Chapter Thirteen

                                    

                                          
As I stand with my borough and look at all the newsies at the rally, I hope and pray we don't get a noise complaint from any of the businesses and residences near the theater. It's good to see all the newsies in one place, though. I haven't seen many of them in a very long time. 
                          
While I'm standing with Kit and a few other Brooklyn newsies, Race saunters over. "Hey," he says to me with an excited grin. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away. 
    
"We need to talk," I say, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of sight of the rest of the newsies. I glance over where everyone else is, and Davey is shaking hands with Spot. I have to be fast.
                          
"Somethin's eatin' ya, Brooklyn. What's goin' on?" He asks once we're out of both earshot and eyeshot. 
                          
I look at Race, trying to figure out how to tell him what Spot said.
                          
Race smirks slowly. "Oh, I think I knows what you's doing." He takes a step closer to me. He's making it harder for me to think. 
                          
I shake my head slightly, and before I can figure out what to say, I pull him close and press my lips to his. I can tell he's startled at first. I break away right as he starts kissing me back. "I'm sorry," I say softly.
                          
His smile falters. "What're you's sorry for? Brooklyn, what ain't ya tellin' me?"
                          
I take a deep breath. "Spot asked me 'bout you."
                          
"Yeah?"
                          
"An' he told me I couldn't see ya no more," I say finally. 
                          
Race stiffins, anger brewing in his eyes. "And you're lettin' him tell ya what to do?"
                          
"I kinda' have to," I reply. "Otha'wise he'll come after you. And I ain't lettin' that happen."
                          
Race sets his jaw and angrily left me standing there.
                          
"Race? Wh-where are you goin'?" I ask, a bit nervous.
                          
"To talk to your brudda'."
                          
"What? Race. Listen to me, it'll only end badly," I plead, following close behind him. He just shakes his head, going directly over to Spot.
                          
"Hey!" He calls, getting my brother's attention. "Who do you think you are? Tellin' her who she can and can't be around." He shoves Spot backwards.
                          
"Racetrack!" I try to pull him away, but he shrugs me off.
                          
"Who do you think you are?" Spot spits back. "Bein' that close with my little sister! You stay away from her, you hear me?"
    
"You ever considered that she may be old enough to make her own decisions?"
                          
"Which would be what? Bein' with you? You don't know what's best for her. She ain't your sister. You only met 'er less than two weeks ago!"
                          
"You seem like you don't know what's best for her either! You just want her all to ya'self." He shoves Spot again, who, in turn, lands a punch on Race's jaw. The newsies around begin shouting, some cheering them on and some telling them to stop.
                          
Davey tries to pull Race away, but he's struggling. Kit steps forward with a few other boys to restrain Spot.
                          
"Hey, hey! We can't be fighting right now!" Davey exclaims. "Remember why we're here! This is the time and place for this fight." Race finally gives up trying to get away from Davey. As he makes his way back over to Manhattan's side of the theater, he glares daggers at my brother. Spot gives him a similar expression.
                          
Spot lets out a sharp sigh and turns back to the Brooklyn newsies, calming himself down. Davey's right; this is not the place for a fight at all. 
                          
About ten minutes later, Medda Larkin comes in, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "Welcome, newsies of New York City!" She calls happily. "Welcome to my theater and your revolution!" We cheer, most of the tension from earlier gone.
                          
"And," Davey says, stepping forward "let's hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!" They cheer even louder.
                          
Spot walks forward. "Newsies united!" He cheers, his arms stretched out. He allows the cheering to go on a bit longer, but then cuts the voices off with a wave of his hand. "Let's see what Pulitzer's gotta say to you now." He grins and drops his arms.
                          
"Hey, Davey?" a newsie from Flushing asks. "Where's Jack?"
                          
The boys chatter amongst themselves for a few seconds before chanting "Jack! Jack! Jack!"
                          
Davey steps over to Medda. She gently puts her hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, kid. No sign of him yet. Looks like you're doin' a solo." Davey shakes his head, but Medda encourages him.
                          
He reluctantly walks to the center of the stage. "Newsies of New York!" He calls as the chanting ceases. It's obvious the boys want Jack, since their energy goes down a bit. Davey pauses to think. "Look at what we've done," he says finally. "We got newsies from every pape and every neighborhood here tonight. Tonight, you're makin' history. Tonight, we declare that we are just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor. We are done bein' treated like kids. From now on, they will treat us like equals! All right?" Davey claps a few times, and a cheer rises from the crowd. 
                          
"You wanna be talked to like an adult? Start actin' like one." We turn as Jack walks in from behind Davey. "Don't just run your mouth. Make some sense." He pushes Davey out of the way.
                          
As he backs up, Davey announces, "And here's Jack!" The chant starts up again as Jack takes center stage.
                          
"All right. All right!" Jack calls, shutting them up. "Pulitzer...raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us and that was a lousy thing to do," he starts, his voice flat. "So we got mad and we showed 'em we ain't gonna be pushed around. So we go on strike." His voice raises slightly as he speaks. "And then what happens? Well, Pulitzer lowers the price of the papes, so's we'll go back to work."
    
I nod as the boys around me cheer and applaud. We stop when Jack holds up his hand.
                          
"And then a few weeks after that," he continues, "he hikes up his price again, and don't think he won't. So what do we do then? And what do we do when he decides to raise his price again after that? Fellas, we gotta be realistic here. If we don't work, we don't get paid." Davey steps up next to Jack, questioning the direction of his speech. But Jack keeps going. "How many days can you go without makin' money? Huh?" He stares right at Davey. "Believe me, however long, Pulitzer can go longer."
                          
"What's he sayin'?" I ask the boys beside me, confused. Everyone begins talking on top of one another.
                          
"But I have spoken with Mister Pulitzer." Jack's statement causes everyone to silence again. "And he...he has given me his word. If we disband the union-"
                          
"Disband?" I hear Albert shout, but I can't make out anyone else's words. The boys yell on top of each other, yet again. I can't believe Jack wants us to disband.
                          
"He will not raise prices again for two years!" Jack continues, but his voice is drowned out by the angry shouts of the newsies. "He will even put that in writing. Now I say we take the deal, we go back to work knowing our price is secure. All you gotta do is vote 'no'!"
                          
Spot fiercely shoves Jack's shoulder. Jack is pushed over to where a well-dressed man is standing. The man hands Jack a stack of money.
                          
"Sellout!" I hear someone shout. The entire theater erupts into more chaos. 
                          
"You're a traitor, Jack!" Someone else says.
                          
In the midst of the shouting, I slip out the back of the theater and into the alley.
                          
~~~~~
                          
yay for long chapters and drama! as always, comment your thoughts! I love feedback.
                          
random question: who's the most underrated newsie in your opinion?
                          
thanks for reading!!!
                          
stay safe and stay healthy!