I was awakened far more rudely that morning than I had been by the light
off the East River the morning before. The boys were loudly coming to and
discussing their selling routes for the day at the top of their lungs. I
rolled over and tried to cover my head with the non-existent pillow, but
upon realizing its non-existence, stopped bothering. I opened my eyes. The
sun hadn't completely rose yet and I wasn't completely ready to be awake
either, but I was forced to come to when Patrick starting shoving on my
arm.
"Shortstack.. you gotta get up," He said quietly in my ear, I swatted his face lightly and told him to bugger off, but he just picked me up and set me on the floor, saying as forcefully as he could, being the humorous person that he was, "We're going back to Brooklyn today.. I need a few words with Spot Conlon about a few things. Jack and Fishface are going with us," He didn't mention it, but it was only because Jack had won at poker the night before, getting himself a full dollar and that was enough to skip one day of selling papers, "You gotta get up or we won't catch 'im and we'll have to wait around all day for 'im ta get back from sellin'."
I grumbled about early mornings for the rest of the time that we washed up, that is until Patrick shot me a look that said, 'I do this every morning and I'm just fine with it so shut your mouth', after which, I shut my mouth. When I had finished washing my face I examined my hair. It was wavy from sleeping on it wet. Eventually, after much agonizing on what to do with it, I braided it down on either side of my head, letting some wisps of it fall onto my face. That'd show Spot Conlon who was the garbage and who had class.
It was, as I had noted the day before, a long walk between Brooklyn and Manhattan, but the boys and Fishface seemed used to it, so I didn't say anything. I hadn't gotten much practice for long walks at the convent either way, so perhaps this was a relatively short walk in comparison, I wasn't sure.
The dawn had just broken when we had arrived, and sure enough, Spot Conlon sat in his usual spot, river view and everything. He seemed to be gazing out onto the river, almost as if those eyes of his did anything but laugh at others, almost as if he were human. But I shook off the thought, realizing how ridiculous it truly was. He caught site of the four of us. Jumping down he spit in his hand and shook Jack's salivated hand with his own. I still found this habit completely and utterly disgusting, but what could I do against it? Absolutely nothing. Spot smiled nicely at Fishface, his eyes fierce eyes growing, perhaps even tender, though I doubted that they could actually do that. He glanced over Patrick then spitshook with him, maybe from a past friendship, I didn't know. He gave me a quick once over. I felt his eyes boring into me, he made me embarrassed again, but I wasn't sure how.
"Hey Mush, who's this?" I inwardly did cartwheels, realizing that Spot didn't recognize me. I just couldn't help myself, I had to shove it right into his face.
"Oh, he's just, how did you put it?" I looked straight into his eyes innocently. "Bringing in the garbage?" I emphasized the word "garbage," throwing all of my hatred for him into it. The look on his face was purely priceless, I wish I could have had it sketched to treasure it for the rest of my life. Those powerful green eyes went wide with surprise, and I swear that for an instant his jaw dropped. It was just what I had wanted, and I wasn't able to hide my satisfied grin. He quickly pulled himself together and went back to staring me down, and I answered his challenge. But right now, his eyes didn't discourage me at all. I had seen him back down in shock, and would hold it against him forever.
Clearly everyone noticed what was happening, and Patrick jumped in. "Seems my little sister ain't much into givin' well-deserved thank you's, so I'll just take care of it for her." Glancing quickly at me, his face said that he didn't approve of my behavior, but I saw the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Thanks for watchin' out for her the odda night, I appreciate it. Goils always seem to jump right into things without thinking, even going out on their owns at night and gettin' themselves good an' lost." Sensing that this was not a conversation they would feel comfortable in, Fishface and Jack slowly eased back away from us, and went to talk a few yards away.
"No problem Mush, she wasn't too annoying. She oughta learn when and where to keep 'er mouth shut, though." Although he was speaking to my brother, his eyes hadn't broken their stubborn contact with mine. I could see that he saw me as a menace, and I was determined to be a force to reckon with.
"Well Spot, I was wondering if I might ask you a favor, cause since Jack trusts you, I figure I can trust you, too." Spot turned his attention to my brother, calmly raising his eyebrow questioningly.
"I didn't know anybody was wonderin' whether or not I'm trustworthy."
