Spot awoke to the sound of movement from another room. He lifted his eyelids slowly and rubbed the sleep out of them. His bare chest and stomach shivered in the morning cold, and he pulled the blanket up further. Looking to his left, he saw Autumn sleeping peacefully curled up in a ball. He smiled. It was weird, this feeling he had for her. He hadn't known her long and he was completely lovesick over her. Most of the girls he had been with were just for a good time, but Autumn was different and he didn't know why. They hadn't really gone on any real dates and about the only time they had to talk was after she was getting attacked in an alley, an attack which was most likely a plotted scheme. Maybe that was it; maybe that made her seem more special. One thing was for sure, though: after sleeping with her, he wasn't going to leave her like the rest.

After minutes of drifting into a state of sleep and reality, Spot finally gave up and decided to get up. He pulled on his pants, buttoning them and letting the red suspender straps fall to his sides. After a long stretch, he pulled his side of the covers over to Autumn and exited to go to the bathroom.

The sun was just coming up and he would have to leave soon. After a few days worth of not selling many papers, he figured he should add a little more umph to work today. He tiptoed toward the door and slowly opened it, careful that it wouldn't creak. On the other side of it, he shut it very slowly not to make noise.

A scream startled Spot from behind him and caused him to jump and turn around. A very puzzled Ginger stood before him in her work clothes for the day with a bemused expression upon her face. Spot stared back at her, speechless.

"You and Autumn?!" she assumed.

Spot couldn't tell if she was angry or just confused. "Uh...yeah?"

Ginger's eyes turned puppy-like and she let out a long "aww!" She bounced over to him and gave him a hug. Spot stood motionless until Ginger suddenly pulled at his ear, dragging him into the kitchen.

"If ya hurt her, I swear to god, Spot!" she warned and let go.

Spot rubbed his ear and looked at her, staggered. "It's not like that, I swear! She's different."

"Right, like I haven't been told that about a hundred times!" She smacked him upside the head. "If you're gonna hurt her, just leave now."

Spot raised his hands in defeat. "Ginger, I ain't lyin'. Autumn's special to me."

Ginger paused and stared at him. She raised her hand to smack him again but brought it back down. "Then, she's lucky, I guess."

"I hope so."

She looked at him with a touch of sadness in her eyes. "I gotta go. Tell Autumn she's gotta be there soon." She turned, twisted back, and smacked him again. "That was fer me."

Spot rubbed the back of his head and watched her leave the apartment. He walked back into Autumn's room and made sure they hadn't waken her. She laid there, sleeping just as soundly as he had left her. Spot stopped for a few seconds and took in the moment. Autumn turned to her other side and he walked to the side of the bed, kissing her on the cheek.

"Hi," she greeted jadedly with half-open eyes.

"Hi. I gotta go to work. Ginger told me to tell you ya gotta get up soon."

Autumn closed her eyes again. "Okay."

Spot leaned over her and kissed her on the lips. Autumn smiled sweetly and said goodbye. He hunted around for his shirt and hat, wondering where they had gotten thrown to last night. Finally, they were recovered from the other side of the room lying carelessly on the floor. With another peck on the cheek, he put on his shirt and left.

There was an unusual fuss outside the distribution office as Spot approached it. A herd of newsies was gathered around something as chatter floated around and shorter boys jumped up to see the commotion. Spot squinted, trying to figure out what was going on. He picked up his walking speed until he broke out into a swift run, his feet not carrying him fast enough. Bolt shoved himself out of the gathering of boys and ended up a few feet from a sprinting Spot.

"Where ya been?" he demanded.

"I was-"

"Well!" he cut off dangerously, "while you were out screwin' God-knows-who, this is what happened!" He pushed people out of his way to show Spot what the ruckus was all about.

A choke rose up in Spot's throat as Thompson crouched next to an extremely beaten Roller. The poor ten-year-old was bruised and bloody on the ground next to the wall in a curled up position. His face was filthy and hurt. His clothes were torn and ripped. His arms and legs scraped and wounded. He could barely open his eyes. The only clean spots on his face were two small tear tracks traveling down his cheeks. On the brick wall was a large 'B' painted above the boy. Along the bottom of the letter were two small letters: PJ.

Spot clenched his fists as anger and hate boiled through his veins. Thompson's jaw was clenched as he looked up at Spot, troubled and bothered. Rumors rang out in Spot's ears as he stood there in shock.

"What's the 'PJ' for?" he heard someone ask.

Patrick Johns. Pierce. Johns. PJ. The boy he had played with on the streets of Brooklyn was now the vindictive ruler of the Bronx who was out to kill him.

Bolt grasped Spot's arm and pulled him away from the group, shoving Spot in front of him. He looked Bolt, surprised at the outrage Bolt was showing.

"What the fuck are you doin'? Do ya see what's happening in Brooklyn?" Bolt pushed Spot's shoulder back against the building. "Jesus, man, we trust you! Roller trusts you! If ya can't do your damn job, let me know now."

Spot pursed his lips and searched for something to say. Nothing came to him. Bolt was right. He wasn't doing his job to keep the Brooklynites safe. He had to stop letting it get to him. He had to do his job. Bolt's eyes were burning with fury as he fiercely stared at him.

"We'll go there," Spot proposed. "We'll go to the Bronx and settle this. No more of my boys are gettin' hurt."