Author's Note: I don't usually write these, but this story calls for an Author's Note. Les is young, and the views he expresses are how I imagine a child would deal with the issue of homosexuality. His views do not in any way reflect my own.
Read on, and please review. ^_^
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With his dark hair and bright eyes, and red handkerchief knotted casually about his neck, Jack Kelly already looks like a cowboy. When I first saw Jack, and he proposed that we become partners, I was in shock. How could this impossibly tall, handsome boy want to work with me? Even my brother wasn't nearly as...godly as Jack.
Everyone knows why Jack leads the Manhattan newsies. He has that certain charisma, that way of talking that includes and intrigues everyone around him. He absorbs people's trust the way a fallen newspaper soaks up the water of a puddle.
But fallen newspapers do get trampled over. I've seen Jack lose plenty of times. It's amazing how he is still the ideal in everyone's eyes. If I do something dumb he grins and ruffles my hair. When I lost my tooth he was the first one I told. Not my brother, not Boots, but Jack.
I think that hurts David.
But my brother needs to understand that I admire him, too. Not as much as I worship Jack, but I do look up to David. He's even got himself a nickname, the Walking Mouth. I don't have a nickname, 'side from Les, which is short for Lester. But that isn't a proper nickname. Boots is thinking of one for me, and I can't wait.
This morning, though, I saw something that hurt me. Hurt me real bad. Not like a punch or a knife wound, but inside. In my heart.
Jack was...no, I can't talk about it.
Can't think.
Can't breath.
Jack is perfect, isn't he? So then...why was he...
Why was he kissing Spot Conlon?
We newsies really need Brooklyn to back us up. Harlem's been getting out of line, stepping out of their boundaries, and Spot has always been reluctant to agree to help us. But today, Brooklyn and Manhattan made an alliance.
Because...Jack...kissed the Brooklyn leader.
I'm going to throw up.
Boys don't do that to other boys.
I don't even like imagining doing that to a girl.
Maybe...maybe Jack was just playing.
Yeah, that's it.
He's foolin' Spot.
To trick him into helping Manhattan.
That must be it.
I didn't mean to walk in at that time. My mother, for once, allowed me to hang out at the Lodging House until nine. Mush had told me, he told me, Les, can you go and tell Jack that Racetrack's got the two Brooklyn newsies Spot brought along about to kill him? Hurry, Les, run!
"Jack!" I burst into the room, swelled with the importance of my message. And there they were.
Kissing.
Spot looked just as surprised as me, but their lips found each other like they were used to doing...that to each other.
They broke apart the second I came in. Spot looked murderous, raising his cane as though I was a liability. Jake looked ashamed, turning redder than I've ever seen him.
"Spot, leave off o' the kid," Jack demanded, sounding tired. He walked over to me, but I shrank away from him. He crouched down low, hands on his knees, to look at me. Whenever he gives me that look, so thoughtful and calculating, I wonder what's going on in his head.
"Hey, Les, can you keep a secret?" He asks me.
I've never had a secret before. This is my hero speaking, my God-figure, asking me to do something for him. Before I agree I blurt out the message I've been carrying, close to tears. Spot leaves silently to handle the problem, clutching his gold-tipped cane tightly. Moments later I can hear him barking at his boys.
"Ye-yes," I agree softly, struggling not to let my tears fall. Jack claps me on the shoulder, content with my answer. He trusts me.
"Good man," He says encouragingly. Then he leaves.
What do you do when you find out God is mortal? What do you do when you find out your hero is...gay?
Jack is still Jack, right?
So why can't I look at him anymore?