Chapter 1

Hey guys, so happy to be writing! I am not the type to write a bunch of fanfics about one thing—I prefer a fanfic for each obsession—so I am happy to now be writing a Newsies fanfiction! Thank you for being so supportive. I will keep writing! And I was having some trouble writing a New Yawk accent, so don't blame me. I know Race isn't entirely in character, but I made him all mad and gruff for the purpose of the story. I promise to make him more Race-like next chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. But I may or may not be keeping Spot Conlon captive in my closet.

"David! David!"

"Whaddya want, Blink?" David asked, turning quickly to meet the anxious boy.

"It's Jack! There's trouble in Brooklyn!"

"Let Spot Conlon take care of it," David replied casually, returning to his poker game with Race.

"It ain't a fight, Davey. Them scabs got the gov'ment in on it. They're gonna do somethin' real bad. You'se gotta come!"

"Okay, okay. Race, watch Les." Les looked up excitedly, but Racetrack looked annoyed.

"What? Why me? 'E's your kid, ain't 'e?" he whined. "Let Crutchy take 'im."

"Aw, c'mon. Just for a while. Take 'im to Sheepshead or somethin'. I don't care. Just don' let 'him gamble or nuthin'."

"Okay, jeez, Davey. I won' break 'im."

"C'mon!" Blink repeated, and he and David rushed out the door of the lodge. Race and Les were alone. Racetrack groaned and sank into his chair. He grabbed some poker pieces, some money from a little bag under his mattress, and left without saying a word. Les, confused but obedient, jumped up and followed him.

He found Race outside the lodge, waiting impatiently. "You'se comin' or what?"

Les ran to follow as Racetrack strolled down the street to the races.

"So where're we goin'?" Les asked, hurrying to keep up with Race's long strides. Race shrugged silently, not slowing his pace. He tried to look indifferent on the outside, but inside he was cursing David Jacobs with all of his might. Of course he had to get stuck with the midget. Kid wasn't worth the papes he sold. Race spat on the ground and lit a cigar.

"Hey, can I 'ave one o' those?" Les asked eagerly. Race gave him a sideways glance and raised his eyebrows.

"Ain't ya too young to smoke?"

"So're you," Les replied bluntly. Racetrack considered for a moment more, then handed Les a cigar. "Careful wit' the fire." Les grinned widely, lit the cigar after about four tries, and proudly stuck it in his mouth. He managed to look tough and innocent at the same time in a way that made Race want to smile. He resisted the urge. Les held the pose a moment more, before turning slightly green and coughing the cigar out onto the cobblestones, hacking and gagging. Racetrack turned on him indignantly.

"Hey! Tha' was a poifectly good cigar! Cost me three cents, tha' did!" Les was too busy coughing to answer.

Race turned on his heel and strode off again. Les wheezed a "Wait fo' me!" and ran off after the older newsie.

"Keep up," Racetrack snapped back, still in a bad mood.

"Well, you can't expec' me to go as fast as ya. Aftah all," he flashed a cocky grin, "I'm only seven."

Racetrack pushed him away in response, but Les was back in an instant, seeming to have recovered from his cigar incident. He sobered suddenly, looking Racetrack up and down.

"Say, act'lly, you ain't much taller than me." It seemed that Les had hit a nerve, because Racetrack growled angrily at him in a most un-Race-like way and sped up again. Les just skipped along with him, humming "King of New York."

Finally Race rounded on him.

"Whassur problem?"

Les turned and looked him straight in the eye.

"Whassur problem? Evah since we starts walkin' ya been all glum and angry-like. You'se usually so easygoin' and cheerful. Wassup?" Racetrack didn't reply, just stuck his hands in his pockets and walked faster.

"We'se almost theah."

There was no conversation for a moment, until Les spoke up again.

"You oldah newsies think I'm weak. Ya think I ain't tough. Well, I can be tough."

Racetrack turned to Les, a sly grin on his face. "Now this I gotta see."

Les got a determined look on his face. "Put 'em up!" he replied, holding up his fists.

"Nah. I'd soak ya."

"You scared?"

Racetrack spun around, anger flashing in his eyes. "I ain't scared."

"You is. You'se scared! Racetrack's a scaredy-cat!" Les shouted to the people surrounding, a huge smile on his face. He was greatly enjoying this moment of power over Race.

Race's cheeks burned red. "Shut up!"

"Race's scared!" Les sang.

Racetrack moved like to punch Les, and the younger boy moved his hands up in defense. However, while the younger newsie was off-guard, Race's hand changed direction and started tickling Les, making the boy curl up into a ball of giggles.

"Hey! No fair!"

Race shrugged. "All's fair in love, war, and New York. Now, c'mon, we'll be late for them races."

The two newsies ran off, shouting and laughing, down the streets of New York City.