooh, someone's profound."

"You's like that too. Y'know, external spots?" It seemed that at two in the morning, Race had revelations.

"Why'd ya call me, Race?"

"Well, I would a' called Smalls, 'cause she don't sleep, but she don't got a phone anymore. She got it confiscated by 'er foster parents since she did this whole strike thing. An' then there's Jack, an' he's got a new number half the time, so I don't bother tryin' ta keep track. An' Specs would kill me if I called 'im at this hour. Besides, if I wanted ta botha' him, I could jus' wake him up. We live in da same apartment. An' none a' my otha' friends 'ave phones."

"So I was yer last resort?"

"Basically." Spot could hear Race moving around on the other side of the line, evidently shifting his position on wherever he was sitting. "If I'm bein' honest, Jack gave me yer number, so I had ta call ya randomly at some point."

"Says who?"

"Uh... Crutchie."

"Who's Crutchie?"

"Hasn't Jack told ya 'bout Crutchie?"

"Cowboy an' I ain't best friends or nothin'. We jus' tolerate each otha'. We don't go outta our way ta make small talk."

"Oh. Crutchie's this new guy. Moved in 'bout three weeks ago an' became Jack's favorite like that." Faintly, Spot could hear Race snapping to punctuate his sentence. "Lucky bastard. Jack might be in love with 'im or somethin'. I can't really tell, they could jus' be really good friends. But that's kinda weird if they jus' met a few weeks ago, right? An' Crutchie seems to like Jack a lot. Like like him, I mean. Well, at least, that's what I think. They spend a lot a' time togetha'. Always goin' up to da penthouse alone- that's what Jack calls the roof on our buildin'. An', Jack's da only one Crutchie'll talk to about real stuff, like 'is parents an' bein' afraid a' cars."

Afraid of cars? Spot had only been half-listening as Race rambled, but that oddly specific phrase unlocked a memory in his mind. To place it, though, he was going to need more information. "Hold on. What's dis kid look like?"

"Crutchie? Um, short, blonde, almost always smilin'. Oh, an' he's got crutches."

This description confirmed Spot's suspicions. "I met that kid."

"Ya did?"

"Yeah," Spot laughed. "Shared a taxi wit 'im a few days ago. He looked terrified, but I thought that was 'cause I crashed his ride. Ya said he's afraid a' cars?"

"I don' mean afraid, exactly. Not afraid like bein' afraid a' spiders or heights. See, he an' his parents were in a car accident, an' from what I know, it was really bad. 'Course, he don't talk about it ta me, so I dunno much. Anyway, eva' since, he's been afraid a' cars, in a way. Refuses ta drive anywhere. But like I said, it ain't yer regular kind a' fear. It's more like... me, bein' afraid a' people yellin'."

"Yer afraid a' people yellin'?" Spot repeated with a questioning expression that Race could not see.

"Sounds stupid, I know. It's more specific than that. People yellin' at me, an' gettin' angry wit me, I jus' hate it."

"Ain't people angry at you most a' the time, though?"

Race laughed. "Yeah, that's the weird thing. But when teachers, like Weasel, yell at me... I dunno. It jus' don't feel good. I get scared. Wish I could explain it, but I can't."

"Huh."

"Yep, I'm a weirdo."

"No, you-"

"It's okay, I know it. Ya can think I'm an idiot, too. I get that a lot. It's fine."

Strangely, Race admitting that made Spot feel something, almost like regret for insulting the boy earlier. It was a weird feeling. "Okay."

"But ya know what I ain't?" Race's joking tone had suddenly turned serious.

"Um..."

"A coward. I ain't a coward. Neither is Jack, or any a' my friends."

Well, that statement certainly wasn't helping Spot's bizarre guilty feeling. Instead of apologizing, he went with: "I see you's back on da whole strike thing."

"Yeah, I am. I promised Jack I'd get ya ta join us, an' I can't screw this up again. So ya gotta tell me why you ain't standin' wit us."

Everyone just had to keep asking Spot that, didn't they. "Ya want da truth?"

"Yes."

