{I'm Gonna Make You Love Me}
Never, in the history of match-making, had so many plans flopped on their faces. Scots and Katie worked tirelessly for the better part of a year trying to get Spot to acknowledge Katie's existence, and not one of their tactics had pulled through.
During the Christmas season, the girls had snuck into the boys' lodging house and hung mistletoe everywhere possible. When the annual Christmas party rolled around, there was no escaping. Or so they thought.
Spot disappeared as soon as he entered with some red-headed floozy hot on his heels. They made their way up to the bunkroom and stayed there for the rest of the party.
When spring bounced into the City in a flurry of sunshine, Katie had tried to seize "Spring Fever", catch it a bottle, and dumb it over Spot. In essence, at least. What she really did was stand near him with Scots and talk loudly about the handsome factory workers, giggling whenever anything in pants walked by. All that really happened was that Grin, tiring of their cackles, hollered at them to shut up before he 'gave them something to scream about'.
And even in the summer, when Spot was a late fifteen, when the newsboys went on strike, the two girls still plotted. Newsgirls didn't have much to do with the strike, except stay out of the way and follow the lead of their boys. The girls stopped selling as well, though Mugger, Scots, Katie, and the littler ones all pooled their money together to make ends meet while the strike was in motion.
When Spot came home after his stint in jail and in court, he was tired, pale, and dirty. Katie and Scots together hauled a tub of hot water up to the boys' bunkroom and set it there, complete with one of the scented soaps they used in their own lodging house.
When a grateful but confused Spot came out of the washroom that night and asked who had done the thoughtful deed, he was met with replies of "Mouse. And Scots." And he still said naught a word.
And he still didn't do anything.
And Katie had never been so baffled and downtrodden in her life. She never thought that he would be so difficult, so out of her reach.
And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that that's exactly what Spot was: out of her reach. She had seen the girls he slept with; they were all beautifully curvy and amazingly gorgeous.
And here she was, with only her hair to make her the least bit attractive. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, what she didn't know was that over the last few years she had developed heavily.
Oh, she had noticed that her breasts had swelled, but Katie was never a girl comfortable looking at herself nude. The full extent of their growth was unknown to her, as the loose, billowy tops she wore covered most of what was on top.
And what she had also not noticed, for she saw her face every day, was that her facial appearance had changed as well. Oh, she would never be as pretty as lovely Scots, but her plain face had matured into something soft, pretty, and feminine.
And where once she been all angles, she now had subtle curves. Her hips didn't bloom in the way Scots' did, and she didn't have that perfect hourglass figure that the men wanted, but she was no longer straight as the edge of the newspaper.
Grin and Creek, sitting on the stoop on the lodging house one day, saw Scots and Katie exit their own home across the street. Creek, suddenly starting and turning to Grin, asked, "Hey. Is Mouse gettin'…pretty?"
Grin, turning lazy eyes across the street, said casually, "I wouldn't kick her outta bed."
Despite what Katie thought, Grin and Creek weren't the only ones who noticed her transformation.
When Katie walked by, not so much as glancing him, Spot felt his throat tighten, and his palms begin to itch with wanting to touch her.
But that part of his life was over now.
That life he had spent frolicking, laughing, running, and teasing with Katie had come to an end the second he had set foot in Brooklyn.
Sometimes Spot toyed with the idea that he take Katie and leave; that they go back to the country and just live—live in freedom.
But then he gazed over the docks and the streets to the boys sprawled all over creation. The boys that he was responsible for; the boys who needed him more than they could or would admit.
So he filled his nights with brainless floozies who did nothing more that pleasure him. They gave him, and themselves, sexual satisfaction, picked up their clothes and left.
And after they had departed, Spot felt his heart blacken a bit, felt his stomach sink a little lower. The bed always seemed so cold, big, and empty—even when the girls were still there.
And when morning came and Newspaper Row loomed into sight, Spot felt his fingers ache and his neck stiffen. Another day of seeing her and not being able to speak to her for fear of bursting out in angry, frustrated shouts and asking her why she wanted everything in pants except him.
The way she flirted and batted her lashes at all his boys, all the factory boys…it killed him a little each time.
And when he walked by and she turned her eyes onto something else, it stabbed his heart a little each time.
And when he spoke to his newsies as whole and she fiddled with her fingernails, it tore his insides a little each time.
And there was nothing he could do about it; he would have to take it and take it and take it until he died.
Wednesday, November 22, 1899
This is stupid. Why the hell am I, Spot Conlon writing in this dumb book? Tomorrow's my birthday. Sixteen. Probably bed a whole slew of sleepers; might even get them for free. Not too excited. Only want to bed one, and she ain't no sleeper. I don't even want to pen her name; maybe if I do she'll disappear and I'll have even less of a chance than I do now.
The war was two years ago today. Sometimes I…
This is dumb. I'm going to bed.
Sure enough, the next day dawned bright and unnaturally warm. Spot got out of his bunk underneath Bourbon and stretched; he turned this way and that, feeling his back crack like a thousand hailstones on the roof. Sighing, satisfied that he wasn't going to creak, Spot stifled a yawn and trudged to the washroom.
