The Course of Love Never Runs Smooth

By: Key


Prologue

"The Course of love never did run smooth..." Shakespeare

The faintest memory I have of Spot and my friendship, is probably the first day I met him. I was, I believe, nine or ten, and we were walking home from church one Sunday in early May...

"Buy a pape, Miss?" This boy asked my mother. She glared at him, and shook her head. A real hurt expression came onto his small face, as he turned to go. I gave my mother a hurtful look, one which I doubt she saw. I opened my purse, and retrieved two one dollar bills. "Boy, come here please." I called out to him, walking towards him. "Here take this please.

It's not much, but it'll help you out some."

The expression on the boy's face was priceless, as his eyes grew wide, and small smirk overcame his normally pouty lips. His grey blue eyes twinkled with happiness. I smiled at him, loving the feelings that overcame my body.

"Thanks, Miss. I'se neva received dis much from anyone!" The boy's face was aglow, as he took a newspaper from the stack, and gave it to me. "Heah, a newpapa is all I can give ya. Me names Spot Conlon, what's yo's?" "My name's Celeste Lewis. Nice to meet you," I gave him a small smile as I extended my hand.

"Celeste..." the single syllable seemed to roll of his tongue like the sweetest melody, as his eyes traced the extent of my body. He slowly took my hand and kissed it, before turning around and leaving. I called out ‘bye' and was answered by a simple ‘yeah.'

"Celeste, let's go. We're already late, you needn't make us later," my mother took my by the hand, and led me through the crowded streets of Brooklyn. By the time we reached our house, a big white Victorian house built by my Great-Great Uncle, William, A. Graybell, we were already an hour late for dinner.

My mother, being the usually on time person that she is, treated our being late like the end of the world. She yelled at the cook, Aunt Bertha, a big black lady, who loved me and my sister, Jessmyn, to death. Even though my sister was only four, she was spoiled rotten by Aunt Bertha, who always gave her sneaky snacks before bed time.

"Mother calm down, you'll make your head ache again," I told her, getting her a glass of water, before heading upstairs to my room. From that day on, every time I went out, I ran into Spot. We got to know each other, and soon became best friends. Of course my mother knew nothing of it, for if she did, she would forbid me to ever see Spot again, a fate worst than death to me.Spot even took the risks of calling on me, leaving secret messages with Aunt Bertha.

Bertha knew about Spot's and mine's friendship, but kept her mouth shut.

She would even let Spot into the house when my mother wasn't home. We would talk about anything really, we just enjoyed each other's company, and were heartbroken when we heard the front door slam, and the cheerful call of my mother, home from work. Spot would usually climb out my window, and down the side of the house, stepping on the bricks that stuck out. I would often tell him I felt like Romeo and Juliet except without the love connection.

Spot was dangerously beautiful, with his sandy brown hair, medium complexion, and his beautiful grey blue eyes that mirrored his feelings. His mouth, which was normally pouty, was usually formed into a small smirk, which made Spot somewhat mysterious. Throughout the years we were friends, Spot would come and visit me, and tell me about his monthly, weekly, even daily girlfriends. I never understood why girls flocked to him. He was dangerously beautiful, that part I understood, but he was the most egotistical boy I knew. Ever since he became the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, he became so conceited, and I would laugh whenever he would ramble off on one of his "I'm so great speeches." But we were best friends for life, and no matter how conceited he was about his ego, he knew I loved him to death.

I on the other hand, am quite plain. Yes, I'm sorta pretty, with dark brown wavy hair, crystal blue eyes, and fair skin. I have pouty lips, and rosy cheeks, with a few freckles on the bridge of my nose, but I'm not a beauty like my other friend, Isabelle Clayborn. Her with he light blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and fair skin, is always the one to be chosen first to dance with at parties, and is always the one to get commented on by boys.

Isabelle has had her eyes on Spot for awhile now, ever since I introduced them to each other one day after school. When Isabelle saw him, she nearly died from not breathing. I have to admit, Spot is very attractive, and he has gotten my heart beating plenty of times, but winning Spot's heart is just like finding your pet mouse in New York City, the chances are very slim. Many a night I would lay awake in my bed, thinking about Spot. I had liked him on and off for about six years now, ever since we became best friends when were ten.

I remember the saddest news that I have ever heard in my life: we were moving. I had then realized that my whole life, I'd been expecting to live in fancy houses, and dress in fancy clothes, I never expected that the impossible could happen. My mother had lost her job, and we had no money to pay rent on the house, so we had to go live in the slums of Brooklyn. Before I got a chance to tell Spot we were moving, we had already left, and I never saw Spot again....

Chapter 1
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