It was later that night. Lunch Money, Nix, Starboard and Feivel were drying off and changing out of their clothes that gotten wet in the snow, getting into comparatively warm nightgowns. Lunch Money unwound her braids, letting her dark hair (also damp with snow) tumble down to her shoulders and hung up her clothes to dry on one of the bedposts of an empty bunk. The girls all talked merrily, in surprisingly high spirits, given their current employment situation. Though, as proven earlier that evening, snow had miraculous effects when it came to raising a child's moral.
This lighthearted air was quickly ruined, however, with the entrance of Ritz. Her company often darkened the overall mood of the girl's dormitory. She didn't waste any time or play any games tonight though. She marched right up to Lunch Money, who was innocently standing next to the bunk she and Nix shared, chatting casually with her bunkmate. Ritz planted herself in front of Lunch Money, hands on her hips and frowning.
"Yes?" Lunch Money asked in a falsely pleasant voice. In answer, Ritz raised her right hand and smacked Lunch Money across the face. Everyone was quiet, all eyes on either Lunch Money or Ritz. Lunch Money gave Ritz an exasperated look, rubbing the spot where Ritz had slapped her.
"Okay, what the hell?" She glared at Ritz, "Ritz, what the hell was that for?" Lunch Money clenched a fist, ready to take Ritz out with a good right hook.
"Oh stop pretending!" Ritz snapped, "I saw you and Spot tonight." Lunch Money felt a jolt of panic, but kept her cool.
"I don't know what ya talkin' about."
"Yeah right!" Ritz was practically foaming at the mouth, "Stop playin' dumb, I saw you'se two."
"What were they doin'?" Nix asked eagerly, exhibiting a poor judgment of when might be a good time to speak.
"She was flirtin' and carryin' on like some tramp!" Ritz gestured to Lunch Money who turned slightly red, "Don't even try to deny it, you slut." If anyone had tried calling Lunch Money a slut at any other time in her life, Lunch Money would have jumped the offender in less time that you could blink. But Lunch Money was too incensed to even bother with someone as worthless as Ritz. That, or Lunch Money was afraid that Ritz might be speaking the truth. Either way, Lunch Money just pushed past Ritz.
"Shut up, Ritz." Lunch Money muttered as she stalked toward the door.
"Oh, brilliant comeback, Lunch, I ain't eveh gonna recoveh from ya horrid woirds." Ritz scoffed, and added, "Whore." Lunch Money didn't even answer; she just strode out of the dorm, slamming the door behind her. Ritz sneered after her. Ritz knew Lunch Money was after Spot. It didn't take a genius to figure out.
In the corridor, Lunch Money stormed away from the room, wanting to put as much distance between her and Ritz as possible. She couldn't stand that girl. Cursing furiously under her breath, Lunch Money took the only escape she could see: the fire escape. Down the stairs a ways, on the landing between the girl's floor and the boy's, was a mid-sized window that led onto the black metal contraption. Lunch Money threw the window open, climbed out onto the fire escape and stepped into the freezing night air.
The snow had subsided some since earlier that evening, though Lunch Money did have to brush away several inches of snow piled up on the iron railing before resting her elbows on it. The fire escape was cramped between two buildings: the lodging house (obviously) and the dingy old drugstore next door. She leaned heavily against the cold railing, gazing off into space. Why hadn't she just decked Ritz? Lunch Money didn't understand. She always used to be ready for a fight. Now Ritz had gone and picked a fight, and Lunch Money had actually walked away. Lunch Money told herself that she had more important things on her mind than worrying about that bitch. But since when had Lunch Money Higgins been known to take the high road? She jumped slightly as she heard the window scrape open.
"You tryin' ta catch pneumonia?" Lunch Money didn't even turn around. It was Spot. He climbed out of the window to join her on the fire escape, sliding the window closed behind him. He stood next to her, glancing at her curiously and followed her gaze to meet the brick wall of the drugstore opposite the fire escape. Lunch Money stared straight ahead, resolved to ignore him as long as possible.
"Ya starin' at a brick wall." He smirked, referring to the aforementioned wall across the alley.
"What do you want?" Her words held an icy chill, and still she didn't bother to spare him a look.
Spot shrugged, "I saw ya storm out heah. Ya looked kinda upset. You okay?"
"I'm fine." Lunch Money replied automatically. Spot rolled his eyes and hoisted himself up onto the railing, so that he sat comfortably perched on the metal bar.
"You always say that. Is it eveh true?" He raised an eyebrow, smirking at her again.
"Yes." She said defensively, ignoring the adorable smirk.
"Shoah."
"Everything's just all messed up right now, okay?" Lunch Money snapped. It was true; everything was messed up: She was living in Brooklyn, bunking with the newsgirls (who varied in their states of atrocity), the newsstands; the home deliveries. Everything.
"Everything." Spot repeated skeptically, that shadow of a smile playing around his mouth.
"Yes, everything." Lunch Money said waspishly. Before she knew it, she was pacing the fire escape (at least as well as a girl could pace in a space less than four feet across and three feet deep) ticking them off in a resigned voice. "This whole newsstand thing… now the home deliveries… meetin' Skittery an' Snitch an' Snipes today." She took a breath, "And Crutchy gettin' soaked. And Racetrack—I don't even know what's wrong with him."
She had stopped pacing now, thinking of her brother and how quiet he'd been the past few days. She plowed on, not even paying attention to what she was saying anymore, just enjoying venting openly for the first time weeks. "On top a' that, I gotta bunk wit' those bitches upstairs… then there's you— I mean--" Lunch Money stopped abruptly. Spot, who been watching her tirade with arched eyebrows and still balanced on the railing, gave Lunch Money a funny look.
