1Chapter One:

One of the newsies is in trouble.

Starts with the strike.

I don't own newsies...blah, blah. Some scenes/situations/diologue sequences may be taken from the movie, Newsies.

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Racetrack woke to Kloppman's yelling, and Jack's moaning. That's always a wonderful thing to hear in the morning...NOT!

Gosh, for once, he wished he could sleep in. Oh, well. He sighed and pulled up his pants and strapped on his suspenders. Then, he turned to the night stand to grab the cigar he stole only the day before.

Its gone!

He worked hard to steal that ciga–Snipeshooter!

"Hey, dat's mine, Snipe! Give it heah, right now," ordered Racetrack, holding out his hand.

"I have no idea what you's tawkin' about," replied Snipeshooter, sucking on the unlit cigar.

"Dat's mine. Dat's my cigah!"

"Get ovah it! You'll lift anoddah one from someone's pocket!"

"Guys, c'mon," said Blink. "We have woik ta do. Big day."

"Whattah you? Me maddah?" asked Specs, passing him by.

"Wha's dat s'posed to mean?" asked Kid Blink.

"You's away's bawsen' us around, Kid. You's like a moddah hen, or somethin'," explained Mush.

"Aw, guys! Stop your bawlin'!" exclaimed Crutchy. Race shook his head and laughed, heading for the wash room. Crutchy asked about a new selling spot, and they all yelled out suggestions.

"Try Central Pahk," he suggested.

"You sure?" asked Crutchy.

"Yeah, it's a guaranteed sellin' spot."

"Try any bankah, bum, oah bahbah. They'se all sure t'ings," suggested Jack. Skittery snorted and muttered something about almost all of them knowing how to read, whatever he meant by that. Must be an inside joke. Racetrack washed his face and tried to find a towel that no one was letting him have, so, he just used Mush's shirt. Mush shot him a look.

"Sorry. Its hahd to know what you'ah grabbin' if dah soap's burnin' your eyes."

When they got outside, it was a nice clear day. They got their food from the nuns and ate on the way to the Distribution Center. Jack got into a fight with the Delancy's...again...which got them all hyped up.

"Brilliant perfoahmance, Jack! Bettah, den yestahday's!" exclaimed Race, laughing.

"You'ah too kind to me, Race, you'ah too kind!"

Then, Jack harassed Mr. Weisel...or Weasel, as they called him. He did this everyday. Race turned to Kid Blink.

"Could you spot me two bits?" he asked.

"No, you have enough money," said Blink.

"I wannah save that for a bet. It's a hot tip on the fourth. I ain't wastin' my money, I promise."

"Race."

"Okay, I also owe Jack two bits from last night, but I'm kinda hopin' he fahget's about it, ya know...but if he doesn't, I have somethin' to give 'im," explained Race. Blink finally gave in. Race nodded his thanks and headed over to the stands.

"Good mornin' your honah. Listen, spot me fifty papes, will ya? I got a hot tip on the fourth. It won't waste you money."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Fifty papes for Racetrack!"

After receiving fifty papes, Race sat down. He seemed undisterbed by the commotion behind him.There was a strange new boy there who got jipped by Morris.

"Nah, its nineteen, Weasel. It's nineteen, but don't feel so bad about it. You see Morris can't count to twenty with his shoes on," Jack joked. Then, being unusually generous he asked Race for money to buy this new kid some papes.

"But Jack..." Race said, quietly.

"You owe me," Jack whispered back.

"Heah," said Racetrack, flipping him his money.

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After the morning's excitement, he went over to Sheepshead Bay. Sold all his papes by the afternoon, then went to get lunch. He usually stole it, since they didn't have enough money to pay for even the cheapest restaurant. Restaurants were treats for them.

Race spotted his victim. An old man selling cornbread. Race hadn't had cornbread since his mother died. While the man was negotiating with another customer, Race took his chance and took the cornbread. Then, he ran. He ran as fast as he could.

"Stop! Theif!" yelled the old man. People chased after him, but Race was clever and hid around a corner, and climbed up a fire escape in an alleyway. He climbed up to the roof, and ran across, and down the stairs, through the apartment. He hid in an abandoned flat, and stayed in there until he was sure that the police weren't looking for him anymore. Then Race smiled his crooked smile and took a bite out of his cornbread, that was now a little smushed from being in his pocket. After Race was finished, and he was sure there were no bulls after him, he stepped out into the open and headed back to Sheepshead Bay, to the tracks. Once there, he placed his bet and leaned against the rail that separated the audience from the tracks. He waited until the horse's were lined up. Race couldn't tell how many times he's been to the race, but he still jumped after every gunshot that rang.

He wasn't sure why. He knew his father was killed at the end of a barrel, but this was a game. A race wasn't a hostile situation...but he still jumped.

And he jumped on this day, too.

The gun sounded, Race jumped, and the horses were off...

C'mon, c'mon! Win! WIN! Race silently urged.

But the horse lost. Race pickpocketed another person, for a cigar, and was off. Race wasn't a clepto, he just stole what he needed to get by.

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Race didn't go home right away. He went over to Irving hall, and sat on the stage in the vacant theatre. He sat and waited for Medda. Jack, Blink, and Race were the closest to Medda. Medda was almost like a surrogate mother to them.

Well, Racetrack sat and waited. He puffed on his cigar, and swung his feat off the stage.

"Boy, first Jack, now you? I feel special today," Medda exclaimed, kissing Racetrack's cheek.

"You ah special Medda," replied Race.

"How ya been, kid?"

"Okay," Race tried to lie. He gave up saying, "Not really. I lost. I was positive I would win. I was so sure...but I lost."

"So you don't have money for dinner," she finished. Race looked up and nodded. Medda nodded. She wore a nice white blouse and navy blue skirt, with a white flowery hat. "Well, I was just on my way out. Want to come, kid?"

"You don't mind?"

They ate together in silence. Race ordered the cheapest things on the menu, feeling bad for taking Medda's money.

"Are you sure you only want soup? I could afford anything on this menu, you know," she commented.

"I know," said Race.

"Your quiet."

"I just can't believe I lost. It was a sure t'ing. I was gonna win!"

"Sometimes things don't turn out the way we plan."

"You'ah tellin' me," replied Race.

The rest of the dinner went by swell. Medda laughed at Race's jokes and sly remarks, and Race listened to her sing. Then, Race thanked her for a wonderful night, and started home, where he met up with Jack.

"Hey Race," he said.

"Hey, Jack."

"How was your day at the tracks?"

"Rembah dat hot tip I told you about?"

"Yeah?"

"Nobody told the horse..."

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Sorry I have to end this so abruptly! I will continue soon, I promise.