Film giving her and read it correctly. “I couldn’t leave it behind. Not even when that... that man tried to take it.” Spot was begrudgingly impressed. The man tried to take her, too, and she thought only of her father’s basket. “Say, what’s your name, Red?” Her cheeks colored scarlet. “Charlotte.” Spot thought it over for a second and he shook his head. “Nope, like Red better.” The color deepened and she frowned. “Then what’s your name?” she asked indignantly. It was like the spunk she showed with swinging the basket all over again. He never would’ve expected it from a girl like this one. “Spot,” he told her after another moment’s pause. No matter what Mrs. Kirby said, Liam wasn’t his name anymore. He was Spot. “Spot? Like a dog, Spot?” Her eyes brightened. “The way you came running into that alley with your slingshot, you could’ve been my attack dog!” Spot had to admit, he liked her version of his nickname better than the real reason—even if she did think of him as a pup. It was Butchy, six years older and as big as two Spots put together, who came up with the name in the first place, and Butchy wasn’t the sort of boy you argued with. So Spot had been Spot ever since he took up the slingshot and couldn’t hit any spot, no matter how big. Though he practiced and he got better, his name was still Spot just like Butchy was Butchy and Stinky Feet would always be Stinky Feet no matter what soap he used. The way he saw it, he was quickly becoming one of the best shots in Brooklyn, even if that stunt in the alleyway didn’t prove it, and still he answered to Spot. Oh, well, he figured. It was better than Liam. And, thanks to Red here, the next time someone asked where he got his nickname from, he had a better story—even if he left out the part of hitting the man in the ear. That thought in mind, Spot spared a small grin. “Anyone woulda done it, if they coulda.”
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Fanhaven Magazine