"It ain't that, Spot. It's just, what I have to ask you is really important, and I don't wanna make a mistake puttin' my faith in the wrong guy." Patrick had my attention now, too. Looking up at him, I wondered what he was going to trust Spot with. Whatever it was, I pitied him for thinking he could count on this terrible boy, whose very existence vexed me at the moment. Spot sat down on a large wooden crate a couple of feet away, and my brother approached him, reaching behind him to grab me and pull me along. Once again, Spot gave that questioning look that seemed to make him feel superior to whoever he was talking to. Even my brother stammered a bit. "I - well, the point is, as much as I love Shortstack and all-"
"Who?"
"Shortstack... y'know, Anabeth?" he said, gesturing to me.
"Oh, fitting nickname." He shot me that triumphant look, and I defied him with my own glare.
"Anyway, as much as I love her and would love to keep 'er with me, well, there just ain't any room in our lodging house. And well, I was just wondering if you'd, you know, keep her here for awhile?"
In the same breath, Spot and I both spat out, "WHAT?" Surely Patrick was joking. He couldn't leave me with this unearthly creature, the only person in the world I despised. As Spot and I shared a quick look, I could tell he was also hoping my brother wasn't serious about this.
"I mean, could you like, keep her at your clubhouse or something? Just until I can find a better place for her to go, somewhere that we can be together and I won't have to worry about her. It won't be a real long time, I've been trying to figure this out for awhile, as far as where she'd go when she left the convent."
"Maybe she should have just stayed there." Spot Conlon clearly had no heart at all. "If we were all lucky, she'd have taken a vow of silence." I'm telling you, if Patrick hadn't had a firm grip on my arm, I would have slapped that content look right off of Spot's face.
"Funny, Spot," my brother laughed nervously. I hoped he was as angry inside as I was. Spot deserved to be whacked upside the head with his own cane for what he was saying about me, and I felt that if Patrick had been talking to anyone else, he certainly would have done so.
"You don't really expect me to take HER in, do you? I have too much to worry about without looking after a little brat like this." Spot stood up and shook that stupid cane of his in my face. He didn't want this anymore than I did, and perhaps the both of us could talk my brother out of his crazy idea.
"Well, I know that she'd be safe here, until I can figure out what we're gonna do. Just think about it, would ya?"
Spot's face looked deep in thought, I could see that he was heavily considering the consequences of taking me in or not. He began to pace back and forth in that annoying way he had, and the way his hand twitched a bit, I could tell he wanted a cigarette. As he paced, he kept glancing at me and shaking his head slightly. In my mind, I was wishing that he would just say no, and then we could leave and I wouldn't have to spend another moment with him.
Finally he said, "Okay Mush, since you're friends with the Cowboy, I'll make you a deal." I cringed, and Spot didn't fail to notice it. "As I said, you owe me your sister. So I'll take 'er in, on the condition that she does whatever I say." Walking right up to me, he talked more to my face than to my brother's. "I let 'er stay here, feed 'er, and keep an eye on 'er. But she has to do what I say, exactly what I say." I must have looked confused and angry, because that's certainly how I felt. "I tell her to do something, she says 'Yes, sir' and does it. Our clubhouse has been needing a good cleaning for awhile."
"No way, you stupid bastard! I'd rather sleep in the mud than do your damn cleaning!" You'd think Spot and Patrick had never heard anyone swear before, the way they were both looking at me after my outburst. In all my life, I had never seen my brother look at me with such surprise, and even Spot looked shocked again. They must have thought that a life in a convent had taken all the immorality out of me. "I don't let anybody order me around, especially a pig like you. You, Spot Conlon, are a sick, twisted, pathetic excuse for a human being."
Patrick elbowed me in the ribs. hard. I could tell that he was thinking about revising Spot's deal, but caught sight of some of the Brooklyn Boys, completely ready to soak whoever their pathetic leader told them to. It was so sick that I wanted to hurl into the river itself, but I contained myself, instead I shot Spot a menacing glare.
Apparently he'd heard these comments before (not that I'll say I was surprised in the least), as he hadn't even flinched, he didn't even look at me, "So Mush," He said, jumping down from his crate, revealing once again, his short stature that almost made me want to burst out laughing at the fact that he, of all people, could lead a gang of menacing Brooklyn newsboys that were feared throughout the entire city, "We got a deal?" He said, raising an icy eyebrow and spitting in his hand for Patrick to shake it.
Patrick took a look at me, his dark brown eyes said, 'I haven't got a choice', and he spit in his hand and shook it with Spot Conlon's, saying firmly, "We have a deal."