"Truth is, I can't answer that."

"C'mon."

"No, really. I don't got an answer. I can't explain why I ain't standin' wit youse, jus' know that I won't be doin' it."

"How d'ya know?"

"Little voice in da back a' my head, tellin' me not to."

"Why does da voice tell ya not to?"

Give a stupid answer, get asked a stupid question. "Guess I don't really stand fer nothin'."

Somehow, Spot could hear Race shaking his head. "What is it wit you, Spot? You's loud, tough, intimidatin', an' yer tellin' me ya ain't opposed ta nothin'?"

"Honestly, I ain't focused on anythin' besides gettin' myself a job, at da moment. That an' graduatin' dis spring."

"Ya work fer your school pape, though, right? Ain'tcha angry 'bout Pulitzer raisin' da price?"

"I can't say it's surprisin'."

"So ya don't care."

"Not really. Sorry ta disappoint."

"Sure ya are." How was it that Spot could hear Race rolling his eyes along with that phrase?

"How 'bout this: let's say I'd start carin' if Pulitzer caused somethin' real horrible. Hypothetically."

"How horrible we talkin' 'ere?"

"Shit, I dunno. Think I'd know it if I saw it."

"Would ya consider it horrible if somethin' happened ta me?"

That was a question, not to mention a very specific event that Spot had never once considered. Granted, he'd only just become acquainted with Race, so it was only reasonable for him to scoff, "Nothing's gonna happen ta you. Not wit Jack protectin' ya."

"Tha's what he thinks, too." Race sighed.

"Well, he's right."

"Whateva'."

"So ya think da Cowboy's lyin'?"

"Naw, but he's got unrealistic expectations fer stuff."

"What sort a' stuff?"

"Y'know how 'e talks about Santa Fe?"

"'Course. I don' call 'im 'Cowboy' fer no reason. What's unrealistic 'bout him wantin' ta go west?"

"He ain't gonna get inta that school," Race stated.

Whoa. This kid was definitely more sensible than Spot had first thought. "How d'ya know that?"

"I seen his grades, there's no way. Even if he manages ta get in wit some fancy art scholarship, he's hardly got the money ta pay for it."

"Damn. Yer pretty hard on da Cowboy."

Quickly, Race asked, "Ya won't tell 'im I said that, will ya?"

"No."

Race let out a sigh of relief. "Good, 'cause he'd go ballistic on me. When I get ramblin', I don't consida' shit. I speak my mind an' end up wit real stupid ideas."

"Such as callin' me outta nowhere when I'm tryin' ta sleep?"

"Ya said ya were awake!" Race yelled. Spot thought he heard somebody else on the other end shushing the boy. "I can't believe I spent da last ten minutes ramblin' to a liar."

Something about Race's accusatory tone struck Spot as hilarious, and he struggled to keep a straight face as he remarked, "That's rough, buddy."

"Go back ta sleep," ordered Race. "Ya need it."

"You go ta sleep."

"I can't."

"Not wit that attitude."

"Shuddup."

"Go ta sleep." Spot found himself smiling.

"Ugh, fine! I'll hang up if it bothers ya so much." Race's offense to Spot's instruction was clearly fake, which only made the older boy smile wider. It was lucky no one was around to see him.

"Wait, I got one more thing."

"What's that?"

"I wanna tell ya good luck. Fer tomorrow. An' I hope youse get whatcha want outta this whole thing."

In response, Race whispered, "I wanna be King a' New York."

"Um, what?"

"Nothin'. Thanks. Hangin' up now."

"'Kay."

With that, the call ended. For a while afterwards, Spot sat, his back still against the wall, as he tried to figure out the point of that entire conversation. But he honestly could not do it. It was far too early.

Just a two a.m. phone call. Definitely nothing else going on here...

I won't be posting any new chapters of this for the next couple days. But, I will be posting my holiday one-shots instead! So, hop on over and follow Here's the Headline for me, will ya? The first one-shot will come tomorrow.

That's all for today, and if you wouldn't mind leaving me a review, I would be much appreciated!