Notes/Ramble: Here I go again...a chapter a day for...three more days, I think, and then I go back to a-writing. This ramble is for Heather, who tricked me into telling her my author name last night -- you're evil XD If you're reading this, Crutchy (joke you don't get because you have yet to see Newsies! ;D), review! Thank you to everyone who reviewed already, I really appreciate it.

Holding Over Water -- Chapter 3


They told me that I was fully conscious three days later. I can remember little bits of waking up and falling back asleep here and there, but nothing else. I don't think I dreamed of anything, because I couldn't remember anything. It was just a long, dark, dreamless sleep. When I woke up, I saw a brown-haired, brown-eyed boy of about twelve sitting at my bedside, watching me.

"Good mornin', kid," he said to me. I didn't recognize the face or the voice. "Stayin' for a while?" I blinked hard and opened my mouth, but nothing came out, mostly because I had no idea what I was going to say. "Hey, Boxah, everyone, 'e's awake," he announced.

What seemed like a million people crowded around me, each one saying something different. I moaned a little and turned onto my side, pulling the blanket that had been laid on me tighter, trying to block out the volume of the noise. One of the boys pushed past the rest to stand closest to me. The boy that had been watching me gave up his seat and the other sat down. He (the boy who pushed by, not Watchboy) was about eighteen or nineteen, from what I could tell, with a tough build, shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a rather smug look on his face.

"So, youse finally awake," he said to me with assertion.

I immediately recognized the voice. It was the same voice that I had heard three days before. God's voice. I looked up at him, squinting slightly, trying to make him look like the person I was thinking of.

"God...?" I asked softly.

He laughed loudly. The same laugh, too. The other boys around me chuckled as well.

"No way 'e'd be here, kid. I'se Boxah." He pointed at the boy who had been sitting next to my bed. "Watchah's been keepin' a good eye on ya for the past few days. Ya had us all worried for a while."

"What happened...?" I asked. My eyes were still adjusting to the light and my throat was still adjusting to making sounds. I'm sure I sounded horrible.

"Well, two of me boys found ya in the snow three days ago. Dey brought ya here, and youse been asleep ever since."

I let the words soak in before I spoke. I was remembering something. "You...you said I had da fevah?"

Boxer smirked a little. "Yeah, you did. But we called the doctah, and pitched in a little money each to buy you the medicine ya needed. Doctah Salamone said dat youse'll be fine. Youse got a real spot of good luck, kid." He looked me over a little. "What's yer name?"

I hesitated, and then lied, "I ain't got one."

"C'mon, kid, everyone's got a name."

"I ain't everyone."

Boxer frowned. "Listen, kid, we took ya off the streets, and we can put ya back if we wants. The way I sees it, you owe us a debt, and da best way to start payin' dat back is to at least tell us yer name."

"I told ya, I ain't got one." See how surly I was, even at nine?

"Youse _really_ wanna play dat game?" he threatened, rolling up his sleeves.

"C-Conlon!" I yelped. Even though I was surly, I still knew where to draw the line.

"Conlon what?"

"Conlon's me family name," I said. "I ain't got a first name."

"Should we give 'im a nick?" asked one of the boys standing around.

"Dat's a good idea, Lanny," Boxer said. He looked back at me. "Got any preference for what we call ya?"

I shook my head.

Da board is open ta suggestions," Boxer announced, folding his arms over his chest and looking out at the group.

Everyone started talking at once. There were a lot of suggestions - The Kid, Buddy, Lucky, lots of stuff like that that wasn't very good, but then a short kid piped up near the front.

"'ey, Boxah," he squeaked, "youse said 'e's got a spot of good luck, so why don't we call 'im Spot?"

"Spot." Boxer tested the name out on his tongue. "Spot Conlon. Whatcha think, kid?"

"I - I like it," I said, and I really did.

"Den now youse is known as Spot Conlon."

I nodded. "Am I stayin' here?" I asked weakly.

"'Course you are! After all, I said youse owes us a debt."

"I do?"

"Fer da medicine. We'se gotta know dat it ain't gonna stop workin' any time soon."

