The Outsiders and the outsider, sitting at the round cafeteria table. Noise surrounds and Spot cannot focus. Maybe he's nervous, but he's certain that can't be it.
The grey table has eight round seats, seven empty. It is tucked into the unknown of the vast hall and Spot is tucked with it. This is the first foster home that has caused him to switch out of Brooklyn and into the Manhattan school district. He decides it will be the last.
He is starting to comprehend the words of his book, gripping the well-worn cover as his brain recites the words he's already memorized. He begins to turn the page, looking up to grab his water and finding himself staring into a smile. God, that thing is bright.
He does not speak to the kid - he is short and full with bright skin and curly hair. Spot knows quickly that he could take him in a fight.
"Hi, I'm Racetrack. You can call me Race."
Spot stares at him, eyebrows lowering. He doesn't plan on calling him anything.
"Can I sit with you?"
Spot is too taken-aback to refuse. Why would someone so friendly want to sit at a table where he cannot make a friend?
And then Race starts to talk.
He has already gone through most of his sixth grade schedule within the first minute and said at least two words in a different language, apologizing the first time but failing to notice the second. Spot does not realize that he is listening until Race describes his friend, Jack.
"Jack?" His voice is small. He had not spoken before.
"Jack Kelly. You probably know him. He does everything! He leads every sport team, paints almost everything you see on the walls, and knows everyone..." Race is still talking as Spot processes the name. He's almost sure that Jack Kelly was the name of the one of the other boys in his foster home.
Race continues to talk through the entire lunch and Spot lets him. Spot does not want to talk and the room is noisy anyways.
The bell rings and Race leaves with a bounce, saying goodbye and thanking the other boy for hanging out with him. Spot blinks. He had not done anything for Race.
***
For some reason that failed to present itself to Spot, Race came back. Every day. He brought his voice and Spot put his book down. He had listened at his foster home and discovered that Jack Kelly really was in the next room over. Spot almost laughed at the coincidence.
It took a few days, but Race finally remembered to breathe and decided to ask Spot a question. Spot heard it, head down, and took it in, but did not realize it was a question directed at him.
After finally hearing Race repeat himself a few times, Spot shook his head at his book before turning to raise an eyebrow.
"I said, what's your name? I can't believe we've been friends for almost a week and I never learned your name!" Race was laughing and Spot almost leaned too far over and fell. After a second to compose himself, Spot dared eye contact.
"Spot."
"Spot?
"Yeah, what's it to you?"
Race laughed, bigger than usual. He felt accomplished.
"Nothing, I like it!"
Spot ducked his head, facing the comfort of his book, and prepared to listen.
"So, Spot, whatcha reading?"
Spot didn't turn this time, heart beating too fast. He wasn't supposed to socialize here. Had Race called him his friend?