"What about me?" He asked, grinning, "I ain't been nuttin' but charmin'." He was joking, knowing that Lunch Money would probably start off on another rant solely directed at him. And what a horrible jerk bastard he was.
"Yeah, right." Lunch Money rolled her eyes. Charming. Sure.
"No, seriously," Spot said, now very curious as he slid off the railing. He stood facing Lunch Money, and asked again, "Whaddya mean when you said that?"
It was an opportunity to insult Spot. It was an opportunity to tell him exactly what an annoyance he was. But she surprised both Spot and herself by not saying anything. Spot's curiosity was now redoubled and he stared into her face, trying to read what was going through her head. She avoided his eyes, pretending to be incredibly interested in the light sprinkling of snowflakes around them. Trying to act as though everything was normal.
"Lunch." Spot's voice was quieter this time. "What about me?"
Lunch Money forced her eyes to meet his. For a second they stared at each other, both serious, and confused at the same time. Spot was lost in her eyes. His brain was trying to pull him back to reality, but it was a hopeless struggle. And everything changed; his willpower suffered a complete breakdown. He refused to let himself think. He just kissed her lightly on the lips.
At first, she let him. It seemed so natural. And while Lunch Money hadn't been expecting it, the kiss didn't come as a surprise at all. Like it had all been planned. Perfectly planned. A second later, Lunch Money was the first to return to Earth. She pushed him away.
"Hey!" She gave Spot a look that plainly said what the hell? They quickly stepped apart, their faces turned away from each other. The air seemed to vibrate out of the pure awkwardness of the situation. Spot was drowning in his own troubles. How could he have been so stupid? Did he really think, on any level, that kissing Lunch Money was a good idea? She obviously didn't. He was numbed with shock at what had happened, but still lost in the moment of the kiss.
Lunch Money was overwhelmed with a million ideas and thoughts and images. She could just see Racetrack flipping out. Mush and Blink making fun of her. Lunch Money didn't go around making out on balconies. Had she somehow switched lives with Ritz? Though, as hard as she tried to keep it out of her head, the memory of the kiss took up the majority of her thoughts.
Lunch Money looked over at Spot, who was still resolutely facing the opposite direction. Acting on sheer impulse, Lunch Money tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. This time she kissed him. The second kiss was slower, more passionate. It could have lasted days and neither would have noticed. The two of them stood, neither noticing nor caring about the snow coming down on their heads. Spot drew her closer, one hand resting on her waist, the other gently caressing her cheek. Around them, a bitter wind swept a flurry of snowflakes through the wiry skeleton that was the fire escape, making an eerie whistling noise that triggered reality for the both of them. They pulled away simultaneously, horror-stricken at what they had done.
"Whaddya doin'?" Spot asked, more than a little unnerved.
"Me?" Lunch Money cried indignantly, "You kissed me foirst!"
"Well, ya didn't hafta kiss me back." Spot stated, as though explaining the obvious.
"Well, you didn't hafta kiss me in the foirst place!"
"Well, I wouldn't have kissed if you couldn't just be like every other goil." Spot informed her angrily.
"What?"
"If you'se was any otheh goil, I woulda gotten you in bed already and that'd be it. I could stop thinkin' about ya. Get ya outta me head." Spot then added an aside more to himself than to Lunch Money, "Sex is all goils is s'posed ta be good fa' anyway."
"What?" Lunch Money asked again, this time offended.
"No!" Spot amended hastily, "I meant otheth goils are. You'se is different. I doubt I'd stop thinkin' about ya even we did-- um..." He looked slightly embarressed, so he said again, "You'se is different, Lunch Money— but that's the problem, dammit!" He added, running his fingers through his hair distractedly, during a brief moment of silence.
"Racetrack would kill me." Lunch Money muttered, shaking her head. "Well, really, he'd probably kill you. And my friends!" Lunch Money's eyes widened, "Do ya have any idea how long I'se been tryin' ta get them ta take me seriously? Jack an' Blink an' Crutchy, an' alla them. They still think I'm some helpless little goil. I didn't spend my life actin' twice as tough as any a' them just to ruin my reputation by kissin' some boy."
"Oh yeah," Spot retorted, "That sounds so terrible. Ya friends'll figger out you'se a goil. Me, I'm the leadeh a' Brooklyn. How would look to the otheh boys if I… I mean, how much respect would I keep if…" He trailed off, glaring angrily at Lunch Money, like it was all her fault. "Look, I'm Spot Conlon. I don't get feelin's."
"Whoa, now there's feelin's?" Lunch Money stepped back, afraid of the word. Feelings. Spot had feelings for her? She had feelings for Spot?
"No." Spot said quickly.
Silence ascended upon them again. Lunch Money shivered in the cold, realizing for the first time just how much the temperature had dropped.
"Maybe." Spot broke the stillness, speaking slowly, "Maybe it's betteh if we pretend nuttin' happened."
"Yeah." Lunch Money said softly, "Maybe."
Without so much as a second glance, Spot brushed past her, taking the stairs of the fire escape down to the alley below. Lunch Money closed her eyes, her throat tight. She didn't cry. Only little silly girls cried. That's what Racetrack had told her when she was six. Racetrack had pushed her into a puddle, and Lunch Money had sat there sulking and crying while Racetrack made fun of her for being a girl. Since then, Lunch Money refused to let herself cry. After collecting herself, Lunch Money straightened her posture and turned back toward the window, ready to go to bed and sleep away this nightmare.
But when she turned around, all the air seemed to disappear from her lungs. Standing on the other side of the glass was the very last person she wanted to see. Lunch Money would have even preferred it if Ritz were the one waiting for her instead. Because there (once again displaying an uncanny knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time) stood Racetrack, and, judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.