Spot was absolutely brilliant. That didn't change the fact that he was irritating. It was late at night and I was in the water hiding under the dock. I had an awful suspicion that there was something rubbing against my leg.

"Come on, Spot!" I hissed to myself.

He told me that he was trying to settle something with someone. He refused to say who or what he was planning. He laid out a plan, and I was to follow it.

The water was dropping in temperature and rising in scariness.

Spot is going to pay, I thought through chattering teeth.

I heard the board above me squeaking. Someone was approaching me.

"What do ya want, Spot?" A voice asked, fear evident.

I grinned. This was going to be fun. Thanks Spot!

"I'se want ta know about Blink."

I froze, (not from the cold, that already happened.) It was in shock.

"Waddaya wanna know, Spot?"

I narrowed my eyes, trying to peek through the slats.

That voice was so familiar . . .

"I wanna know what he knows about Erin, an' what he's been doin'."

"I wouldn't know." replied the boy.

"Oh really, because dis five dollahs in me hand says uddawise." I could hear Spot waving a small bill around. Only Spot, I thought.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell ya!" the voice was starting to get eager. "E' was goin' in an out a Brooklyn and da Bronx. Lately he's been stayin' home. But he keeps sayin' dat you went too fah takin' Erin away like dat. An' no offense, I'se agree. He's just a littul kid. He don't fit in wid youh clan."

"Have ya eveh seen him fight?" Spot asked quietly.

The stranger paused thinking.

"No."

"Dat boy could take out awl a 'Hattan, widdout battin' an eye." Spot said, with a hint a pride in his voice. But mostly his voice was filled with threat.

"Look at ya, Spot. Fashionin' him inta' a weapon. He had a family wid us."

"He has a family heah!"

"Yeah, a bunch a muttonheads!"

"Ya wanna repeat dat, Race?"

Racetrack! I leapt up in on cue, smacking my head into the wood. Race jumped in surprise.

"What was dat?"

I could almost hear Spot's smirk form.

"Well, I wasn't gonna tell ya dis, but a few yeahs ago annaduh 'Hattan Newsie was buggin' me. He tried ta strike me, but he was too slow an he fell ta his watery grave."

Spot, of course, would end with a dramatic ending.

Racetrack gulped loudly.

"Sometimes," continued Spot ominously, "he tries ta come back . . . sometimes I let him take a friend back down wid him. Maybe I'll let him take you."

I banged loudly on the wood as prearranged. I hated doing this to a friend but orders are orders.

"Spot!" he yelped, "Stop dat ting! I'se gotta life ahead a me!"

"I dunno," Spot replied. "Aw ya gonna tell da boys?"

"I promise not ta tell!"

Spot stamped on the wood as a signal to stop.

I happily complied.

"Bye Race," he whispered wickedly. The exiting footsteps were gone before you could blink.

I went to the edge and climbed over.

"Spot you are really, really, really a pain in the—"

"Uh-uh! Carefoil now, don't go usin' language not propa' for a lady!" Spot tisked.

"Why would you do that to Racetrack? We're friends!"

"No you awen't," he said confidently.

"Yes," I hissed, "we are!"

"I'se youh leadah, an what I says goes."

"Well, I don't agree!"

Spot marched up so our noses were touching. All this happened so fast my breath was caught in my throat.

His lip twitched fighting a grin.

"Too bad." His hands were on my shoulders and I was back in the water.

"Spot!" I yelled between waves. I could hear him laughing above.

I managed to grab the edge of the dock, gasping. Clutching his side from laughing, he bent down so our faces were close.

"So whaddaya have ta say ta me, goil?"

"I'll tell ya what I have ta say," I grabbed his shoulders, pulling him in with me.

He probably could have fought me, but he allowed himself to crash in the water with me. He popped up, and spat water at me.

"Gross!"

Smirking he grabbed me and wrapped his arms around me so I couldn't escape.

"Ey! Leggo!" I gasped trying to fight him and swim at the same time.

"Not until ya apologize," he grunted, trying to keep me from squirming.

"Never!" I cried, pulling. His body was uncomfortably close to mine, and I didn't like the way he was holding me.

"Spot!" I cried, fearing he would actually not let me go.

"Say it!"

I twisted so I was facing him in his strong embrace. He looked a little surprised. I felt determined to escape without apology.

An idea formed in my mind. It was risky, but worth a try.

I stopped all struggling and fell forward so my cheek rested on Spot's shoulder.

Fake fainting, just like with Shadow.

