Chapter Two

Tomorrow's News

Disclaimer: I really don't miss doing these disclaimers…I don't own the newsies, as strangely cool as that would be.

The next morning, the Manhattan newsies got up with a fresh alertness and drive not seen in them since the strike. Kloppman didn't know whether to be amazed or baffled.

'Aw, the leaf pile's gone.' Boots mourned the loss of a potential distraction in the middle of the road.

'I'm sure there's plenty more where that came from,' noted Bumlets, nodding at the increasingly bare trees on the way to the printing press.

'You sure he always come's at the same time?' asked Jack.

'I think so,' said Crutchy, craning his neck into the street. 'Just keep an eye out for the lady and he should be there.'

'Oh, I intend to, don't you worry,' smirked Racetrack.

All of them fidgeting more than usual, the boys lined up to get their papes.

'You all got itchin' powder in yer caps or something?' sneered Wiesel.

'Nah,' replied Boots smoothly as he swept his thirty papes off the counter. 'We'se just, uh, watching for leaves.'

This cryptic remark left Wiesel understandably confused, but he carried on with his job regardless, until the last newsie (Tumbler) had received their day's worth.

The boys loitered in a huddle outside the gates, just like any other day, but with a great deal more anxiety thrown into the mix. When the schoolgirl breezed past, she was a little thrown by the fact that her glance at that day's newsie, Skittery, went unnoticed. Half of them still tipped their caps, but the others had their eyes fixed like hawks on the person they were really interested in.

'Play it nonchalant now,' Jack muttered to his friends out of the boy's earshot. 'Let him walk past, then we'll get started.'

The unknown newsie sensed something wasn't quite right that morning as soon as they reached the gates of The World. Normally the Manhattan newsies would barely notice their presence on the street, but this time, every pair of eyes followed the stranger.

Torn between paranoia and the need to remain inconspicuous, the newsie let their eyes wander to the right. Suspicions confirmed, they walked a little faster, resisting the temptation to look back.

Wordlessly, Jack beckoned for five other newsies to follow him: Racetrack, Blink, Mush, Skittery and Snitch. They kept a few yards' distance between themselves and the boy.

After twenty seconds, he took a risk and looked over his shoulder. Immediately his green eyes went wide in alarm and his head snapped back. He broke into brisk strides and started weaving in and out of other pedestrians. This didn't deter the newsies, however, as they just matched his pace.

Another ten seconds, another backwards glance. The newsies had closed the gap considerably. Blink suggestively pushed one fist into an open palm, and that was all it took for the boy to drop all pretensions: he bolted down the sidewalk, pushing past businessmen with early starts and street vendors hawking their wares. The newsies followed suit.

Jack was well versed in the art of running away speedily, and chasing was not so different. With a bit of extra effort he soon caught up to the boy, enough to swing round and block his path entirely.

'Why the rush?' he panted. The newsie, startled, skidded into Jack's chest and took a fall. Copies of The Journal for that day flew into the air and landed in a messy spiral around them.

Flustered, the kid grabbed as many papes back as he could while on his knees. However, they froze mid-reach when a pair of worn leather shoes entered their vision. With a trembling jaw, the boy's eyes travelled upwards to the tall newsie in those shoes: a blond guy with an eye patch and a terrifyingly sly grin.

He shot up from the sidewalk and moved to bypass Jack. But, to his horror, Skittery stood in his way, string arms folded across his body. The newsie whirled around in a circle and quickly clocked that they were surrounded. Their free hand shivered violently, even when clenched in a fist.

'Why'd ya run?' asked Jack casually.

The kid opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

''Cause you don't wanna be seen by us, am I right?'

The boy tried to take on a steely expression and continued to say nothing.

'Rumor in the printin' press says The Journal's circulation's goin' up,' said Jack, nodding at the crinkled papes tucked under the boy's left arm. 'But not even Pulitzer 'imself seems to know the reason. Only logical conclusion's that The Journal's gettin' more newsies than The World. Am I wrong?'

Impressively, the newsie held Jack's gaze for longer than he expected. At last he found his voice and used it to spit out four words:

'It's a free country.'

'May be a free country, kid,' chimed Racetrack. The boy glared. 'But it ain't fair game, at least not fer us.'

'Well…don't see how that's my problem,' said the boy, a little more boldly. Jack noticed he had a drawl not unlike Race's, but with an extra twang of something he couldn't identify.

'If ya don't work wit' us here,' said Skittery. 'We'll make it your problem.'

'Slow down, Skitts,' said Jack. 'Let's just take it easy.' He turned back to the boy. 'You got a name, kid?'

His eyes darted from left to right, debating whether it was wise to disclose that information.

'…Streets.'

'Streets. Well listen, Streets, who'd ya work with, or for? If there's a leader in this operation, we gotta know.'

'Why? Why should I tell ya?'

'Oh, so there is a leader,' smirked Jack. The newsies laughed when Streets' face blanched.

