Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. All of the characters and dialogue from Newsies referenced in this story belong to Disney and not to me. I only own the various OCs scattered throughout the later chapters of this story, and any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
A/N: This was inspired by the perplexing choice in Newsies the Musical to give Race the line about a pair of new shoes with matching laces rather than his character's original (and seemingly more fitting) line about the box at the Sheepshead Races. In such cases as these, what's a confused fansie to do...except write an explanatory backstory?
The first section consists of short sketches, one for each of the newsies. The subsequent chapters will explore how these scenarios played out in their lives over the course of the days and years to follow.
A pair of new shoes with matching laces
He was sure it sounded like an odd request, especially coming from him, but if there was one thing Race secretly enjoyed, it was to keep people guessing.
The shoes, of course, had been the first thing to come to mind. He'd seen them in a shop window months ago, and had envisioned owning them for so long that he could practically feel them in his hands: smooth, supple leather, even machine-sewn stitching...and matching laces. They were beautiful. They were the perfect shoes.
But they weren't for him.
Most of the Manhattan newsies thought they knew everything there was to know about Racetrack Higgins. They knew that he'd been born on the other side of the Bridge. They knew that he no longer spoke to, or about, his parents (notwithstanding the occasional reference to his mother and the Coronas). They knew that he maintained an enigmatic understanding with Spot Conlon, which allowed Race to pass undisturbed through territory that even the bravest newsie would hesitate to cross. They knew that Race was a light sleeper who often snuck out of the lodging house at night when the fire sirens and noises of the city kept him awake.
But no one, not even Jack, knew that the cocksure snarker of their group had a little sister that he still secretly visited in Brooklyn. A sister whose tattered, threadbare boots barely covered her feet as she trudged to work at the tea factory in the frigid morning hours. She was Race's only remaining family. He adored her. And he was going to get her those shoes if it was the last thing he did.
A permanent box at the Sheepshead Races
Romeo lived by the adage "go big or go home." What was life about if it it didn't involve taking a risk every once in a while? What was there to live for if you couldn't dream an impossible dream? He may have been the smallest newsie (before Les came along), but what he lacked in size and strength he more than made up for in unflappable optimism. It was a trait unique to Romeo, setting him apart from many of his newsie brothers who favored a less quixotic view on life. Race scoffed at it, Crutchie indulged it, Davey worried about it, and Jack-though he was a dreamer himself-secretly tried to temper Romeo's unparalleled enthusiasm, afraid that the crushing reality of the world would be too much for his sanguine little brother.
But nothing seemed to dampen Romeo's zest for life and his determination to experience it to the fullest. And when he envisioned the life that fame would bring him, his thoughts turned immediately to the extravagant and lavish.
He had actually never been inside the Sheepshead Bay Racetrack. He'd heard Race talk about it often enough, had even tagged along with him once, trying to sneak inside while Race was occupied selling the afternoon edition (that hadn't gone over so well). Hearing the excitement of the crowds as they took in one of Brooklyn's greatest attractions was intoxicating, and Romeo was determined to experience it firsthand, not as a newsboy outside selling papers to the racetrack patrons, but front and center, from his own private box. He knew that it was a long shot. But he was equally convinced that one day it would be a reality. It was only a matter of time.
Pastrami on rye with a sour pickle
He had developed a taste for seasoned beef sandwiches and sour pickles at the same time he'd developed an awareness of labor associations-at a young age. In fact, though Henry hadn't let on, he probably could have given Davey a run for his money when it came to explaining the components of a union to Jack and the curious newsboys.
Henry had grown up working at his family's deli, which was within walking distance of Union Square. His mother often took Henry and his older brother there for a picnic lunch when business at the deli was slow. They would make themselves some sandwiches and enjoy an afternoon of sunshine and lounging on the grass before returning to work.
Sometimes, there would be a union rally taking place. Henry could still hear the roar of the crowds, galvanized by the soaring words of their leaders who urged them to join forces and stand for their rights. It was always exhilarating to hear and to watch.