"What aw ya doin'?" Spot asked, not amused.

I couldn't help but notice the muscles in his shoulder as he shifted him weight.

I waited for his grip to loosen.

For a beat I thought he wasn't buying it, but miraculously he pulled his arms back trying to turn me over.

In a flash, I zipped away, I made a water dash to the docks.

"Oh, no ya don't!" Spot took off after me. I couldn't tell if he was playing around or if he was seriously angry. I wasn't going to stick around to find out.

My hands reached the damp wood. I pulled myself up, creating a distance between Spot and me.

I was safe! I began running down the docks by feet slapping the boards in my rush.

I was at the end, a breath of relief washed through me.

Just got to get back to the lodge house, I thought gleefully.

Suddenly, out of the shadows jumped a dripping figure, who did not look too pleased.

"Wha? How did you get here so fast?" I demanded, surprised.

"Don't change da subject," he growled.

"Nobody pushes me in the water. Got dat?"

"Yup," I replied in a small voice.

We stood facing each other for a long time. I began feeling really awkward, just watching him glare.

"Sooo, now what?" I asked, hoping he'd stop glaring.

He rolled his eyes and smirked, "let's get home, aw business heah is finished."


Mornings are a delicate thing, and if started too early the rest of the day will be dreadful.

For some reason Spot just doesn't get this.

I knew someone was trying to wake me up. I had this feeling. I groaned and batted at the person to back off.

"G'away!" I moaned, shifting.

"OW!" someone cried. I rolled over. That was their problem.

I could hear some other people laughing. There was more talking but I couldn't make it out.

"Go away," I repeated.

"She hit me nose!" Someone exclaimed nasally.

I blinked and sat up.

"Wha' 'appened?" I groaned tiredly.

I saw Spot over me, smirking like he was trying to hold back laughter and Duke, holding his nose like someone . . . just punched him.

"Did I do that?" I asked Spot, pointing my thumb at Duke.

"Yeah," he snickered.

"Oh." I looked at Duke again, who seemed, merely surprised. "Sorry, Duke!" I said trying to sound sincere.

"Shuah," he took his hands away and luckily there was no blood.

I sighed, what a way to start a morning.

Once Duke was out of the room Spot chuckled. "Youh not a moi'nin' poi'son, aw ya?"

"You think?" I asked sarcastically.

When we got to the circulation office I found Duke standing in line, with a frown on his face.

"Duke!" I called. He turned at his name and frowned deeper upon seeing me.

"Erin?" he sounded scared and upset.

"Hey, I was uh, wondering if you wanted to sell with me today?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Promise not ta soak me?"

"Promise," I replied solemnly.

A grin spread across his face, "Ya gotta deal!"

Once we both got our papers I began walking with him. He was pretty good at selling. I watched him sell his 50, while staring at my sad little pile in my own hand.

He of course was impressive with words. He made even the worst headline sound like a "must read". His vocabulary was so great, he didn't have to "improve the truth" he merely used words no else understood.

I barely made it to my last paper. Part of the problem was selling near Duke. He took all the competition. But I guess I looked pretty pitiful. When I sold to a group of girls with their knitting baskets I could overhear one of them as I was leaving.

"What happened ta his face?" one girl asked.

"That's a nasty lookin' scar, 'e's got, dere," another said, "Such a shame, since da rest a his face is so charmin'."

"I only bought his paper, 'cuz I felt bad for da bloke."

They all murmured agreement.

I glared at my feet while walking away.

Duke noticed my mood.

"Ey, whassa matta, kid?"

"I don't need anyone's pity," I hissed, clutching my last paper angrily.

He looked scared, and cautiously stepped closer.

"Listen, don't listen ta do'es goils, dey don't know you. Dey only look at people's faces and clothes. It ain't youh fault dey's a bunch a hoity-toitys."

I looked up, amused. "Thanks, Duke."

"Shuah, dat's what friends aw for."

We finished selling and went down to the docks.

Even though it was cold the boys sat with their feet in the water laughing and splashing around. I sat amongst them enjoying the company I was keeping.

Spot sat, like a king, high above atop crates. His nose was held high and his piercing gaze looked over everything.

The scene was almost perfect, I felt truly at home. But the perfect image was shattered by four words.

"Collins, get ova' heah!" Spot called down expressionlessly.

Sighing, I climbed up to him and leaned on my elbows looking up. "Yes, your majesty?"

He looked entertained by the title.

