Somewhere // Spot Conlon

Chapter 9

"Get out of there, Fletcher!" I yell at him.

He keeps trying to steal a macaroon. He always tries while my back is turned to the table. He rolls his eyes as I order him to sit down. I head to the china cupboard to get a plate for Spot.

The only one left is on the top shelf. Great. I stand on my tip toes and stretch my arm as far as possible without snapping it. I'm still too short.

"Hold on, Al," Bennett says walking over to me.

He easily gets it off the shelf and hands it to me.

He glances over to the table," Why do you need this one? There's already seven spots set up."

"There's a guest that's still not here."

Bennett sits back down across from Fletcher at their euchre game. Evan's head quickly snaps up and his face drops.

"Please tell me it's not Dot or Pot, whatever his name is," he groans loudly.

The others laugh at him as I set Spot a place at the table.

"It's Spot," I snap.

"Fletcher, you have to see this kid. He's about five foot eight, but thinks he's seven foot," Evan laughs," And thinks he's the King of Brooklyn."

Fletcher laughs along with Bennett.

"I wouldn't be laughing," Charles warns them," All the other newsies are scared to death of him. Evan, why would you put that card down?"

The wood floor shakes and the bell rings as the shop door slams closed. I quickly set the chicken and other dishes, except dessert on the table. I run over to the door and press my ear against it.

"Mrs. Couture, ya daughtah invited me ovuh foah dinnah, I'm tellin' ya," Spot explains.

Mother can probably barely understand him. I open the door and my feet pound down the stairs. I quickly explain everything to her in French. She nods in understanding.

"Spot, come on, dinner's ready," I nod my head forward and he quickly rushes after me.

We start to slowly climb the stairs.

"I'se nevah used ya front door before. Your mudda? She not speak American or somethin'?" He asks as I open the apartment door.

The door swings open, the boys are laughing even more and harder. I quickly rush over to check the cake. Spot stands like a deer caught in headlights in front of the door. The boys quiet down and stare or glare at him. Spot slowly creeps over to me, not breaking eye contact with them. They soon begin their game again.

"My mother, she knows English, but doesn't understand thick accents very well," I explain," Go sit down."

I pull the cake out of the oven and sprinkle on the powdered sugar. Spot pulls out a chair and sits. The other boys and Eva take seats too. Mother comes up and sits at the head of the table across from Bennett, at the other end.

Bennett starts to cut the chicken as we pass the other plates around. Salad with a mustard vinaigrette, mixed mushroom tarts, and sautéed potatoes with roasted chicken in herb sauce. The delicious smell of everything together is overwhelming. Spot piles on the most food out of anyone.

Fletcher raises his eyebrow at him," Garçon, you want to save some for dessert?"

"You'se means ta tell me dere's dessert too?"

Fletcher slowly nods his head," It's Evan's birthday dinner. Ally made him a cake, mousse, and macaroons."

Spot starts to pick up his fork, but Fletcher grabs one of his hands as I grab his other and Bennett's. Spot turns to me with furrowed eyebrows.

"We have to say grace," I whisper softly to him.

He nods as Bennett says grace. Evan or Fletcher would have added some much need jokes, but that's how Bennett's been for five years. Serious. No jokes, nothing, just serious.

Everyone's about done, so now it starts.

"Al, you really out did yourself this year."

"Why couldn't my dinner be this good?"

"There's a thing called favoritism, Fletcher."

"You are not her favorite, Evan. I am."

"You are not."

"Am too."

"I'm her favorite, we're twins."

"You don't count!"

This is the point in the dinner, where we enter the three way bickering. I turn to Spot and smile.

"This happens every time."