"What?" Lunch gasped incredulously, "Nix, ya crazy." It was indeed Nix who had followed Lunch Money out of Liam's, Nix who had guessed the truth. The keenly observant girl watched Lunch Money intently through her dark, almond-shaped eyes, taking note of her reaction.
"I ain't crazy." Nix was adamant, "I seen the way he acts around ya— fa' God's sake he saved ya life last week!"
"That don't mean anything," Lunch Money said, still reeling from Nix's words, "And whaddya mean, you seen how he acts around me? He's horrible to me!"
Nix shook her head at Lunch Money naiveté. "It's prob'ly just ta throw ya off." She said shrewdly, "Look, in all the years I'se known Spot, he's neveh done anything unless he could see what was in it for hisself. I hoird ya ask him yahself why did he save ya that night. He didn't have an answer. Or at least he didn't have an answer he wanted ta tell ya." Nix arched her eyebrows suggestively.
"That don't mean anything." Lunch Money said again, this time less feverent. Around the corner, still hidden from sight, Racetrack thought he might have a heart attack. If this Nix girl was right, and Spot was in love with his little sister… Racetrack wouldn't know whether to laugh hysterically, or try to kill Spot. Most likely the latter. He knew Spot's skirt-chasing reputation, and he would be damned if his little sister would be the next girl in Conlon's bed.
"Ya didn't see that look on Spot's face aftah ya left." Nix said solemnly, "It was pretty pitiful. And the whole week aftah he saved ya, your name kept coming up. He kept bringing ya up like he couldn't stop thinkin' a' ya." Lunch Money was strongly reminded of herself in the days following their venture, how she kept thinking of Spot at odd times.
"Nuttin' ya've said proves he's in love wit' me." Lunch Money said coldly.
"Maybe not." Nix said sharply, "But I'm warnin' ya: any attention Spot gives ya, good or bad, ain't gonna go oveh well wit' Ritz. And Ritz is good at makin' life hell. I usually figger goils can figger that out about Ritz pretty quick. But I don't think you'se that smart." Nix explained, showing the sensitivity of a sledgehammer, as usual.
"I don't think I'se that smart eitheh." Lunch Money confessed.
"I ain't sayin' ya gotta do anything about what I told ya. I ain't sayin' ya gotta believe me." Nix continued, "These's just my obsoirvations. I could be wrong. But I ain't eveh wrong about this stuff." She added plainly, "I'm just tellin' ya ta be careful. Be careful about Ritz, shoah, she'll chew ya head right off. But be careful of Spot too. I'se neveh seen him act this way toward any goil, and I don't know how it could turn out, so just don't do anything stupid."
Lunch Money frowned, "Why would I do sumptin' stupid? Thanks fa' the advise, but I think I can take care a' meself."
"Did I just waste me time?" Nix asked, stretching her mouth into a pained half-smile. "You ain't gonna listen ta a woid of what I said, are ya?"
"Prob'ly not." Lunch Money shrugged, "I don't really believe anthing ya told me, so no."
She wasn't being entirely truthful. Lunch Money thought it might be overstating it to say that Spot was in love with her, but there had been that moment in Liam's… the silence that fell when Lunch Money questioned his motives for rescuing her from those men in the alley. And there had been several times during the various conversations (Well, various arguments) she'd had with Spot that she'd felt a certain electricity and tension between them. But Lunch Money would not let herself believe Nix. She didn't want any of this. She refused to be like every other prissy girl in New York, swooning over Spot Conlon. After all, she was Lunch Money Higgins. Remember her? She asked herself, Remember the girl who neveh gave a boy a second look, except ta beat 'em up? Remember when her thoughts weren't dominated by daydreams or spent convincing herself that she was "fine"? She couldn't even hold a civilized conversation with Spot without it turning into a quarrel. She despised that boy. How could anyone think they were in love?
"You like him too, don't you?" Nix asked, giving Lunch Money a probing stare. Racetrack's ears pricked, suddenly feeling very religious as he prayed his sister wasn't interested in Conlon.
"No! Are ya mad?" Lunch Money said, maybe a little too quickly.
"Hmm." Nix squinted dark eyes, "I don't think I really believe ya eitheh."
"I don't!" She protested, now irate. Racetrack now wished he could see Lunch Money's expression. The girl had no poker face, after all, and couldn't lie to save her life, but from her voice alone Racetrack had difficultly telling whether Lunch Money was being truthful or not.
"Okay." Nix said shiftily, knowing Lunch Money wasn't about to confide anything. She changed the subject, "C'mon then. Wanna go soak some blue-collah bums?"
