Another week went by without trouble, and then another, and the newsie began to think everything was back to normal. But Spot was growing more and more irritated. Why was it that half of New York's female population wanted him, and the one girl he wanted saw him only as her friend? He asked himself, then he heard a knock on the door.
"Come in," he snapped.
"What's wrong with you?" asked Jack as he entered.
"Nothing, what's up?" Spot still wanted it to be a secret.
"Uh-huh," Jack knew something was up, but he figured Spot would tell him, eventually, "I just got a question and wanted to make sure you're still coming to the poker game tomorrow night."
"Of course I'm coming, I always come. What's your question?"
"Do you think Blaze is over fighting with me?"
"What? Yeah, as long as you don't do nothing stupid. Be flexible and keep a cool head and all will be well."
Meanwhile, Blaze was sitting on the roof, thinking. Race had been trying to teach her poker for Friday's game, but it had been hopeless and Race had given up. So she climbed to the roof while the others played. She was thinking about LA, something she rarely did, wondering what was going on there. She wondered what she would be doing if she was still there, not selling papers, that's for sure. She was starting to miss LA; she'd always lived there and knew the city like the palm of her hand. It was her home, and she missed hearing the Californian accent, she had been picking up a little of the New York accent, but she preferred her native way of speech. She sighed, there was no use mourning her past, what had happened, had happened, and she couldn't change it. She heard Kloppman come in and tell the boys lights out was in five minutes so she climbed down and went to bed.
The next day the poker playing Brooklyn newsies came for the monthly poker game. Blaze watched for awhile, then got bored ad climbed to the roof, just as Race won another game. She watched the setting sun, it was so beautiful, and fell asleep under the stars.
