Oh, part four! What is going to happen now? Hmmmm? Hehehe, I love doing this.

Sorry, I am in a very good mood today. I just got back from a voice lesson, in which I finally nailed that evil b flat, (any music people will be able to understand me) and I'm in a very good mood so when I'm in a good mood you get more chapters! Two! Yay!













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The next morning, Race was awakened by Jack shaking his shoulder. Without a word, he got up and dressed, a bit surprised at his surroundings, but not saying a word. Mrs. Jacobs had a small breakfast for them and they ate as the four newsies walked to the distribution station. Once there, Jack pulled Race aside.

"Race, I need ya ta do me a fava. Stay in town taday. Sell wid somebody, Blink, Mush, Crutchy. I don't cae. Jist don't sell alone. Aight?" Race frowned.

"Why can't I sell by meself? I can take cae a meself, Jack. I ain't no kid no more." Jack nodded.

" I know. But I don't want ya ta get hoit. I ain't lettin' him hoitcha." Race rolled his eyes.

"I know, Jack, I know. But it still don't answah why I can't sell alone." Jack glared at the younger more stubborn newsie.

"Look, if ya can't at least do a little ta make surah he don't find ya, I'se sendin ya ova da bridge and I'll let Spot deal widcha, ya want dat?" Race sighed heavily.

"Fine! Fine, I'll sell wid Blink."

Kid Blink seemed a bit surprised when Race asked to sell with him, the smart mouthed newise usually sold with no one and made that clear that he needed no one and could take care of himself. But Race was his friend and he looked forward to the opportunity to spend time with him. And so the two set off into the city to sell their papes.

It was late in the evening when Race and Blink made their way across the street from Central Park, to grab a bite to eat. Race, though he missed the racetracks, was glad for the time he got to spend with his two best friends other than Jack.

Blink and Mush were all for stopping by Tibby's, but Race paused.

"I'll meetcha dere. I gotta stop somewhere's foist." Blink hesitated, remembering Jack's word to not let Race out of his sight. But Race raised an eyebrow to his protests. "I'se jist gonin' ta Medda's! It ain't too much oudda da way, besides, I'll go straight ta da lodgin' house. I sweah." He even put his hand over his heart, making his friends laugh. Mush was inclined to agree with Race, but Blink frowned.

Jack had been very insistent on not leaving Race along, and Blink prided himself on doing exactly what Jack told him to do, keeping his leader's faith in him.

"Jack told us not ta leave ya alone, Race. He acted like it was a big deal." Race shrugged and lit a cigarette he'd bummed off of Mush not five seconds ago.

"If Jack told ya ta jump off da Brooklyn Bridge, wouldcha?' Blink had to laugh now. Race did have a point. It was only to Medda's and that wasn't too far from the lodging house, only a few blocks.

"Nah, but if Spot told me to, I jist might." The three shared a laugh over that. If the Brooklyn leader told you to do something, you better well do it. Every newsie in the city knew that.

They parted ways on Duane Street and Race walked on past it, smoking the cigarette and hurrying past the darkening alleys to the brightly lit Irving Hall, only a few blocks down.

Race paused outside. Was it only a year ago? One year ago, all of them crowed into that hall, every newsie in New York. All protesting one thing. And no one had come away unscathed that night. Race flinched as he remembered the sharp boot that had impacted his side that night. But he had been beat worse, that was for sure.

He absentmindedly rubbed the forearm of his left arm, fingering the white line that run up from elbow to wrist. Yeah, he had been beaten much worse than that.

But now was not the time to think of that. He had said he was going to Medda's. What he really wanted was time to think. He was usually on his own all day, and the long trek from the tracks and back gave him plenty of time to think. And today he needed it more than ever.

He sighed, maybe he would stop in and see Medda. She'd known him since he was a little boy, maybe longer. Since his mother had married the man he had known as father. Maybe she could tell him what to do.

As he turned to go into the small side door, he paused. In front of it, with her plainer dress and handbag, was Medda, smiling and talking with a man. Race shrugged and moved forward.