In the girls' House, Scots, Mugger, and Katie were already up, brushing hair, washing faces, smoothing dresses. When they finished, they awakened the younger girls, shaking them gently from sleep.
The younger boys were wakened through the yells of the older boys. One, little Stumper, felt as if a giant in bells, banging pots and pans, had wakened him. As he scampered into his knickers and yanked up his suspenders, Spot strolled by.
The young boy hit him lightly in the side. When Spot glanced down, Stumper gave him a smile complete with gaps where his front teeth had fallen out. "Happy Birthday, Spot." The little boy said, remembering hearing the girls conversing about it the prior day.
Spot gave the boy a half smile and ruffled his shaggy strawberry blonde hair. The boy's bright green eyes sparkled as he scurried off to join his friends.
As the newsboys stepped outside into the dazzling sunlight, the girls a little ways ahead, Spot felt a weight descend on his shoulders.
He remembered how, two years ago, he had been sitting outside in the snow. He looked down. Right there. The snow had begun to cover the blood that had dripped almost sorrowfully onto it, and he had, in a fleeting moment of weakness, pulled Katie into his arms and sat there with her. He remembered the way passerby had stared at the two street rats that sat, encased in one another as the sky lightened to a hazy grey.
Shaking himself back to the present, Spot reached Newspaper Row and bought his papers without really concentrating on the action.
As he set off to his selling destination, Katie passed by. As she walked by, not looking at him, Spot stared at her, the way her hips swayed under her skirts, the way her forearms flexed slightly as she clutched her forty papers.
Right as she walked in front of him, Spot looked away. In murmurs, he heard words in what he knew as Katie's voice.
"Happy Birthday, Spot."
But she couldn't have said it, could she? She had been facing away from him. It must have been Scots or…But no, Scots had turned back only a split second before, back to get one of the younger girls. Only Katie remained. It had to have been her.
But…she never talked to him. Not ever. Not since that day at the beginning of the strike when he had told Manhattan no.
"You asked for it, Conlon." A voice had said.
Spot had whirled to face the speaker. Her.
"What're you talkin' about?" He had asked, angry and yet happy that she had acknowledged him.
"You told them to show you. If I know Jack, he will. You'll be dragged into this yet."
And before he could reply, she had turned away.
She had been right: Soon after his conversation with Jack, a little birdie had run to Spot from way of Manhattan and told him of the stand-off Jacky-Boy's newsies were planning. He had gone, knowing trouble would be brewing, and srue enough, he had had to save the tails of the boys. But after he had arrived, the boys had proved themselves to be tough. He remembered Mush's look of glee when he, Spot, had popped up. He remembered the shouts of relief when he had swung down and opened the gates to a mob of Brooklynites.
Now here he was, standing alone on his sixteenth birthday. Katie had long since walked off. Spot shook himself to clear his head; and he walked to his selling spot.
Somehow, even though she had wished him a happy birthday, he felt dejected.
But little did he know, Katie had big plans for his birthday.
Little did she know how hard they would be to pull off.
{EndNotes}
Go read Amazing Grace, by Skimmers Conlon O'Leary Meyers!
K.M Sykes: Girl, yes, I know. I suck at updating. But oh freakin' well. I get there! Thanks doll, I liked the diary thing as well…it amuses me. (grins)
Anna W.: Wow girl, you are awesome. I loooove compliments! I'm sorry! Don't let me kill you! Please live, I need my reviewers alive!!!!
Jade: (falls over) You can't hold out on me! I need praise! Kidding, thanks though doll, your praise keeps me goin'!
Chalyce: Awwwwwwww (tears up) thank you sweetie! Thanks so much! I love bein' awesome! And yes, Spot is an ass in a big way, but no worries…hopefully this chapter has sorted you out?
Rumor: Yep, much love to Crotona Park and all its awesomeness! (huggles Crotona-Park!newsboys) and they're just so cute!! Thanks, and yes. Blink is awesome.
SapphireSkye: thanks for the compliments, and the suggestion! Hope you liked this one girly!
Raeghann: (!) Ack! I lurve you mucho much! Where have you BEEN?!?!?!?!?!!?!? (falls over) my Lohr girl, you tryin' to kill me?! I need Glimmer-fic!updates. (dances) Thank you!!!!!!! That's high praise coming fromsomeone with as much talent as you have.
Ravenclawer: Awwww thanks! Yes, I know…I'm a little wary of the fact that my ploy could get too overused….But thanks hun, I'm glad my characters are un Mary-Sure ish…it means a lot!! Tell me if I start to slip, and I'll fix it! (huggles)
Skittles: (guilty grin) Yep, thought you'd like that. And yes, considering that book was based on research, I figured I'd be wise to call it Newspaper Row. (beams) thanks girly! And no problem whatsoever…anything come of that?!
Sparkle: I'm almost sure Katie will survive. (guilty face) almost. Thanks chica!!! Much love to ya!
Goldstranger: First off: THANK YOU. I'd love to have people think of my story as a movie. Second: Wow, thank you! I appreciate that so much. I worked like a dog on those chapters. I was, of course, helped by Skittles. The two chapters took us like 4 hours to do. So thank you so much. And Katie probably will do something stupid.
Angelfish: Muchos gracias girl…I lurve you for your praise. You rock socks!!!