Chapter 9
Spot sat with his back against the trunk in front of his bunk bed, his legs pulled up to his chest and chin resting on his knees. His eyes were puffy and red from crying, and his cheeks were still stained with wet tears.
His mind was racing. What should I do? Should I go and try to find her? Should I tell the boys the truth? What would they think of me then? Do I really care what they think? Downstairs he could hear the other boys paying Kloppman and running up the stairs towards the bunkroom. I have to make a decision now. What am I going to do?
Spot suddenly stood up, not even caring to wipe the fresh tears from his eyes, as the boys walked in. King of Spades, a tall, lanky boy with slicked back hair and dark eyes, was the first one in the door and the first one to receive a shock looking at Spot.
"Heya Spot, are you'se OK? You'se looks as though you'se been cryin'."
Some boys nodded in agreement while others just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Spot pushed through the boys and made his way down the stairs and out the front door. Outside the wind whipped around Spot's face and body and the rain pelted his skin.
Spot began to walk down the street heading towards the Brooklyn Bridge, making sure to look in every alleyway for Tuesday. Spot's muscles tensed in anger at himself for having listened to the other boys. How could I have been so stupid? She meant everything to me, and I just tossed her aside like some dirty, old newspaper. I have to find her before it's too late. Before it's too late.
Spot sat with his back against the trunk in front of his bunk bed, his legs pulled up to his chest and chin resting on his knees. His eyes were puffy and red from crying, and his cheeks were still stained with wet tears.
His mind was racing. What should I do? Should I go and try to find her? Should I tell the boys the truth? What would they think of me then? Do I really care what they think? Downstairs he could hear the other boys paying Kloppman and running up the stairs towards the bunkroom. I have to make a decision now. What am I going to do?
Spot suddenly stood up, not even caring to wipe the fresh tears from his eyes, as the boys walked in. King of Spades, a tall, lanky boy with slicked back hair and dark eyes, was the first one in the door and the first one to receive a shock looking at Spot.
"Heya Spot, are you'se OK? You'se looks as though you'se been cryin'."
Some boys nodded in agreement while others just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Spot pushed through the boys and made his way down the stairs and out the front door. Outside the wind whipped around Spot's face and body and the rain pelted his skin.
Spot began to walk down the street heading towards the Brooklyn Bridge, making sure to look in every alleyway for Tuesday. Spot's muscles tensed in anger at himself for having listened to the other boys. How could I have been so stupid? She meant everything to me, and I just tossed her aside like some dirty, old newspaper. I have to find her before it's too late. Before it's too late.