Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any other media references I may make throughout the duration of this fic.

Living in Suburbia

Starring: Patrick 'Spot' Conlon, Alexander 'Specs' Conlon, The Mayor

Chapter 12--My Letter Home

—Spot's PoV—

Sometimes I don't know how I do it. Somehow I managed a meeting with the mayor.

Technically though, it wasn't a meeting. I just showed up and said I wanted to talk to him. But they let me by no problem, so it's pretty much a meeting.

The mayor's office is large and round. It has a mahogany desk with a fancy nameplate. Either side of the desk has a tall, leafy plant, and in the wall is a huge stone fireplace. The mayor smiled.

"Hello Patrick, take a seat, won't you?" He gestured to the large leather chair before him.

I sat on the edge and cleared my throat. The mayor smiles some more. "So, what's this all about?" he asked.

"Well," I thought about how to choose my words. "What exactly are you doing to...bust this drug chain?" I asked.

He was still smiling, but it didn't travel to his eyes, which were cold and determined. "Patrick, I know you don't pay taxes, but your parents will know, we are doing all we can to—as you said—bust this chain." Suddenly I was sure what Kid Blink had said was right. I was positive.

A smile curved in the edge of my lips. "You mean we do all we can."

It was getting harder for him to remain smiling, I could tell. "Why would I want this blotch on the city record? Lindale is a respectful town, this small detail in the way of perfection."

I leaned forward. "What do you mean small detail? This so-called 'small detail' has destroyed my family!"

"Listen, Patrick, this news about your family is perfectly awful, but—"

But I'd lost it. "How do you do it? How long have you been doing it for?"

His smile dropped right off his face. "How long have I been doing what?"

"Selling drugs?" I asked.

His eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you suggesting?" he asked.

"How do you afford leather chairs? And a pure mahogany desk? What about this nameplate? Gold, I assume. Where do you get the money for this?" My voice was a vicious hiss.

The mayor looked like he'd be sick. "I get the money from the city," he said, matching my tone with barely a whisper.

"From the force account, I assume?" I retorted quickly.

His eyes blazed. "This money provides your family a house in the best part of town. Think about that before you accuse the city of such blasphemy!"

"The money provides me a home, only to pull it apart again. What about all the kids who work for their families? Who will provide their families with support when they're gone? When they spend all their money on marijuana? So what if they're a lower class? They voted for you too." My whisper was deadly, crawling over the space between us dangerously.

"You, young man, are jeopardising your father's position," the mayor tried weakly.

"Who cares?" I spat. "The bastard can burn in hell." I stood. "Thank you for you time sir." I stood and left, swinging the heavy door shut behind me.

—Specs' PoV—

Things are lonely. They haven't given me a new roommate yet. There isn't anything to do. His bed is staying made, tight and unnaturally, only reminding me that he's not coming back.

I found a piece of paper and a pen. For almost ten minutes I just sat with my pen poised over the page, thinking about what I should write.

Dutchy,

They told me they brought you to Cherrywood. I am writing to tell you that I found your lighter. I am very sorry to have touched it, but you were gone. I no longer have it, I gave it to Belinda, do you know her? I hope they treat you well and that you get better. Things are lonely. They took down your poster, do you have it?

Write back.

Specs

I re-read it. I wonder how his hand is. Yesterday men came in a replaced the window with Plexiglas. It isn't as nice to look through, being slightly translucent, but it is impossible to punch through.

The blood was cleaned off the floor; one of the nurses came in and did that almost immediately. The ceiling boasts a darkened rectangle, where the poster used to be. I stare at it and it hits me. How long had Dutchy been here anyways? Longer than me, I know, but how long?

His family never visited, did he have any? What about his friend? The one who had a father who was a pharmacist.

I chew at the cuticle around my nail and stare out the window. I think about what kind of relationship Dutchy had had with this boy. Thank God none of my friends ever got into drugs.

I pick up the pen again, but this time I don't have to think about what I'm going to write.

Jack,

My roommate is gone to Cherrywood and I got to thinking. I am very glad that you didn't get involved when I did. My friends and family matter more to me than anything, please be sure that I know this.

I know that you're going away to university next year, so we won't see much of each other, but I want to wish you luck. Please don't make my mistakes when you are there, I have seen you play football and you can do anything. Keep your grades up, the coach says you can start if you do, right? When you go pros, remember me. Help your kids, don't stray too far Jack Sullivan, you're my best friend in the world.

Specs

I don't re-read this one. I'm afraid that if I do I will decide not to send it. I shove it into an envelope. I draw out another piece of paper and begin again.

Spot and Snipeshooter,

I miss you guys, but seeing you the other day was good. Please give dad my best and tell mom I love her.

I know I have messed things up, and I am sorry. I am going through a hard time, but I can't imagine what it must be like for you. I'm sorry for messing up your lives along with mine. I should have listened to you Spot, I should have quit. Do you remember telling me? In February?

I hope you two have a good summer and I hope I can make it home by the time it's time for you to go back to school. I'm working on it, I promise. I'll be better, but I'm not yet.

Love Specs

Something tingles at the corner of my eye and I wipe back the tear. I bite my tongue and shove this letter into an envelope. Next I write the addresses on all of them neatly and bring them to the mail drop. After I shut the slot I open again and stare down into the black gorge. It's dark and never-ending. There's no turning back now.

I walk to the guidance office and sit on the chair in the waiting area. When the doctor sees me we begin talking.

"I have to get better," I say, "I promised my brothers."

End Chapter

Hi guys! I can't remember when I last updated, so that can't be good. But at least I updated now, right? Very good. Please review. Looks like Specs will get better, eh?

Shoutouts:

Erin Go Bragh—I probably won't use your character as a main one because I already have parts for most of the characters, but I am planning something that I could use her for, but she may have to be older and only appear in a few chapters, if that's OK.

Icanreadncount—oh (is sad at being called a spaz) I thought the names at the beginning would be cool and I guess it is. Mr. Conlon is a meanie!!!

C.M. Higgins—YES! Intense...heh heh heh...

Utopia Today—yes. Go ponder it!!! Blink may actually be right, I man, come on, he's got a lot of power and knows everyone...hmmm...

Jacky Higgins—I forgot that I have to take Civics next year, which blows, so I will have to drop French, Art, Business or German. I don't know which one!!! Ahhh!!! Damn Civics.

Strawberri Shake—yes, I think that Spot and Blink are the heros of this story. It just works. The short kid and the kid with the eye patch saving the day! WOOT! Go boys!