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

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See Spot Run

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Chapter Three

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Madison Square

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"It's out of your hands
It's not what you planned
But it keeps knockin' you over."
—Sloan

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            I woke up Saturday morning and Spot was gone.  I knew from the moment I opened my eyes that the house was empty aside from myself and the smell of fresh waffles.  When I walked down the grand spiral staircase, wiping the sleep from my eyes, clad in an old white tee-shirt and plaid pajama pants (Mama never let me walk around in just boxers), I found Spot's hat still hooked over the rail of the staircase.
            Maybe he would come back for it. 
            I doubted myself.  Why should he?  He's never stayed in one place for over a day.  What did I really expect?  That he stay with me for a week?
            There were two notes taped to the front door that caught my attention.  A yellow piece of paper and a purple one.  I already knew what the yellow one would say: "Out for a run.  Be back later.—Spot."  I didn't bother reading that one; I tore it off the door and stuffed the note down the pocket of my pants.  The other note was from my mother.
            "Angel, getting groceries.  Breakfast on table.  Ask Spot if he wants some.—Mama."  So she didn't know that he was gone.
            I turned back to the staircase and contemplated going back to sleep.  Maybe this weekend wouldn't be so wild, after all.  I walked up the stairs.
            Thump.  Thump.  Thump. 
            This time, I didn't hear any footsteps behind me.

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            In my movie I will wake up and run down the stairs and catch Spot just as he is walking out the door.
            "We not good enough for you?" Actor-me will say lightheartedly.
            Spot will smile sadly and say, "You know it."  He'll look at fake-Itey in the eyes and we'll both know he has to leave.  It is what makes him the Marathon Man; he has to keep moving or he'll lose the race.
            He'll nod and I'll smile, and then he'll be gone.
            The movie screen will fill with the image of his dog-eared sneakers flapping away.

==

            "Angel!  You better not still be sleeping!" I heard Mama screech from the forum.  Of course I wasn't still sleeping.  I was just awoken half a second ago by a very high pitched call.
            "I'm back from the market!"
            I heard her footsteps echo from the kitchen.
            "You haven't eaten breakfast!  Where's Speck?"
            I rolled over in my bed.  Saturday morning is a time for sleep.  It was not use, though.  After five minutes of tossing and turning I realized that I would not be falling asleep again and that I was tangled in my Batman sheets.
            "Spot left!" I yelled, my voice hoarse.  I heard rapid footsteps and a clack, clack, clack, and I knew Mama was running up the stairs in her small pumps.
            "Did you thank him for coming?"  Her voice sounded closer, now.
            "Yes," I lied.  You are wonderful at lying, Angel, Mama had said.  "He didn't want breakfast."
            "No wonder he's just skin and bones!"  She flew through my door and I gave a small yelp.
            "MA!  What if I wasn't dressed?"  I scrambled out of my bed and unwrinkled the Batmen.
            "Nothing I have not seen before, Little Angel."
            I grunted.
            "I want you to go back down to the market and pick up some things for me," she continued, oblivious of my disheveled state.
            "You were just down there!"
            "I walked.  I had to carry all those bags."  She paced around my room, then pulled open the curtains of my window with flourish.  "You just have to pick up my dry-cleaning."  Sunlight streamed into my room.
            She clapped her hands twice.  "Chop, chop!"
            There really was no point in arguing.

==

            Breakfast was a giant stack of lukewarm waffles, hot syrup, and cold, pulpy orange juice.
            Mama had to snap at me and whip a wet towel at my retreating back before I would move back up the stairs.

==

            I saw him everywhere.  The moment I stepped out of my front door I thought I saw Spot disappearing around the block.  But then I remembered that his hat was hanging inside my house, and the person had been wearing a hat similar to Spot's own.
            I walked down my street slowly, running my hand along the white fences.  Above me, the leaves shook and I expected Spot to fall on me again.  But nothing happened.
            When I heard footsteps behind me, I turned to find no one there.  By the time I reached Betsy's Dry-Cleaning, which was sandwiched between the Farmer's Market and the local bookshop, I was convinced I was hallucinating.
            The sidewalk was crowded enough for me to beware of pickpockets, but all the faces I saw were familiar.  None of them were Spot's.
            He wasn't coming back.

==

            I was lying on my bed, wide awake at one o'clock in the morning, and I heard a knock against the glass.  At first, I thought it must have been a tree branch; it was getting windy at nights.  Then the knock came again.
            Curious, I looked at my window, and nearly had a heart attack.
            Spot's grinning face was peering at me behind a wall of glass.
            I shot out of bed and to the window, hastily opening it.
            What if he fell?  How did he get up there in the first place?  My window was on the second floor and had nothing underneath it (I would know, because once when I was five I tried running away.  I got as far as opening my window.  But then I looked down.  I stayed in bed the rest of the night).
            When he clambered in, I heard leaves shaking and I looked behind him.  He had scaled a huge tree and crawled out onto a thin, fragile-looking branch.
            "Can I stay here tonight?" he asked, his voice low so Mama wouldn't hear.
            His clothes had changed.  His tee-shirt, though still worn, looked newer and was a brightly colored tie-dye.  He still had on the same shorts and shoes, but without his hat he looked different.  He looked normal.  He didn't look like The Marathon Man who could never stop running.
            Can I stay here tonight?
            I nodded.
            He crept out of my door into the hallway and I saw him head towards the guest room.
            I couldn't stop smiling.

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End Chapter Three

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A/N:  I'm not very happy with how this chapter turned out, but oh well. 

Shoutouts:

studentnumber24601:  ::blush:: Please don't marry my fic, you're honeymoon might not be so great.  Thanx for the review.  Sorry, I haven't updated for so long.

Buttons14:  NEVER WATCHED MY LITTLE PONY!?  I'm flabbergasted.  I used to know all the Ponys' names.  It was very sad.  ANYWAY.  Thank you for the review.  And, yes, Itey is the BEST.  He's so great.  ::sigh::

DigitalAngel4U:  Underlying themes?  Maybe.  I don't know.  If this fic has any, I'm not aware of them.  Hehe.  Hey, if it does, and you find any themes and such, wanna tell me?  Haha.  Thank you so much for the review!

You've already read, now review please!!!!