Submitted for Newsies Pape Selling Competition: Circulation Two - Superheroes
Assignment Two: Write about a newsie being called a superhero, or doing a heroic deal which then lands them as being seen as a "superhero".
I began this because I wanted to write something that was canon (so-so, at least) and I started thinking about the changes to David's character in the movie. The one part I was thinking about was the scene where Jack comes back with TR - how would David feel about being shunted to the side like that? Etc.
Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys! (Sorry about the skipping around with tenses - I just couldn't figure out what I was doing, lol!)
David Jacobs was new.
Pain radiated from David's torso as he pulled Les out of the way just in time. The taller boy with the red bandana barely looked his way until David found the gumption to ask the boy just what he thought he was doing. For a brief moment there was a look of mystification in the boy's eyes, as though it was unheard of that anyone would question him. As though there was anyone present in Horace Greeley Square that morning who didn't know exactly what was going on. The boy seemed to blame David for daring to interrupt the game of chase and David felt a few hard stares from amongst those laughing and joking on the sidelines. The look on his little brother's face told David that someone was about to replace him as his little brother's hero. The game had just begun.
David Jacobs had morals.
David thumbed through the stack of newspapers, adding the number of issues up as the pages flipped past. It was one short. There was some hesitation as he eyed the greasy, downtrodden man behind the counter and the hesitation only grew as he eyed the two thugs that had been part of the game of chase only moments earlier. But Papa had said to make sure and always get your money's worth. Papa had said to never sign anything without reading it first. There were other rules, morals that David had learned to live with and learn from in his brief seventeen years. First, he tried to be polite. This world was not polite. The boy with the red bandana came to his aid, for a price. David scoffed at the idea. He didn't want extra newspapers, he didn't ask for extra newspapers, and he sure wasn't going to be cheated by some boy he'd never set eyes on before that morning. But there was Les to think about. Papa said to take care of Les. Papa said David was the man of the house until Papa's arm healed. David was meant to be his family's hero, or so he thought.
David Jacobs asked questions.
It was clear the raise in price was questionable, deceitful, problematic, and based on some lofty notion that those least likely to be able to afford a increase in price wouldn't have the nerve to protest. David felt sympathy for Mush when he argued that the papers should be purchased while there were still papers available. After all, David had a family relying on him and he'd only been at this job for a day and a half. He couldn't take the risk Jack Kelly was proposing. But what David lacked in backbone, he made up in knowledge. Words were his forte, words came easily to him. Taking those words and turning them into actions is where he seemed to balk. Even though it went against his better judgment, when Jack struggled for words, David provided them. Somehow Jack was able to take David's morals and high ideals and twist it into something that made the other newsies stop and listen. But David noticed what few of the others seemed to catch on to. Despite all his posturing and charisma, David saw that Jack Kelly was scared shitless. The balance between hero and sidekick seemed to be even.
David Jacobs could sell ice to an Eskimo.
David wasn't sure what he was expecting when he met Spot Conlon. Maybe he hadn't been expecting anything. Maybe he expected one of the villains from the adventure stories Les was always reading. In reality, what he saw was a lot of smoke and mirrors. Until Spot Conlon stood two inches from his face and David realized that what he'd heard about assumptions was most definitely true. Boots offered a gesture of good-will while Jack abandoned David to his fate. 'Tell him'. Tell him what, exactly? David Jacobs had left the building. So the shell of the kid who was left adopted Jack's posture, Jack's attitude, even a bit of Jack's accent. It was the only disguise he could think of that would allow him to face Spot Conlon and live to tell the tale. Not that he thought Spot would really kill him, would he? The look on Spot's face seemed to suggest that he was merely tolerating David's presence and the only thing keeping David from finding out what the East River looked like from the bottom was Spot's thin friendship with Jack. Disguising himself as a cocky, know-it-all who knew just what to say and how to say it seemed to work. It got them out of Brooklyn, at least.
David Jacobs was not a pacifist.
Maybe it was the song or the lights or the crowd or the inability to accept that it could all come crashing down, but something made David Jacobs resort to physical violence to protect Jack Kelly. They had been front page news just days before. Every borough in the city had come to Irving Hall that night, and there were even a few from out-of-town. So, in hindsight, it made sense that the powerful men they were up against would do their best to break the strike. And when that didn't work, it made even more sense that these men would take away the very heart and soul of the strike. But as David contemplated what the strike would turn into without Jack Kelly, he clenched his fists and did his best to protect his friend. Sadly, that night was not the night for David Jacobs to become a hero. But it sparked something inside.
David Jacobs lost his faith.
Anger? Sure. Disgust? Check. Confusion? In spades. Defeat? Not on your life. David watched the newsie's faces as each went through the same series of emotions as he did. Jack Kelly was a traitor. A scab. A liar. A thief. A con-artist. A demi-god who came crashing to earth wearing a new suit with blood money lining the pockets. David understood the rage, the loathing, the name-calling and threats. Still, he had a small spark of hope that he could reach his friend. But the dam broke when Kelly taunted him, sneered in his face, and used his family against him. David found strength he didn't have and rebelled against the idea that he could be anything like Jack Kelly. But after Jack had been escorted away, after the tide of wrath had ebbed, David heard his brother's voice. One small, still hopeful voice. David tried to focus on that voice, because wasn't it one small, hopeful voice that had started this all?
David Jacobs hated the limelight.
It was kind of nice being an almost hero. The way the newsies looked to him when Denton failed them, when Jack stabbed them all in the back, and when even the mighty king of Brooklyn left them to fend for themselves was almost worth it. Not only did David come up with the right words to say, he even managed to put a few plans into action. He took risks that would have been unheard of before he joined the strike. He held tight to his brother's hope and fought like hell to protect his sister's honor. He risked bodily injury and refused to let the fact that the odds were stacked against him sway him from his purpose. But then, knight in shining armor that he supposedly was, Jack Kelly had to show up and steal David's limelight. It wasn't like he really wanted to be a hero anyway.
David Jacobs was blind.
"Pretty good showman, ain't he?"
David turned to see Spot Conlon hovering outside the door of Tibby's. The celebration following Jack's return had swamped the small restaurant to the point of capacity with jovial newsies and street kids flooding the place. Spot seemed to be both a part of and apart from the celebration as he stood to one side, smoking a cigarette and keeping an eye on the surrounding crowd.
"You mean Jack?" David asked. He searched through the crowd until he caught sight of his friend. Jack was in the center of a large group of Manhattan newsies and he seemed to be clearly enjoying all the attention. "He deserves all this. We won, after all."
Spot smirked and dropped the cigarette, grinding it down into the pavement with the heel of his shoe. "He deserves something all right but it ain't this."
"He was the leader of the strike," David began.
"And here I thought you was the smart one, Mouth," Spot scorned. "Ain't one person worth a shit who thinks Kelly was the reason the strike worked out . There was only one hero in this fucking mess, and his name weren't Jack Kelly."
Before David could protest, Spot disappeared into the crowd and David was left to think about what the Brooklyn leader had said. Was it true? And why did Spot have to be so damn cryptic anyway? David had a lot to think about as he headed back into the restaurant and was greeted with laughs and smiles, instead of scorn and ridicule.