hope less romantics

chapter 2

For quite a while after he ran into that boy on the street, Spot Conlon had been curious about the boy. His name, who he was, and what on Earth he had been doing in Brooklyn? That last question was paired in Spots head with the question of how he didn't know that there was a newsie from Manhattan in Brooklyn. For years, Spot had made it his business to know everyone else' business but somehow.

After multiple days of asking around, and receiving nothing but shoulder shrugs and confusion as to how he didn't know who was spending time on, as many of Spots friends had pointed out, his turf, Spot finally discovered who the mystery manhattan boy was. Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly's second in command, a teen with a smoking problem, and even bigger gambling problem, and the part which most interested Spot, a boy from Manhattan who spent more than his fair share of time in Brooklyn.

Now, Spot Conlon wasn't nosy, he let people have their space and he expected the same in return. However , every so often, when something piqued his interest, he was known to...forget about that. So maybe he learned from a few of his boys Racetracks' usual selling spot in Brooklyn. And maybe he would find himself passing by more regularly, and maybe he ended up selling papers just across the street from Racetrack a few times. But it was just because he was curious. An odd kid, who shouldn't be there, was there and Spot was just keeping an eye out. No ulterior motives to be seen here.

-

Race spent a lot of time thinking. He didn't have all that much else to do with himself. He thought himself to sleep at night and made up little stories in his head on slow days. He knew that he had a habit of overthinking things, but he supposed that that was the price he paid for his hyperactive mind. Recently many of those thoughts had been filled with questions about one Spot Conlon.

Did he know who Race was?

Did he hate Race?

Did he think about that one horrible interaction as much as Race did?

Was he stalking Race?

How was he so intimidating?

And why was Race thinking about him so much?

These were the things that filled Race's head all day, every day. And he had an answer to only one of them.

Spot Conlon was most certainly stalking him. Every single day, for almost a month, Spot had been there.  At some point in the day, at least. Race started to notice about a week in, he had never seen him around before, and now, Spot Conlon was everywhere.

And maybe it wasn't about Race at all but that wasn't a thought that would ever cross the boys mind, not in a million years. Because rational thoughts never came to Races mind. But rather, stupid, irrational, and to those he might share them with, utterly ridiculous and/or insane (he'd been called all of the above by those close to him). And this habit was continued on one faithful day, after about a month of being haunted by Spot Conlon.

-

Race noticed that Spot had been standing directly across the street from him. In the same place, for hours. Usually when he'd show up he would be gone again within the hour, but this time, this time he lingered. And Racetrack wanted to know why. So, he crossed the street as soon as the woman Spot had been talking to left. Maybe he nearly got hit by a car on the way over but that was not his greatest concern, Race was on a mission.

"Heya Spotty," he said as he approached and, why the hell did he say that, why did he call Spot Conlon a nickname? They didn't know eachother like that. They didn't know each other at all.

And evidently Spot felt the same way, "Don't call me that." Nothing else. No pleasantries exchanged. Neither of the boys really knew what to say. Spot had no clue why Race was there, and, well, Race had never been very good at planning out his endeavors.

"What do you want Racetrack?" Spot finally broke the uncomfortable silence. So he did know who Race was.

"Well, the funny thing is, is that, that's actually what I was gonna ask you, Spot. I've never seen ya over here before and I was just wondering why I started to recently." and at this point Race knew he was rambling and he really had no clue what to do about it. He just kept talking and was quite frankly praying that Spot would interrupt him.

And for a good while, he didn't. Race was getting extremely embarrassed but he just. Couldn't. Stop. Talking. Finally though Spot interrupted him. "Wait wait wait, whaddaya mean you wanted to know why I'm here?" no reply from Race, who was catching his breath from his little rant. "'Cause, my bein' makes perfect sense to me, me living here and all. It's you I'm a tad confused about." Race knew that it would probably be more productive to shut up at this point, go back to his corner, hell, maybe even back home for the rest of the day. But, Race had never been particularly good at doing what he should, the "smart thing" if you will.

"Well, Spotty," WHY OH WHY DID HE SAY THAT AGAIN , "I've spent plenty of time here over the years and I'd never even seen you in person til a few weeks ago. I mean, I was startin' to think you were just, like, a myth to scare people away from here. But like I was sayin' I spent plenty of time here and I've been selling over here most days outta the week for like...a year now. And you just recently started poppin' up. Everywhere I go." Silence and complete indifference from Spot. "Well, what I'm gettin' at is, are you following me, Spotty? I mean why else would you be everywhere I am?" Now, Race had meant for it to be at least halfway a joke. He honestly had really just wanted to talk to the mysterious boy. But Spot did not appear to find any humor in anything that Race said. In fact, he seemed pretty irritated at him, or maybe that was just his face? Race wasn't quite sure.

"Get outta here Racetrack," Spot finally said as he turned to leave.

And, not wanting to anger Spot further, for once in his life, Race actually did what he was told to. He gathered up his few belongings and returned to Manhattan for the rest of that day.

With full intentions, of course, to return to Brooklyn the next day.