Race was standing on the Brooklyn bridge, looking out at the water. He took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl up into the sky. He took one last puff and then threw the cigarette into the swelling water. It disappeared.

"Hey Race." Race turned to see Spot Conlon standingin front of him. His eyes looked into Race's, searching for something.He spit in his hand and held it out. Race smirked at Spot and mimicked the boy, shaking. "Whathca doin' 'ere Race?" Spot asked.

"Ya know, just hangin' out. Why?" Race asked.

" 'Cause ya ain't pullin' ya usu'l cracks. What happen'd?" Spot replied.

Race hadn't told anyone what was going on. No one WOULD know. It just wasn't meant to be. "Nuthin'. So's how's Brooklyn doin'?" Race asked, pulling his hat down on his head and hoping Spot wouldn't realize that he was skirting around the question. Obviously he did.

"Listen up Race. Ya gots two choices. One I'se could soak ya and then you'se tell me what's up or you'se could tell me now. Your choice." Spot got his cane and tapped the sidewalk with it.

Ofcourse he'll soak me with his cane. Better just tell him. "A'ight I'llse tell ya. Just don't go spreadin' it 'round like usual." Race said, getting all caught up in his Italian accent. He pulled out another cigarette and light it. He held it too close to his fingers and burned them. "Dammit." he snapped, sucking on his fingers.

Spot just watched this going on, knowing that Race was gonna have to tell him.

Race took a quick drag and let out a sigh. "I'se don't know how's ta tell da boys. I'se . . . .I'se dying."

Spot looked at Race, making sure he wasn't kidding. "Seriously?" he said.

Race took another long drag and nodded. "I'se gonna kill myself when you'se showed up. Gonna jump off da bridge."

"Damn." Spot muttered. "How long you'se got?"

Race shrugged. "Maybe a month. Maybe a week. But don't forget you'se sweard that ya won't say nuthin'. Got it?"

Spot nodded. Against his better judgement anyway.

One Month Later

"Ya can stay wit' us tonight, Spottie boy." Jack said, after the poker game. Both had won a bit of money. Actually, Spot had been concerned that Race hadn't been there. Friday was always poker night. He couldn't have forgotten.

Spot nodded. "A'ight. But I'm outta 'ere in da morning."

They'd just gotten to the Lodging House and were hanging out downstairs. Suddenly, Blink came crashing down the steps. His eye was filled with terror and fear in his eye. "Jack! It- it's Race!"

Spot and Jack looked at each other then followed Blink back up the steps. "What's wrong Blink?" Jack asked quickly.

Blink replied quickly as they went to their room. "We'se talkin' and then he starts gettin' all sick lookin'. Shakin'. Moanin'. Feverish. Dunno what's wrong wit' him."

They'd just gotten to Race's bed. And Blink was right, he looked terrible. Race's pale Italian face was paler, stark white. He was shivering and sweating like crazy. He let out a body-shaking cough that splattered blood all over his sheets. He seemed to be talking to himself under his breath. Jack felt Race's forehead.

"Dammit, he's burnin'." Jack muttered. "Blink, go wet a towel. Spot, go getta cuppa wattah. Boots, go get a blanket." Jack sat down next to his friend and touched his skin. It was like it was on fire. "Shit. Hey Race, buddy. How ya feelin'?" Jack asked the small Italian boy.

Race looked up at Jack. He was holding his knees to his chest and he was rocking back and forth. "Like hell, Jackie-boy." Race managed to get out before he started coughing again.

"How'dya get like dis, Race?" Jack asked as he took the wet towel that Blink had given him and wiped off his friend's sweaty and shivery body.

Race shrugged. "I dunno. Been like dis for a while. Nevah been dis bad, though."

Spot gave Race the water and Jack made him take small sips. "Whaddya mean ya been like dis for awhile." Jack said. "Ya tellin' me ya been sick and ya didn't tell nobody!" Jack cover Race in the blanket, making sure that he could stay warm.

Race shook his head. "I did tell somebody. But I told that person not ta tell nobody." Race looked at Jack and sighed. "Jackie-boy," he said in a lowered voice. "I'se dyin'. Probably gonna die today."

Jack looked shocked. Racetrack Higgins couldn't die. It was just impossible. Whatever happened, he always bounced back. "Naw man. Ya gonna be fine." Jack replied.

Race coughed again. "Jack, I'm dying. I can feel it. I ain't gonna make it, Jack." Spot came and sat on the other side of Race. His face showed understanding and pain.

"We coulda helped ya Race." Jack said angrily. "We coulda helped ya. And we're gonna." He couldn't let down his friends by letting Race die. He just couldn't. And what would happen to him if Race died? It would be like losing his own flesh and blood. His own brother.

But instead of Race replying, Spot answered for him. "Jackie-boy, Race's right. He ain't gonna make it. I knew dis was gonna happen. Ya just gotta accept it, Jackie. Ya gotta."

Jack looked at Race again.The light in his eyes were dimming, the grip on Jack's shoulder was loosening. He is dying, Jack thought. Me bruddah is dying."Wait a minute. Ya told Spot but not me!" Jack exclaimed. "I thought we was bruddahs!"

Race closed his eyes, his breathing becoming ragged and shallow."Make 'im undahstand Spotty. Make 'im undah. . .stand . . ." Those were the last words Race said. His arm fell off of Jack's shoulder, his breathing slowed to a stop, and his body became limp. Jack bit his lip to keep from crying and Spot turned his head away. Racetrack Higgins was dead.

Race's Funeral

". . . good guy. Nevah hurt somebody if there weren't a good reason." Spot was saying. All the Manhattan Newsies were at the funeral, dressed in their best clothes. David and Les looked uncomfortable in the church. Les was crying silently. Even though David and Race hadn't been close, David still was upset. He didn't think he'd ever lose one of the Newsies. Of course he'd been wrong.

Blink, Mush,and Skittery were looking as though they couldn't survive. They were all crying. Blink had taken off his eye patch so that it didn't get all wet. Race had always been there for them. Always. What would happen to them now? Without Race, who would beat them in poker every gameand make them crack up?

Jack had figured it out. The night of Race's death had been one filled with tears and anger. But not anymore. Now he understood. Now he realized that Race hadn't told Jack because he didn't want the Manhattan Newsies crying over him. He didn't want them treating him differently because he was dying. Spot finished talking and left the front of the church.He clapped Jack on the back as they passed each other.

Jack stood in front of the church. He took a deep breath. "Hi. I'm Jack Kelly, one a Anthony Higgins's friends. Race, dat's what we called him, was a great guy, a good friend, and the best bruddah ya could ever have." Jack stopped, caught up in a whirlwind of memories. "The night he died he told me dat he'd been sick for a while. And I found out dat he'd told someone else dat he was dyin'. I didn't undahstand why he didn't tell me. But I do now. Race wanted to be treated like all da rest of us newsies. Race nevah liked special treatment. Not when he was sick, beat up real bad, or even dyin'. And I realized he didn't want us ta suffer wit' 'im. He wanted ta die wit' his wish for us to be free. And he did. But no mattah how much ya want us ta forget ya Race, we ain't gonna. Why's dat? 'Cause we love ya Race. Da boys don't know what ta do wit'out ya. And neither do I."

FIN

Was it good or not? I was crying while I was writing the funeral. It was so hard because Race is one of my favorite characters.But I tried to let all the emotion that I'd felt pour out. Something I wrote in 40 minutes. Tell me if you like it or not.