"Shoah." Lunch Money agreed, thankful to be on a topic she was more than comfortable with. Without another word, the two newsgirls went off in search of more newsstands to tear to pieces, one girl grinning knowingly, the other angry and worried.
Racetrack slumped against the wall of one of the grimy buildings, his head in his hands. The entire world seemed to have turned upside-down in last few weeks. He hoped Nix was just a silly girl who liked to cause drama, but even as he thought of this, he remembered his own words earlier that day:
"You shoulda heard 'em; they'se bickerin' like some old married couple."
It was sort of surprising Nix was the only one to catch on to the truth, assuming it was the truth, at least. Was Spot and Lunch Money's constant squabbling just an act? Did Spot have feelings toward his sister? It seemed laughable; the infamously reclusive Spot Conlon-- in love with Lunch Money! Racetrack rubbed his eyes. At the end of the street he saw the other Manhattan newsies exit Liam's, finished with their lunches. What would he tell them? Nothing. He decided. Nothing to the other boys, and nothing to Lunch Money either. Racetrack wanted to see how it would play out; if Nix was really right about Lunch and Spot. Nevertheless, he vowed to keep an eye on Spot, and a closer eye on Lunch Money. Just in case.
"Damn, Lunch Money, for a Higgins, ya shoah are a bad gambler." Nix observed after Lunch Money had lost her third hand of poker. Four out of the seven Brooklyn girls were enjoying a game of cards after a long day of running rampant through the city. It was a Saturday night, so Ritz, Tease and Rodeo weren't expected back at the dormitory until very late, if at all.
Lunch Money was quite a horrible gambler, in spite the years of practice she had. It was the youngest newsgirl (the one who had been asleep the first night Lunch Money had come to the lodging house, a little Jewish girl nicknamed Feivel) who was cleaning up at the game. The three older girls (Lunch Money, Nix, and a the quiet, mousy-haired girl named Starboard) sat disgruntled, nearly all their hard-earned cash sitting in a pile at Feivel's side.
"You ain't doin' any betteh, Nix." Feivel giggled happily, collecting a handful of pennies from Starboard.
"Only 'cos you cheat." Nix grumbled, dealing out the new hand.
"Prove it." Feivel smiled sweetly. Lunch Money had been warned before the game had started that Feivel was a master at rigging card games, and a compulsive liar besides. She had never actually been caught cheating, but her opponents kept a close eye on her. It had actually become a sort of challenge, a sport many newsies across Brooklyn played: try to figure out how Feivel Cohen was swindling them.
"Ain't ya too young ta be gamblin'?" Lunch Money asked, "You'se only, what eight years old?"
"I am not eight!" Feivel seemed highly affronted at Lunch Money's estimation, "I'se almost twelve, if ya must know. It's called fail-ya ta thrive; I ain't gonna grow anymore 'cos a' malnutrition." She said seriously.
"Feivel, shuddup." Nix rolled her eyes, "You ain't diseased. You'se a double-dealing seven-year-old." Lunch Money and Starboard laughed.
The merry, carefree scene was interrupted by a new presence. It was a girl no one anticipated seeing until the next morning. Ritz, of course. The seductive blonde looked a little frazzled, as though she had just come off a job, and she did not seem happy to see the assembled group of newsgirls already in the dorm.
"Heya, Ritzy," Feivel squeaked, "You'se back early."
"Yeah, what happened?" Nix asked, scoffing, "Not enough rich men ta ride tonight?"
"Shuddup, I worked a long day. Made forty dollahs too. What've you done?"
"Well, I lost two dollahs and seventy-three cents." Nix muttered, glancing at Feivel. The newsgirls sensed as a collective the Ritz was not in a mood for jokes and teasing. But it was Lunch Money, of course, who had the bad sense to snicker at the hateful look Ritz gave Nix. Nix, Starboard and Feivel knew it was easier not ta cross Ritz when she was in a temper, but Lunch Money hadn't wised up as quickly though, and was therefore fair game, as far as Ritz was concerned.
"Hey, so Lunch." Ritz began, "I saw ya talkin' ta Spot today at Liam's."
Nix sent Lunch Money a stare as to say What did I tell ya? She's gonna kill ya. Starboard and Feivel looked at each other, Starboard's face arranged in a stricken pose, Feivel's in a sly, gleeful smile. They hastily gathered up he deck of cards, Feivel carefully shutting them up in their case and stowing it in a pocket of her skirt. They were ready to watch the action.