"Never forget the power of many standing as one," his mother had remarked to her sons. "One alone may be overpowered, but a rope of many strands cannot be easily broken." Henry may not have completely understood her words at the time, but they had stuck, and they came back to him now as he sat among his triumphant friends at Jacobi's Deli. They may have been just a bunch of kids, insignificant to the world and those who ran it, but together they would make their voices heard.
My personal puss on a wooden nickel
It had to be the most outlandish thing he could think of. Because, really, who were they kidding? It was a great headline, but it was only a headline. And if there was one thing Finch knew, it was that any headline only lasted for one day (unless, of course, it was about a trolley strike).
So, he outwardly rode the wave of his friends' enthusiasm while inwardly anchoring himself to reality, wishing for the most impractical and ridiculous thing he could think of-because that was preferable to wishing for something you truly wanted...and then being hit by the realization that, at the end of the day, a headline was only a headline.
Dreaming made Finch antsy, so he did it with two feet on the ground.
A solid gold watch with a chain to twirl it
Jojo was honestly surprised when he heard his friends rattle off their wishes as King of New York. With the exception of Romeo's racetrack box, all of their desires seemed...lamentably pedestrian (Jojo silently congratulated himself on applying one of the big words Davey had taught him). Had the newsies become so used to their impoverished lives that their dreams could rise no higher than simple pleasures?
Jojo shook his head. He wouldn't begrudge Race his shoes or Henry his sandwich, but his prized possession as King of New York was going to be something much more valuable and flashy.
My very own bed and an indoor terlet
It wasn't that Les really minded sharing a bed with Davey. There were a few positive aspects to the arrangement: the familiarity of his older brother's presence was comforting, and it was warmer in the winter that way. Plus, Davey always gave Les the lion's share of the bed, even if it meant scrunching his lanky frame into the most impossibly cramped positions.
It was just that Davey talked in his sleep. A lot. And while the occasional opportunity for blackmail was enticing, Les honestly would have preferred an uninterrupted night's rest.
The wish for an indoor toilet needed no explanation.
A barbershop haircut that cost a quarter
Over the past several years that he'd lived with the newsies, Mush had seen it happen too many times to count: his older brothers floundering as they aged out of the newsboy profession, thrust into a merciless world with nothing to show for years of hawking headlines other than a knack for "improving the truth."
It disheartened Mush more than he was willing to admit.
He'd inherited an old pair of barbershop scissors that had been left behind by a former tenant, and had taken up practicing on anyone in the lodging house brave enough to let him near their hair. His first attempts had been rather pitiful (Race still got teased about his "mutt cut"), but Mush persisted, offering up his hard-earned pennies as incentive when he couldn't find enough volunteers. Gradually, his skills improved to a point where he was cutting nearly all the boys' hair (though Jack and Romeo still refused to let him touch theirs).
If he could only observe a real barber, though, he knew he could learn so much more. And maybe, with even more practice, he could find a job at a barbershop when he got too old to be a newsboy. It was a long shot, but Mush was quietly determined.
Papers is all I got.
But if he had anything to say about it, that wouldn't be the final word.
A regular beat for the star reporter
"I'd say we save any exclusive for a real reporter."
The words had been calm and matter-of-fact, but Davey knew that they had struck of nerve when he saw Katherine falter for the first time since she'd burst in on the newsies at Jacobi's. She'd been breezily confident-cocky, even-but his statement had taken the wind right out of her sails.
And Davey had been secretly pleased. He wasn't trying to be petty, but her assessment of the newsies as a "rag-tag group of ragamuffins" had been patronizing and wrong. They may not have looked like much, but Katherine, from her place of privilege, had no right to disregard them.
Sitting among the jubilant newsies celebrating their headline in the Sun, Davey was suddenly struck by how he'd missed the irony of the situation. At first glance, Katherine had written the them off because they were young and poor. They'd done the same to her because she was a woman.
And Davey had to admit that his assessment of Katherine as something less than a real reporter had been patronizing and wrong. They had the headline in the Sun to prove it.
So when it was Davey's turn, he said sincerely what he'd wish for as King of New York: success for the star reporter who had come through for them, and deserved all the respect and recognition they could give her.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed it!
Up next: Race receives some unexpected news on his next trip to Brooklyn.