He winked. I smiled and nodded.

From that day on, I was one of Boxer's Newsies. At the time, he was one of the most famous newsies in Manhattan, and I quickly learned that any kid he took under his wing was a lucky one. Still recovering from the fever, it took me about four more days until I was strong enough to get out of bed without having to go back in halfway though the day. As soon as I was back on my feet, though, Boxer, being the oldest at 18 and Lanny, right behind him at 17, taught me how to fight. I'd need it when I was on the streets, they told me. I took to it immediately.

"'e's a natural!" Lanny laughed. He was sitting on a nearby crate, watching me as I threw a punch. I was standing on a series of crates so I could get a good shot at Boxer. The guy was about twice as tall as me, after all. Or at least he seemed to be at the time.

"The markings of a newsie," Boxer said approvingly.

"Hey, Boxah?" I asked as we began working on ducking and weaving. It was me versus Boxer in a fake sparring match. Even though I was on crates, I was doing the best I could...mostly not to fall.

"Yeah, Spot?" he replied, concentrating on me the whole time.

"Why do dey call ya dat?"

"I'm gonna work in the fights someday."

"Are ya really?" I asked. Impressive, even if I wasn't so young and easily astounded. But being amazed left me off guard, and he snuck in for a firm push with the palm of his hand. I fell off the crate and back onto one of the lodging house beds. It was nearly the end of February, but still too cold to go outside for anything other than work. "Cheap shot, Boxah!" I protested.

"Dey do dat a lot on the streets," Lanny educated. "Youse gotta loin dat, Spot." I nodded, not taking my eyes off Boxer. "Either way, youse a good student," he complimented me.

"Thanks, Lanny," I said, and then threw a punch at Boxer's head. He dodged and my fit hit his shoulder, right on the bone. I yelped in pain. "That hoits!"

"Never hit the bone, Spot," Boxer told me as he padded back and forth on his feet, staying alert. "It hurts you more than it hurts them, unless you get it in just the right spot." He sent his fist towards me. "And that ain't very likely!" I moved my head to the side so he'd miss and tried to go for his stomach, hoping to find him off guard. But he recovered quickly and blocked me. "Nice try. Do that on any other guy, and 'e'd he down like that." He snapped his fingers.

"I think dat's enough fer today, don't you, Boxah?" Lanny asked.

"Yeah, should be," Boxer said, looking over at him. An opening! I took the opportunity and gave him a blow to the side. "AH!" His head turned right back to me, surprised.

"I gotcha," I grinned.

"Nice job," he said, laughing and rubbing his side. "Good lesson today. Pretty soon we'll take ya out to sell papes, okay?"

I nodded and hopped off the crate as a group of newsies came inside.

"Good news, boys!" Lanny announced

"What is it?" asked Arrow, a lanky 15 year-old with a streak of arrogance under his belt.

"Spot can officially beat the crap outta any one of ya now."

There was some fake cheering and hooting, and a few earnest "Congrats!" mixed in with it. I grinned and folded my arms over my chest, trying to look important like Boxer always did.

"Yer great, Spot," one said, patting me on the head. It was Michael.

The two boys I had called angels, I named them Michael and Raphael, after two my mother had told me about in the Bible when I was younger. They never told me their real names, and my nicks actually stuck so well that everyone started calling them that. Even Boxer. For short, though, they were just Mike and Raff. Mike was 14, and Raff was 15. I looked up to them like older brothers.

"Thanks, Mike, and if ya want, I can take youse on someday," I said proudly, standing as tall as I could.

"Howsabout me an' Spot versus youse and Raff?" Boxer asked.

"C'mon, Boxah, be a little fairer than dat!" Raff complained, his voice fixing itself into a joking tone. "Spot alone'll soak us!"

Boxer smirked. "Yeah, I guess you're right...another day, then, right, Spot?"

"You bet!" I agreed. I was excited. I could fight! And I was good at it, too! I was so thrilled that I could barely sleep that night, or any of the nights after. I was anxiously awaiting the day I could finally go and sell papes.