It wasn't long until my dear sweet, betraying evil brother left me at Spot Conlon's place. He, Jack Kelly, and the girl they called Fishface had all said goodbye to me, leaving a three last friendly kisses on my cheeks, telling me not to worry, that I'd be back in Manhattan as soon as they found some space for me.
I looked around, the docks were almost empty, and Spot was in his clubhouse with the rest of the Brooklyn newsies who had finished selling the afternoon edition. The sun was dying and I knew I couldn't stay outside much longer, that I'd have to face him sooner or later. I might as well get it over with.
I slowly opened the door to the clubhouse, trying to sneak past the boys up the stairs too, but to no avail. Spot's cold, heavily accented voice interrupted me, "You might as well," he called after me, "get started upstairs before me men want to sleep and you have to clean while they're all asleep with the lanterns out." I turned around and shot him a look, he just raised a cool eyebrow at me. I hated how he did that. I hated everything about him.
I just stared at him for a moment then said, as loudly as I could, "Yes," then turned to go, but after he let out a little 'ahem' I turned around and added in a reluctant undertone, "Sir." Then I stomped up the stairs. I was absolutely going to MURDER Patrick for this. MURDER.
The upstairs room was empty when I walked in, I could see it clearly this time in the day, with the raggedy curtains pulled back. There was a bucket, a water pump and a scrub brush tucked away in the corner. I pumped some water into the metal bucket, it seemed that nobody had used the pump in ages, as the water it produced was a murky sort of brown color. After a few pumps it turned clear as crystal, and I smiled. As soon as I had filled it, I took the brush, and after picking a few cobwebs out of it, I dipped it in the water and started scrubbing.
Scrubbing that floor was hard work. I hadn't realized it the day before because I myself had been so dirty. The floor was practically caked over with dirt, and a square foot took me almost a full half hour to scrub off, and my handiwork still wouldn't have passed as 'up to par' at the convent, so I kept scrubbing.
It had been almost two hours before I had heard anything, some soft steps coming up the stairs, after each two steps there was a hard rap of something on the floor. I grimaced when the cold icy voice interrupted the sound of my brush against the floor, "It works better when you use soap."
I turned around, not that I had doubted myself, but I was correct in assuming Spot Conlon had come up to gloat. I shot him a look and just kept brushing. There was no need for me to talk to him, so I scrubbed the floor more energetically, trying to work out my frustration. After a moment, he hadn't said anything more, so I just said quietly, "Why don't you just do it yourself, if my way isn't good enough?" He obviously had not noticed that there wasn't any soap in the room, and I doubted there was any in the entire building judging from its appearance, not to mention the terrible smells. Besides, he hadn't told me HOW to clean the floors, just to do it, like I was some kind of slave. Turning around again, I stared at him, hating every breath of him. He didn't have his hat on anymore, and I could see that his hair was lighter without it. He almost didn't look like the same person. After a hateful glare passed quickly between us, I turned back again and stared through the floor. This stupid boy didn't care about me at all, he was just doing his best to make me miserable. I refused to believe that this is what Patrick wanted for me, that this is what he thought was best. Thinking about my brother, I remembered how just the night before I had thought I would burst would happiness. Now I felt as if I could die of grief. In spite of myself, I felt tears coming to my eyes. Trying to calm my emotions, I scrubbed the floor even harder, feeling as though I would scrub right through the wooden boards. But despite my efforts, I felt two teardrops slide down my cheeks, burning like hot metal melted down to nothing but liquid. I could feel his eyes laughing at me, and I felt ashamed for appearing so childish. Scrubbing floors isn't that bad, I told myself. But I couldn't stop thinking about how my brother had just left me here, where I was nothing but unhappy. I knew that Spot's condescending glare was still blazing at me. I stopped washing the floor and just sat there for a moment, holding back the sobs threatening to escape my throat.
I didn't think that seeing my small body shake trying to contain my crying would win anything from him, and it clearly hadn't. All I heard was that cold, cruel voice say, "It's late. Just finish up tomorrow." Then I heard him turn and leave, hating every step I heard him take down the stairs. So I sat up there all alone, regaining my composure. After a few minutes, I noticed that my bucket of water was completely dirty, and decided I should stop. Going to the window, I opened it and breathed fresh air for a minute. Then, looking down at the dock, I noticed someone under the window, sitting there smoking a cheap cigarette. Clearly he hadn't looked up and seen me, and I thought I could hear him swearing under his breath. Grinning, I quietly hurried back and grabbed my bucket of water. Without a sound, I held it up to the windowsill. Biting my lower lip to contain my laughter, I turned the bucket over, letting all of the water fall out of it straight down. A split second later, I let go of the bucket, and ran as fast as I could back to the door of the room and locked it. As I had left the window, I had heard the greatest sounds, Spot Conlon being drenched and then his yelling loud into the night.