'I ain't tellin' ya nothing, ya hear?'

'I really don't think that's an option you got, kid,' retorted Racetrack.

'What're you gonna do? Soak me? Well…go ahead,' said Streets, in a tone that would have been more convincing had his whole right arm not been shaking. 'I can survive a few bruised ribs and a black eye, but I ain't rattin' nobody out.'

'You sure about that?' said Jack evenly.

'Yeah.' With that, Streets tried ramming himself through the gap between Skittery and Blink. It didn't work: Blink snatched up Streets' free arm and twisted it round his back. The Journal copies slipped onto the ground again.

'Ow!'

The six newsies did a double take at the high-pitched squeak Streets had just managed to hit.

'I think my eardrums are ruptured,' said Snitch dryly. Jack narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to the restrained Streets. He suddenly noticed a long, thick strand of black hair had come loose from under the boy's cap. Without really thinking about it, Jack swiped the hat from Streets' head.

None of them had expected a long plait to fall from it.

For three very long seconds the seven of them were frozen in a tableau: Jack, clutching Streets' cap; Blink, staring down at Streets' arm; Race, Skittery, Mush and Snitch rooted to the sidewalk, dumbstruck; Streets, mortified.

'What…in the name a' Horace Greenley…is this.'

'I think that's what we'd all like ta know, Race,' mumbled Jack. Blink relinquished Streets, who dropped to the ground rubbing her arm.

'Ooh, that's gonna smart tomorrow…'

She directed her green, angry gaze towards Jack's hand, still holding her cap. As she went to snatch it back, Jack shot his arm over his head, way out of her reach even on tiptoes.

'Give it!'

'So this is yer real voice, huh?' scoffed Jack.

'I said give it, ya scum!'

'Oh, I don't think so,' he replied, tossing the cap to Snitch. Streets darted for it, but he chucked it to Skittery, who threw it to Mush, and so on. Watching the girl get riled up was more than a little entertaining.

Finally she returned to the middle of the circle, fuming.

'What's it gonna take?'

'All you gotta do is tell us who yer leader is. I ain't exactly askin' ya to build the Pyramids, here.'

She balled her fists and blew the hanging hair strand out of her face, exasperated. Eventually, through gritted teeth, she caved:

'Ace.'

'Sorry, I didn't quite hear ya,' said Jack.

'Ace. Ace Heximer.'

'Any a' youse heard that name before?'

The newsies shook their heads.

'Strange name,' remarked Racetrack.

'Strange girl,' muttered Streets, before cursing under her breath.

'Wait,' said Blink. 'Yer leader's a goil too? This I gotta see.'

'Not a bad idea, Blink,' said Jack, raising an eyebrow. 'Here's a deal for ya, Streets: you take us to meet Ace, you get your hat back and we'll, uh, hold off from soakin' ya.'

'And if I don't like the sound a' that deal?'

'Then I'd be more than happy to make your gender known to the streets a' Manhattan, at the top of my lungs, right here, right now.'

He had her there. Streets took a long blink and half-sighed, half-growled.

'Damn. You. I'll go along wit' yer stupid little deal.'

'Good girl.' Jack couldn't resist. Streets didn't appreciate the jibe one bit. The second he lowered his arm within her reach, she tore the cap from his grasp, gathered up her hair and stuck it firmly under.

'One condition, though.'

'What's that?'

'Ya can't all come with. Ace won't talk if there's six of ya.'

'And if there's three?'

'…She might.'

'Alright, I'll give ya that. Who wants ta join me?'

'Well where's this leader a' yours based, anyhow?' asked Racetrack.

'Ya know Riverside Park?' said Streets over her shoulder.

'I know of it.'

'We're near there.'

'Aw, Jack that's miles away…' groaned Skittery.

'So don't go, ya grouser,' said Jack. 'Any takers?'

'Yeah, I'll go,' said Mush without hesitation.

'Me too,' said Race. He looked Streets up and down. 'You got some nerve, goil. Dressin' like a guy, it's obscene…who d'you think you are?'

'Better than you,' snapped Streets, before adding, 'ya little shrimp.'

'Watch it.' Racetrack did not take kindly to jokes about his height and lack thereof.

'Skittery, Snitch, Blink, report back to the other guys and tell 'em we'll be back by the end a' the day.'

'Sure Jack,' said Blink. 'But what about all yer papes?'

'Don't worry about that,' he said, hauling his stack over his shoulder. 'If it's a long way to Riverside, we'll just be productive about it.'

He slung his free arm around Streets. It had the desired effect of making her instantly uncomfortable, and he steered her forward. Jack motioned for Mush and Race to follow, and the other newsies headed back towards the collection point.

'Extra, extra! Hundreds already dead in Boer War, complete with horrifying photographs!'

'Huh?' said Streets, looking up at the front page. 'What photo -'

'Don't interrupt him, doll,' interrupted Racetrack with a finger to her lips. 'This is the expert at truth improvement ya got next to you.'