"Yeah." Lunch Money shrugged. She pretended to be distracted by the scar that was forming on the sole of her foot. It would twinge with pain every so often, but she had been walking much better and the cut was healing nicely.
"What were ya talkin' about?" Ritz asked curiously, her nonchalant tone obviously feigned. She watched Lunch Money examining the scar, her eyes narrowed, obviously incensed.
"Nuttin'. He was bein' an idiot as usual, just makin' fun a' me." She got up from the floor, on which they had been playing poker and returned to her own bunk, starting to change into her nightdress. Lunch Money really did not want to go through an interrogation about Spot now. She felt she'd been getting enough of that lately.
Ritz scowled as Lunch Money the nightdress over her head and buttoned the front. "Please. I ain't an idiot. Just do yahself a favoh and stay away from him."
"Look, I try my hardest ta avoid that kid, but he's a pest." Lunch Money claimed, rolling her eyes, "It ain't my fault his sole purpose in life is ta drive me crazy." This last statement did not go over well with Ritz. She didn't like Spot giving Lunch Money any sort of attention, whether good or bad. One might think Ritz would have gotten used to Spot flirting (and more) with all kinds of girls, given that he slept with more than half the girls in New York. Usually, however, Spot would flirt with Ritz's fellow prostitutes. And Ritz didn't mind that as much. That was different somehow. Lunch Money was different.
"Yeah right!" Ritz snapped, grabbing Lunch Money by the arm, turning Lunch around to face her. Lunch Money jerked her arm out of Ritz's grasp.
"What's a' mattah wit' you?" Lunch Money couldn't believe how jealous Ritz was. She and Spot were only talking. Ritz could have him; Lunch Money didn't care. She didn't care, she didn't. And why did everyone suddenly think there was something going on between her and Spot? Lunch Money was mystified; it was like all of Brooklyn was in on a secret, but had forgotten to warn Lunch Money.
"I was talkin' ta him all aftahnoon, and he barely said a woid aftah you left. He was distracted all day, and I know why. You'se was flirting wit' him, trying ta get him undeh the covehs." Lunch Money laughed out loud at this accusation. Lunch Money? Trying to seduce Spot? Ritz's scull had probably been knocked against one too many headboards.
"I was not! Ya insane, goil." Her laughter faded, leaving her with a disgusted tone, "Both of ya!" She added angrily, gesturing to Nix as well, "You two listen ta me, listen good. I don't care about Spot. I ain't tryin' ta seduce him; I ain't some whore like you, Ritz." At this, Ritz's mouth turned up in a threatening sneer, "I can't even stand the boy! I don't give damn whedder you'se think he's in love wit' me, or whateveh. I'm saying this once and fa' all: I don't care about Spot Conlon!"
"Shoah ya don't." Nix snorted derisively. Ritz looked furious.
"Ya bum, ya don't fold when ya got four of a kind." Racetrack whacked the boy across the head impatiently. Roundhouse, the little blonde boy who had delivered Spot's message to Racetrack the previous week, rubbed his head as he mournfully watched Kid Blink rake in the pile of coins and bills. "Blink was bluffin', he didn't have anything! Geez, ya even got both eyes in ya head and you'se still blinder than Blink." Racetrack shook his head, pained by the amateur card players.
Like the girls on the floor above, several newsies in the boy's dorm had started up a game of cards. Strangely, Racetrack had declined engaging the game, but watched the game from his bunk, occasionally imparting wisdom to the less skilled gamblers.
"Race, if you'se just gonna play Roundhouse's cards fa' him, why don't ya join next round?" Jack asked, confused as to why Racetrack, notorious gambling addict, didn't want to make some easy money.
"Nah. No thanks." He refused the offer again. He glanced at Spot, who was dealing out the cards again. Racetrack hadn't been able to think of Spot the same way since he heard Nix's conversation with Lunch Money, and was suspicious of the boy.
"You okay, Race?" Mush asked. The other Manhattan newsies looked up with interest. Racetrack had been quiet all day, not talking and cracking jokes as usual.
"I'm fine." He shrugged. His friends laughed and traded amused glances. "What?" Racetrack asked, looking confused. Spot raised an eyebrow, grinning.
"Ya sounded exactly like ya sistah when ya said that." Racetrack jerked at Spot's mention of Lunch Money. Was he going into completely paranoid older brother mode, or was Nix right about Spot?
"Yeah, that's the Higgins way." Jack smirked, "Pretendin' ya fine when you ain't."
Racetrack rolled his eyes, acting as if their suggestions were ridiculous. "Ah, pipe down. Get back ta ya cards, ya bummehs."