"I'se gotta job fo' ya. Do ya rememba' wheah Spencer's turf is?"

I racked my memory and had a hazy idea of where to go. "Yeah, why?"

Spot held out a crumpled note to me while leaning back in his throne. "Take dis to Spencer."

I was surprised he wasn't accompanying me, but I didn't argue. "Aye Aye, sir."

He rolled his eyes at me. "Hurry, I want dis in his hands in da next five minutes."

I jumped down from the crates with the note.

" 'An one mo' ting," Spot called, "Don't you open it!"

I didn't even consider it until now. "Alright!"

I ran quickly through the streets to the corner where Spot and I were attacked.

A shadow intercepted me.

"Scuse me, what brings ya heah on Spencer's turf, kid?" A rough voice demanded.

"Hear ta deliver a message from Spot."

"Not anymore. Get out befoah I soak ya!"

"How about you get out of my way before I soak you?"

"You littul—" He threw a quick punch at me but missed when I darted out of the way.

I got him in the eye and then cut his cheek.

It was clear who was going to win this fight. This boy might be stronger but I was faster and more skilled.

"Enough," a young voice called.

I looked up mid swing at Spencer who was watching with interest. It was a peculiar sight, seeing a child watch me beat his own friend up as though it were fascinating.

I straightened up and held out the note.

"A message from Spot." I explained. He stared at the note blankly, and took it from my fingers, bloody from fighting.

I began to leave but was interrupted by his voice, "Stay." He firmly ordered.

I turned and watched him open the note.

He read over it and looked up at me. "Have you read dis?"

"No." I hoped that he would tell me the contents of the letter.

"Good. Now, tell Spot dat I will be me own representative this year."

In confusion, I nodded my head and prepared to leave again. "One more thing!"

I turned again to see his eyes alight with curiosity, "Tell Spot, I'd like ta see some a' his new boys out dere, it's tirin' ta see da same ones."

I nodded and took off. This was the strangest message I've ever heard. What did it mean?

When I got back to the docks the other boys left but Spot was still there.

"Well?" he asked patiently. I repeated Spencer's message, waiting for a logical answer.

Spot was smirking when I was finished.

"Oh boy, is he in fo' a surprise."

"What's happening, Spot?"

Each yeah ta prove which pawt a Brooklyn is best we have a fight, a tournament if ya will. Da winner get awl da glory and one special ting from each fighta'.

"So this is between you and Spencer?" I asked.

"An' Chrisopher."

"Whose that?"

"Pray you neva' meet him besides in this competition. He's known fo' his special line a woik."

"Which is . . . ?"

"He specializes in becoming close to a poi'son. Gets ta know dem real well, and den da minute ya tink youh safe, he stabs ya in da back. Literally. He'll do da job fo' money usually, but sometimes if someone really hits a noive . . ."

"So is he also representing himself?" I gulped.

"Yeah, but no worries, killin' is not allowed, ya only have ta have the person on da ground fo' seven seconds."

"Well, who are you sending from us?"

I considered Spot going himself, it would be very like Spot to show off.

"You," he answered calmly. In a second my hands grew sweaty and my heart accelerated.

"Me?" I asked surprised, "I'm a newbie! I can't fight."

"Youh da best I'se eva' seen, even befoah me lessons. An' don't worry, ya won't die."

"What if I lose?"

"We'se hasn't lost fo' yeahs, an' I don't plan to dis yeah."

I squirmed uncomfortably. "Can I forfeit?" I asked meekly.

"No."

"I didn't think so."

"Wha's a matta? Aw ya worried about bein' watched? Don't worry it's only da t'ree competitiors, dere boroughs, and Manhattan."

"Manhattan? Why them?" I asked confused.

"Dey like making bets. 'Specially Race. He can't resist money."

I felt like fainting. So I was going to die in front of all my ex-friends. Lovely.

"When's this tournament?"

"Tomorrow."

"What? Well why didn't you tell me before?"

"I t'ought ya might get noivous."

"I am now!"

"Oh well. You'll do fine, just don't panick."

"I'm panicking!" I replied in a shrill voice.

He smirked at me and I began feeling dizzy.

"Hey Erin?" he called snapping me out of my panic mode.

He swung a fist at me which I smoothly ducked from.

Before I could protest he spoke, "I'se don't tink ya have anytin' ta worry about, kid."

He began walking away to the lodge house.

"Gee thanks, I'm sure you'll regret saying that when you're at my funeral."

He didn't hear me.

What was I going to do?