Disclaimer:  No, I don't own Newsies…Yet.  Mwah ha ha ha ha.


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See Spot Run


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Madison Square


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Chapter One


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"I am the million dollar man. 
Somebody catch me if you can. 
I'm not afraid to be alone. 
All I need is water and a phone."
—Imperial Teen


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            My full name is Angelo Diego Lopez.  My mother calls me "Little Angel," a rather embarrassing term of endearment I am sure she keeps using to cause my face to do an incredible imitation of a ripe tomato.  Only she says it like it's spelled with two 'e's.  LEETLE.  She even calls me that in public.  Normal people call me 'Itey.'  As in 'It-ee.'  When I was smaller I was just that—small.  Tiny, even.  Friends called my "Itty-Bitty" and acquaintances called me "Itty."  The latter stuck.  In sixth grade I decided my nickname was too normal, and I wanted to create some confusion, so I changed the spelling to I-T-E-Y.  Some people who don't know me call me "Eye-tee."
            I knew Spot before I met him.  Heck, everyone knew Spot.  A week after he ran away he was all over the newspapers.  Of course, at that time no one knew to call him Spot.  The journalists called him "Troubled Teen Running His Way Into The Hearts of America."  That name grew troublesome, so when anyone at school talked about this "Troubled Teen," they dubbed him "The Marathon Man."  Stupid, yes, but that name spread like a wildfire on a dry day.  Soon even the journalists called him Marathon Man.
            According to the newspapers, a family never knew when he would appear on their front doorstep.  The first house he visited was in a small town of New Jersey.  The Tanners, a nice middle class family of a mother, father, son and daughter, heard a knock at the door and little Jessica went to answer it.  She was thirteen.  She said, "He asked me if dinner was ready, which was really weird, because it totally was.  And I said yes, can I help you?  And he said really slowly in this deep voice if he could have dinner with us."  This is the part where Jessica throws a high pitched giggle at the interviewer.  "Well, of course I said yes.  He seemed nice.  And I asked my parents.  And they said fine.  Well, I told them I knew him from school."  Giggle.  "Omigod, omigod he was so hot."  When asked to describe his appearance she shrugged and said, "I dunno.  T-shirt.  Shorts.  Real floppy shoes.  Uh…big, floppy hat."  And as the interviewer lost hope for a more exact description, Jessica gasped and said, "And OMIGOD he has the bluest eyes ever!"
            He visited nearly thirty houses, each time asking for a meal, or a night's rest, or maybe even a shower (once he even asked if the family had any old clothes they could spare).  No one turned him away.  No one remembered anything about his appearance except for his sapphire blue eyes glowing at them from under the brim of his hat.
            He left early in the morning when he stayed for a night.  A yellow note was always taped on the front door.
            "Out for a Run—be back later."

But of course, he never came back.

By the time he reached New York, he was welcomed into any house without suspicion.


            I met Spot on my way back from school on a bright, sunny Friday when he fell out of a tree.  Literally.
            The street I live on in my neighborhood is lined with huge white houses and miniature cars that cost over one hundred thousand dollars.  I'm a spoiled, rich kid, I know.  At least I'll admit it.
            When I was turning the corner behind the backyard of the Thompson's, I heard rustling above me in one of the giant trees planted in exact increments along the white fence surrounding the massive yard.  I thought nothing of it, though.  But then a pinecone fell on my head, and that doesn't happen everyday, so I looked up, just in time to see a bundle of ragged clothes falling from the sky.
            The next thing I knew I was on the hard concrete with my orange book bag nestled uncomfortably beneath me and a heavy load slumped over my stomach.  When the load disappeared and I heard a deep voice say, "Oh, sorry, man," I blinked and realized that the ominous figure looming above me was indeed a person.
            He hoisted me up on my feet, book bag and all, and a few seconds passed where I lost the misty feeling in the back of my mind and we stood uncomfortably in each other's gaze.
            Finally, he held out his hand and said, "I'm Spot."
            I shook his hand.
            T-shirt.  Shorts.  I looked down at his feet.  Floppy shoes.  On top of his head was an overly large bucket hat that covered sandy hair.  And then I saw 'the bluest eyes ever.'
            I almost fainted then and there.  Luckily, I didn't.
            "You're the Marathon Man."  My mouth was hanging open; I quickly shut it with a clack of my teeth.
            He shrugged.  "I guess."
            "Uh…" I said smartly.
            His eyes bore into mine and suddenly the misty feeling in the back of my mind was back.  I was meeting him.  The Marathon Man.  I WAS MEETING HIM.  I tried thinking of something clever to say, but all I could think of was "Run!  Run!  Run!"  He broke the silence.
            "Can I eat dinner at your house?"
            If it were anyone else, I would have thrown a fit, but it was the Marathon Man, so of course I said 'yes.'


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End Chapter One



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Read and Review Please!!!!



A/N:  Thank you studentnumber24601!  I have ITALICS!!!!!!  ::glomps::

I promise to make the next chapter longer!


THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING:

studentnumber24601:  YOU ROCK.  Don't you just LURVE Spot?  I do.  Hehe.  And yeah, this fic was actually partially inspired by that book Maniac McGee (which, yes, I read in sixth grade, but I still love it, woot!) and a song by a band called Spoon ("The Way We Get By").  AHHH!!  Thank you so much for reviewing!  You have no idea how happy I am!  I love all your fics, like Ribbon, and Birthday, and Where Were You When the Lights Went Out?, and ALL OF IT.  Hehe.  Thanx again.

Buttons14:  Yay!  Yay!  Yay!  Haha.  Actually, thanks to you I just started reading the Gossip Girl series (actually just the first one, but whatever), and it's surprisingly good.  And I know what girl you're talking about, Blair.  Or something.  I read your Medieval Times fic and it's so amusing!  Hehe.  Spot and Race in tunics!  Spot in a tunic!  Race in a tunic!  Spot and Race in one tunic!  …eeep.  Oh my.