Spot awoke the next morning to the sound of a door slamming somwhere far above him. The second his eyes popped open, he felt the splitting pain of a headache pulse through him and he groaned. Pulling himself slowly into a sitting position, he looked around the small room and tried to remember where he was. When he did, his heart skipped a beat. His eyes fell to the floor, where a coffee cup sat, nearly forgotten, beside his bed. Picking it up and downing the coffee, he stopped to think about what it meant.

Could it be that Queenie had been there? Had he not been dreaming?

Despite the pain throbbing through his head, Spot leapt from the bed and sprinted up the stairs. Filled with energy at the prospect that Queenie might be there, Spot searched for the leader.

"Cowboy!" he shouted, running through the building.

He heard nothing as he ran up the stairs toward the bunk room.

"Cowboy!" he called again.

Even as he came down the stairs and looked around, he heard nothing. When his eyes locked with the clock, he realized that the newsies would be selling by now. With the realization, he kicked the wall with his foot, anger flooding him. Reaching the front desk, he rang the service bell.

"Kloppy! Kloppy!" he shouted, impatiently tapping his foot.

The old man moved toward the King of Brooklyn.

"Yes, may I help you, young man?"

Annoyance flooded Spot.

"Where's Queenie?" he snapped.

Feigning confusion, the man thumbed through his check-in book.

"I don't think we have a newsboy by that name-"

Huffing, Spot shook his head.

"Not a newsie. A girl. Alex Mahony?" he spat out, over-annunciating every syllable so that there would be no misunderstanding.

Kloppman fought with himself. He swore to Cowboy he would not tell anyone that she stayed with them. But the distress of the young man tore at the old man's heart strings.

"Alex Mahony?"

He closed the book subtly and made his decision.

"I don't believe we have anyone here by that name."

Sighing, trying to not show the feeling of defeat that sunk to the pit of his stomach, Spot tipped his hat.

"Fine."

He fought to keep his composure and not break something.

"T'anks."

Strutting out of the door, he fought the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, he walked the familiar path to the Manhattan distribution center, ready to ask Cowboy what he knew.

Queenie sighed as she sunk onto a bench in a park somewhere in the city of New York. She spent the entire day walking aimlessly around the city, running away from Spot Conlon. It seemed that all Queenie ever did was run. She ran away from the refuge. She ran away from West. And here she was, running away from Spot for the second time. Indecision made it's ugly path through her heart, planting seeds of doubt everywhere it went, but she attempted to push it away. Queenie took in a deep breath and sighed, hugging her shawl closer to her and attempting to fight off the chill that sunk deeply into her bones. Her eyes slid shut as she slid deeper into the park bench, and she dozed off into a light sleep.

"Queenie?" A voice roused her from afar and she left from the bench.

Hand on the bag at her side, ready to flee, Queenie looked for the source of the voice.

"Queenie!" Spot's newsie, Jazz called as he stood a few feet away, staring at her.

He waved, but she ignored it, grabbed up her bag and took off in the opposite direction.

"Queenie! It's Jazz!"

Confusion marred his tone, but as he watched her retreating back, he finally understood.

"Queenie! Ise'm not gonna turn youse in t'Spot."

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to look at him. He chomped casually on an apple and smiled at her.

"Well, aren't youse a sight for me poor eyes."

Queenie just stared at him.

"Youse don't gotta look at me like Ise gonna bite youse or nothin'," he joked, chuckling under his breath at her frightened expression.

Relaxing infinitesimally, she walked a bit closer to him.

"You won't tell Spot you saw me?"

He nodded.

"I'd nev'a break da word I gave t'a lady. Me mother taught me better. Ise swear Spot'll never know youse're here or dat Ise saw youse. You got me word."

Jazz sat down on her bench and motioned for her to sit next to him. She did as he asked and sat calmly beside the boy.

"So, why did youse leave, Queenie, me dear?"

Had she not been so frazzled, Queenie might have laughed at his lack of tact. She paused before answering.

"He- He wasn't who I thought he was," she responded, pointedly looking at the sidewalk and not the young man.

The boy next to her chuckled.

"Youse're mad he went 'n' fought wit' West?"

With a sigh, she turned and stared indignantly at him.

"Am I not allowed to be?"

A wild wind blew threw the two of them, making her shiver and he stood.

"Dat's f'youse to decide. Ise can't tell youse dat."

Refusing to look up at him, Queenie tried to not pout at the fact that Jazz took Spot's side. He sighed.

"Look, Queenie. Youse should know dat Spot-"

A voice rang out through the park, reaching the two young people.

"'Ey! Jazz! Where youse at? Wese was supposed to be at da bridge ten minutes ago! Dealer found Spot at da Distribution Center!"

Queenie's heart skipped several beats at the sound of Spot's name. Not wanting Hayseed to see her, Jazz threw a wave to the girl and ran in the direction of his friend.

"Good day to you, too, Jazz," she mumbled under her breath before returning to her thoughts.

"Youse should know dat Spot-"

She should know that Spot what?

Groaning under her breath, Queenie resigned herself to not knowing. And, trying to force down the feeling that what he had to say was important, Queenie stood and began walking toward her next destination.

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