"Shortstack.. you gotta get up," He said quietly in my ear, I swatted his face lightly and told him to bugger off, but he just picked me up and set me on the floor, saying as forcefully as he could, being the humorous person that he was, "We're going back to Brooklyn today.. I need a few words with Spot Conlon about a few things. Jack and Fishface are going with us," He didn't mention it, but it was only because Jack had won at poker the night before, getting himself a full dollar and that was enough to skip one day of selling papers, "You gotta get up or we won't catch 'im and we'll have to wait around all day for 'im ta get back from sellin'."
I grumbled about early mornings for the rest of the time that we washed up, that is until Patrick shot me a look that said, 'I do this every morning and I'm just fine with it so shut your mouth', after which, I shut my mouth. When I had finished washing my face I examined my hair. It was wavy from sleeping on it wet. Eventually, after much agonizing on what to do with it, I braided it down on either side of my head, letting some wisps of it fall onto my face. That'd show Spot Conlon who was the garbage and who had class.
It was, as I had noted the day before, a long walk between Brooklyn and Manhattan, but the boys and Fishface seemed used to it, so I didn't say anything. I hadn't gotten much practice for long walks at the convent either way, so perhaps this was a relatively short walk in comparison, I wasn't sure.
The dawn had just broken when we had arrived, and sure enough, Spot Conlon sat in his usual spot, river view and everything. He seemed to be gazing out onto the river, almost as if those eyes of his did anything but laugh at others, almost as if he were human. But I shook off the thought, realizing how ridiculous it truly was. He caught site of the four of us. Jumping down he spit in his hand and shook Jack's salivated hand with his own. I still found this habit completely and utterly disgusting, but what could I do against it? Absolutely nothing. Spot smiled nicely at Fishface, his eyes fierce eyes growing, perhaps even tender, though I doubted that they could actually do that. He glanced over Patrick then spitshook with him, maybe from a past friendship, I didn't know. He gave me a quick once over. I felt his eyes boring into me, he made me embarrassed again, but I wasn't sure how.
"Hey Mush, who's this?" I inwardly did cartwheels, realizing that Spot didn't recognize me. I just couldn't help myself, I had to shove it right into his face.
"Oh, he's just, how did you put it?" I looked straight into his eyes innocently. "Bringing in the garbage?" I emphasized the word "garbage," throwing all of my hatred for him into it. The look on his face was purely priceless, I wish I could have had it sketched to treasure it for the rest of my life. Those powerful green eyes went wide with surprise, and I swear that for an instant his jaw dropped. It was just what I had wanted, and I wasn't able to hide my satisfied grin. He quickly pulled himself together and went back to staring me down, and I answered his challenge. But right now, his eyes didn't discourage me at all. I had seen him back down in shock, and would hold it against him forever.
Clearly everyone noticed what was happening, and Patrick jumped in. "Seems my little sister ain't much into givin' well-deserved thank you's, so I'll just take care of it for her." Glancing quickly at me, his face said that he didn't approve of my behavior, but I saw the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Thanks for watchin' out for her the odda night, I appreciate it. Goils always seem to jump right into things without thinking, even going out on their owns at night and gettin' themselves good an' lost." Sensing that this was not a conversation they would feel comfortable in, Fishface and Jack slowly eased back away from us, and went to talk a few yards away.
"No problem Mush, she wasn't too annoying. She oughta learn when and where to keep 'er mouth shut, though." Although he was speaking to my brother, his eyes hadn't broken their stubborn contact with mine. I could see that he saw me as a menace, and I was determined to be a force to reckon with.
"Well Spot, I was wondering if I might ask you a favor, cause since Jack trusts you, I figure I can trust you, too." Spot turned his attention to my brother, calmly raising his eyebrow questioningly.
"I didn't know anybody was wonderin' whether or not I'm trustworthy."
"It ain't that, Spot. It's just, what I have to ask you is really important, and I don't wanna make a mistake puttin' my faith in the wrong guy." Patrick had my attention now, too. Looking up at him, I wondered what he was going to trust Spot with. Whatever it was, I pitied him for thinking he could count on this terrible boy, whose very existence vexed me at the moment. Spot sat down on a large wooden crate a couple of feet away, and my brother approached him, reaching behind him to grab me and pull me along. Once again, Spot gave that questioning look that seemed to make him feel superior to whoever he was talking to. Even my brother stammered a bit. "I - well, the point is, as much as I love Shortstack and all-"
"Who?"
