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The noise in the square was deafening. Spot was jostled from person to person and for once he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the crush of people, the noise, or trying to keep his perfectly constructed mask on his face. He was smiling, shouting with the rest of the working kids they’d fought so hard with. It felt like the first real victory in ages, like maybe this was a turning point, that maybe there was light at the end of this tunnel, instead of just more work.
He bumped into somebody else and turned, smile still on his face. It was Sarah Jacobs, the Mouth’s sister. She was smiling back at him, and he saw the moment that she registered who he was, and despite that, she smiled wider.
Spot had met Sarah Jacobs at the Newsies Rally, which felt like a lifetime ago now. He’d sat down at the Mouth’s table, if for no other reason than because he intrigued Spot. That day they had met at the docks and David had talked like someone a lot older than they were, but also like he was trying to hide how educated he was. Spot wanted to pick at him, see what his deal was. He didn’t realize he’d sat down next to his sister- because really, who brings their sister to a political rally- until she turned to look at him, eyes so brown and warm it made the lights dim. She’d smiled the smile she was wearing now, bright and open and like they weren’t trying to fight for their rights.
“You were right,” Spot said now, in way of greeting.
Sarah squinted, “What?” she asked, leaning closer to him.
He smiled again, “You were right. About the strike,” he said, motioning to the crowd around him.
She laughed, “I just had a good feeling.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted, and she laughed again. He realized he’d like to make her laugh again. It was just a passing thought but it gave him pause.
“Do you usually?”
“What?”
“Have good feelings about things?” She asked with a wry smile.
He swallowed and looked at her again, she was sweaty from the heat on this July day and the press of the crowd, the tendrils of hair around her face were stuck to her skin.
“Not usually like this, no.”
She looked at him steadily, but her eyes narrowed a smidge, like she caught his meaning. He wasn’t used to people like her. And he thought, the Mouth, people who caught on so quickly. He wasn’t used to Sarah Jacobs, who’s eyes seemed to pierce what he was thinking. He suddenly felt on uneven ground.
“Well maybe you should start.”
“What?”
“You should start having good feelings about things, you might be surprised.”
A laugh played on his lips, “Optimism isn’t typically useful to me.”
“Well, it looks good on you all the same.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but someone called her name and with another smile, she was gone, lost to the crowd.
He stood there for a second in the crush of children, maybe he was surprised.
By the end of that long, hot, tiring day, Spot found himself where he least expected to, in the back of Roosevelt’s carriage, riding to Brooklyn. Spot was focused, sharp, making a mental list of how he’s spend his time with the Governor and how to make the most of every minute. He had big asks, and he usually knew how to get what he wanted. This was his chance. This was years of calculating paying off, he couldn’t afford to lose a moment.
But then, “Bye Spot!” from the crowd, and his head whipped around as if on instinct. There was Sarah, eyes bright and excited, waving to him. For a second his mind was completely still and quiet. The noise had ceased just for a moment.
The first thought back: He hoped he hadn’t seen the last of her.