Brooklyn *Spot Conlon Love Story*

Chapter 19: That Far?

I ran to the mailbox everyday for a week until I finally got sick and tired of checking. I'm obviously not smart enough to get in, no matter what I've done to help the community. Last night my money did show up, I'm still holding my breath on the off chance that maybe a letter does show up.

I sit in Tibby's with the Manhattan boys and Spot, who wanted to see me today. I sit with a bored expression, twirling the straw around in the glass and watching the ice spin along with it. Then, a hand covers mine sharply and I look over at Spot.

"What?" I ask in such a sullen tone, they might think they need to put me on anti-depressants. Spot raises his eyebrows.

"You," he answers. He slides the drink away from me and takes a seat next to me, his eyes burning holes into the side of my head. "What's up?"

"Nothin'," I grumble, reaching for my drink, but Spot moves it further out of my reach. I scowl at him.

"I don' belee that," he tells me. My fingers twiddle with each other and Spot gently places one of his larger, cold hands on top of them. "Ya know you can tell me."

"I sent a letter," I finally admit. Spot looks at me with shock on his face.

"And?" he asks me. Spot allows me to grab my root beer and I take a long drink from it before setting it down and wiping my mouth with my sleeve.

"I didn't get in," I tell Spot. Spot shakes his head and runs his thumb over my hands soothingly.

"They lost a gem," he tells me, kissing my forehead. I smile a touch.

"You's jus sayin' that," I tell him. He shakes his head.

"Nah, you'd be the best doctor in the woild," he tells me. I lean forward and peck his lips softly.

"You's amazin'," I tell him. He smiles.

"Not as amazin' as you," he retorts. He kisses my lips once more until Jack shouts.

"Hey!" he yells out above everyone in the restaurant. "Stop kissin' me sistah!"

I'm sure my face turns beet red as everyone's eyes avert themselves toward Spot and I, but Spot wraps an arm around my shoulder.

"Don't let 'em bother ya," Spot tells me. I smile at him and then, he gives me a look. "Where is that college ya applied for anyway?"

"Baltimore, Maryland," I say sheepishly. Spot's eyebrows spring up in shock.

"That far?" he asks.

"That far."

"I love ya, Jay. So much," Spot says. "I don't care if you's gone for one year or ten, I'm still gonna be right here waiting for ya when ya get back."

"You'd really wait that long?" I ask Spot. He nods.

"Course," he says. "I love ya more 'n anything."

"I love ya too, Spot," I tell him. Then, Race's voice rings out.

"Let's head back ta the lodge," he says. The hoards of boys gathered in Tibby's stand up and make their way out the door. I steal a glance at Spot.

"I'll see ya later," he tells me. He pecks my forehead, nose, and lastly, lips before breaking off and turning in the direction of Brooklyn. I smile after him.

Then, we get into the lodging house. Race immediately grabs a deck of cards and asks around if anyone wants to play euchre or poker.

"I'll play, Race," I tell him. Then, I wince, remembering that it was his father that killed all those people. He deserves to know that. "Hey, Race, can I, uh, can talk ta ya?"

"Yeah," he says, following me into the bathroom. I nod and look at him.

"Ya remember the murder and how we thought he was me fadda?" I ask him. He nods slowly as if trying to understand. "Well, he wasn't me fadda...he was yours."

Race just stares at me with an expression that's immensely hard to read before speaking.

"That bastard," he breathes out. Then, he looks up at me. "I'm so sorry, Jay."

"Race, it's okay. It ain't your fault," I tell him, rubbing his shoulder and trying to soothe him. He nods.

"Yeah, but he was tryna kill ya and you's me best friend," Race tells me with a sheepish smile. I nod.

"What's done is done," I tell him. "Plus, I's still alive 'n kickin', aren't I?"

"Yeah," Race says. I nod.

"So, ya good?" I ask uncertainly. He nods and looks at me, but I can see he's visibly upset. Then, in one swift motion, he pulls me into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around my waist. I fling my arms around his neck, one of my hands holding the back of his head to my shoulder. We stand there for a long time, hugging and letting Race worked through everything that I just told him. I didn't want to tell him, but he needed to know.

"Yeah, I'm good," he tells me, still held in my embrace. Finally, we break apart, him looking at me. I smile and follow my friend out of the bathroom and into the circle of Newsies ready to play a game of poker.

I sit as the first to Race's left and look at the cards he dealt me. A royal flush. I smirk and tap my knuckles to the table, indicating that I want to check. This causes a small smile to appear on Race's face. Then, Jack tosses a nickel in the hat. Mush throws a dime and Skittery throws three nickels. Kid Blink and Bumlets fold, leaving Race, who throws in two dimes and a nickel. Then, we all lay our cards out, revealing that I've won the large sum of money. I scoop it up and smile, preparing to deal. Low and behold, that was one of the only three hands I won this game.

We put the cards back in the wooden back and back on their shelf, cleaning up the game. Race smirks and counts his money that he made. He did win, but I wasn't left broke. I kept all the money that I had made the first round, but that was about it. Race, of course, won.

Then, as the boys and I are wishing each other goodnight, Mr. Kloppman walks up that stairs.

"Jay, you up here?" he asks me.

"Right here!" I call. Me. Kloppman walks toward me and holds out an envelope.

"This just came for you," he says. I hold my breath and open it, reading the letter slowly in my head.

Dear Miss Jaylinn Ida Sullivan,

We have reveiwed your letter that you sent and the letters sent to us by the Govener, Mr. Theodor Roosevelt, and writer of the New York Times, Mr. Bryan Denton. We would like to accept you for a one year program in our medical schools. Thank you for applying.

Sincerely,

Johns Hopkins University

I made it....