"Shortstack... y'know, Anabeth?" he said, gesturing to me.
"Oh, fitting nickname." He shot me that triumphant look, and I defied him with my own glare.
"Anyway, as much as I love her and would love to keep 'er with me, well, there just ain't any room in our lodging house. And well, I was just wondering if you'd, you know, keep her here for awhile?"
In the same breath, Spot and I both spat out, "WHAT?" Surely Patrick was joking. He couldn't leave me with this unearthly creature, the only person in the world I despised. As Spot and I shared a quick look, I could tell he was also hoping my brother wasn't serious about this.
"I mean, could you like, keep her at your clubhouse or something? Just until I can find a better place for her to go, somewhere that we can be together and I won't have to worry about her. It won't be a real long time, I've been trying to figure this out for awhile, as far as where she'd go when she left the convent."
"Maybe she should have just stayed there." Spot Conlon clearly had no heart at all. "If we were all lucky, she'd have taken a vow of silence." I'm telling you, if Patrick hadn't had a firm grip on my arm, I would have slapped that content look right off of Spot's face.
"Funny, Spot," my brother laughed nervously. I hoped he was as angry inside as I was. Spot deserved to be whacked upside the head with his own cane for what he was saying about me, and I felt that if Patrick had been talking to anyone else, he certainly would have done so.
"You don't really expect me to take HER in, do you? I have too much to worry about without looking after a little brat like this." Spot stood up and shook that stupid cane of his in my face. He didn't want this anymore than I did, and perhaps the both of us could talk my brother out of his crazy idea.
"Well, I know that she'd be safe here, until I can figure out what we're gonna do. Just think about it, would ya?"
Spot's face looked deep in thought, I could see that he was heavily considering the consequences of taking me in or not. He began to pace back and forth in that annoying way he had, and the way his hand twitched a bit, I could tell he wanted a cigarette. As he paced, he kept glancing at me and shaking his head slightly. In my mind, I was wishing that he would just say no, and then we could leave and I wouldn't have to spend another moment with him.
Finally he said, "Okay Mush, since you're friends with the Cowboy, I'll make you a deal." I cringed, and Spot didn't fail to notice it. "As I said, you owe me your sister. So I'll take 'er in, on the condition that she does whatever I say." Walking right up to me, he talked more to my face than to my brother's. "I let 'er stay here, feed 'er, and keep an eye on 'er. But she has to do what I say, exactly what I say." I must have looked confused and angry, because that's certainly how I felt. "I tell her to do something, she says 'Yes, sir' and does it. Our clubhouse has been needing a good cleaning for awhile."
"No way, you stupid bastard! I'd rather sleep in the mud than do your damn cleaning!" You'd think Spot and Patrick had never heard anyone swear before, the way they were both looking at me after my outburst. In all my life, I had never seen my brother look at me with such surprise, and even Spot looked shocked again. They must have thought that a life in a convent had taken all the immorality out of me. "I don't let anybody order me around, especially a pig like you. You, Spot Conlon, are a sick, twisted, pathetic excuse for a human being."
Patrick elbowed me in the ribs. hard. I could tell that he was thinking about revising Spot's deal, but caught sight of some of the Brooklyn Boys, completely ready to soak whoever their pathetic leader told them to. It was so sick that I wanted to hurl into the river itself, but I contained myself, instead I shot Spot a menacing glare.
Apparently he'd heard these comments before (not that I'll say I was surprised in the least), as he hadn't even flinched, he didn't even look at me, "So Mush," He said, jumping down from his crate, revealing once again, his short stature that almost made me want to burst out laughing at the fact that he, of all people, could lead a gang of menacing Brooklyn newsboys that were feared throughout the entire city, "We got a deal?" He said, raising an icy eyebrow and spitting in his hand for Patrick to shake it.
Patrick took a look at me, his dark brown eyes said, 'I haven't got a choice', and he spit in his hand and shook it with Spot Conlon's, saying firmly, "We have a deal."
It wasn't long until my dear sweet, betraying evil brother left me at Spot Conlon's place. He, Jack Kelly, and the girl they called Fishface had all said goodbye to me, leaving a three last friendly kisses on my cheeks, telling me not to worry, that I'd be back in Manhattan as soon as they found some space for me.
I looked around, the docks were almost empty, and Spot was in his clubhouse with the rest of the Brooklyn newsies who had finished selling the afternoon edition. The sun was dying and I knew I couldn't stay outside much longer, that I'd have to face him sooner or later. I might as well get it over with.
I slowly opened the door to the clubhouse, trying to sneak past the boys up the stairs too, but to no avail. Spot's cold, heavily accented voice interrupted me, "You might as well," he called after me, "get started upstairs before me men want to sleep and you have to clean while they're all asleep with the lanterns out." I turned around and shot him a look, he just raised a cool eyebrow at me. I hated how he did that. I hated everything about him.
I just stared at him for a moment then said, as loudly as I could, "Yes," then turned to go, but after he let out a little 'ahem' I turned around and added in a reluctant undertone, "Sir." Then I stomped up the stairs. I was absolutely going to MURDER Patrick for this. MURDER.
The upstairs room was empty when I walked in, I could see it clearly this time in the day, with the raggedy curtains pulled back. There was a bucket, a water pump and a scrub brush tucked away in the corner. I pumped some water into the metal bucket, it seemed that nobody had used the pump in ages, as the water it produced was a murky sort of brown color. After a few pumps it turned clear as crystal, and I smiled. As soon as I had filled it, I took the brush, and after picking a few cobwebs out of it, I dipped it in the water and started scrubbing.
Scrubbing that floor was hard work. I hadn't realized it the day before because I myself had been so dirty. The floor was practically caked over with dirt, and a square foot took me almost a full half hour to scrub off, and my handiwork still wouldn't have passed as 'up to par' at the convent, so I kept scrubbing.
It had been almost two hours before I had heard anything, some soft steps coming up the stairs, after each two steps there was a hard rap of something on the floor. I grimaced when the cold icy voice interrupted the sound of my brush against the floor, "It works better when you use soap."
I turned around, not that I had doubted myself, but I was correct in assuming Spot Conlon had come up to gloat. I shot him a look and just kept brushing. There was no need for me to talk to him, so I scrubbed the floor more energetically, trying to work out my frustration. After a moment, he hadn't said anything more, so I just said quietly, "Why don't you just do it yourself, if my way isn't good enough?" He obviously had not noticed that there wasn't any soap in the room, and I doubted there was any in the entire building judging from its appearance, not to mention the terrible smells. Besides, he hadn't told me HOW to clean the floors, just to do it, like I was some kind of slave. Turning around again, I stared at him, hating every breath of him. He didn't have his hat on anymore, and I could see that his hair was lighter without it. He almost didn't look like the same person. After a hateful glare passed quickly between us, I turned back again and stared through the floor. This stupid boy didn't care about me at all, he was just doing his best to make me miserable. I refused to believe that this is what Patrick wanted for me, that this is what he thought was best. Thinking about my brother, I remembered how just the night before I had thought I would burst would happiness. Now I felt as if I could die of grief. In spite of myself, I felt tears coming to my eyes. Trying to calm my emotions, I scrubbed the floor even harder, feeling as though I would scrub right through the wooden boards. But despite my efforts, I felt two teardrops slide down my cheeks, burning like hot metal melted down to nothing but liquid. I could feel his eyes laughing at me, and I felt ashamed for appearing so childish. Scrubbing floors isn't that bad, I told myself. But I couldn't stop thinking about how my brother had just left me here, where I was nothing but unhappy. I knew that Spot's condescending glare was still blazing at me. I stopped washing the floor and just sat there for a moment, holding back the sobs threatening to escape my throat.
I didn't think that seeing my small body shake trying to contain my crying would win anything from him, and it clearly hadn't. All I heard was that cold, cruel voice say, "It's late. Just finish up tomorrow." Then I heard him turn and leave, hating every step I heard him take down the stairs. So I sat up there all alone, regaining my composure. After a few minutes, I noticed that my bucket of water was completely dirty, and decided I should stop. Going to the window, I opened it and breathed fresh air for a minute. Then, looking down at the dock, I noticed someone under the window, sitting there smoking a cheap cigarette. Clearly he hadn't looked up and seen me, and I thought I could hear him swearing under his breath. Grinning, I quietly hurried back and grabbed my bucket of water. Without a sound, I held it up to the windowsill. Biting my lower lip to contain my laughter, I turned the bucket over, letting all of the water fall out of it straight down. A split second later, I let go of the bucket, and ran as fast as I could back to the door of the room and locked it. As I had left the window, I had heard the greatest sounds, Spot Conlon being drenched and then his yelling loud into the night.