"Hey Medda!" he called. She turned to him and smiled. Moving to him, she pulled him into a big hug. Then she whispered in his ear.

"Your father is here." Race froze, and stared over her shoulder at the man who hadn't seen him yet. Slowly, he turned, refusing to let the man see his face.

"So who is your little friend, Medda?" Medda smiled, and stepped in front of Racetrack. She had known the boys since they'd gone by the name of Sullivan. And she knew what kind of man Thomas Sullivan really was. She had known him as a boy in the small upstate town where they'd grown up. But he had changed so much from that boy.

She had seen him go through two wives, and produced four children. True, Race wasn't really his son, but he might as well have been. James had vanished long ago, no one had the slightest clue as to his whereabouts, and Jack and Race both cared little for the brother who had deserted them. And the girl, the daughter who hadn't lived long enough to be named.

Medda remembered when she opened her door early that morning to find a mud spattered Francis, cradling his little brother whose dark eyes were wide with terror. When she questioned him, he refused to speak. It had taken little Tony almost two years to come out of his shell and when he had, there was little left of the child she had loved. And instead, Racetrack came to the surface. The cynical loud mouth with the wise guy back talk.

"He's just a friend." She replied, motioning for Race to leave. But to go, Race realized, he would have to pass the man.

"Really? He looks a bit young for you." He stepped forward and his face was illuminated by the streetlight. For an instant, he stared at Race, as if seeing a ghost. Then he reached out a hand to grab the front of Race's shirt.

But Race had plenty of practice since the last time he had done that, and he quickly twisted out of the man's grasp. Without pausing to think, he ducked under the man's arm and sped off down the street.

He could hear his father's feet pounding on the cobblestone behind him. Faster, Higgins, get da lead oudda yer pants, He thought. Only a few blocks, then he would be home. Safe and sound at home.

He ducked down the small side street on which the lodging house was located and was dismayed to hear his father's voice call after him. He ignored it and shoved the door open, relived and distressed to see all his friends seated in the lobby, Jack included.

Jack stood up as Race bent over, panting. He had to tell him, but could just point out the window and gasping for air. Jack looked over his shoulder, then grabbed him and yanked him behind the desk, ducking just as the door swung open.

Kloppman gave them a bemused smile, but let them stay where they were. The man hurried to the counter, breathing just as hard as Race had been. Race fought to control his raging breathe. Jack held a finger to his lips and Race bit down, trying to make it stop.

"May I help you?' Kloppman said in his usual, I'll take my time about it and you'll just have to wait until I'm ready, voice. The man's voice replied hurriedly.

"Yes, I'm looking for my son. I just saw him come in here." Kloppman paused thinking.

"A kid just ran trough da back doa." Blink spoke up.

"Small, dark?" The man asked.

"Italian midget, yeah." The man was out the door before anyone could say a word. Race stood up and glared at Blink.

"I ain't no Italian midget." Blink only laughed, but his grin slipped from his face when he saw the look on Jack's. Race turned around and was faced with a rather angry newsie leader.

"What did I tell ya bout wanderin' off, Race?" Race rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette.

"Look, I jist needed some time ta tink. I ain't had a moments peace since yestaday. Not since youse insisted dat I ain't old enough ta take cae a meself." There was no mistaking the sarcastic and bitter tone in his voice.

" I ain't sayin' ya can't take cae a yerself. I'm jist askin' ya ta be caeful, dat's all. He knows ya, and he'll do what he can ta get ya back." Race rolled his eyes again.

" I ain't neva going' back and dere ain't nobody gonna make me. It's dat simple."

"But it ain't dat simple! All he needs is a warrant, and a cop. Dat's all he needs ta take ya back!"

"He ain't gonna, Jack!" Race's hands were clenched. "Dere ain't no way he's gonna have enough proof! And besides, I'se caeful!" Jack rolled his eyes, this time.

"Oh right, like ya wus caeful tonight? Is dat da reason he was followin' ya?"

"He wus at Medda's!" Race protested.

"Look, he ain't jist goin' ta all dis trouble ta ferget about it! He's gonna keep at it, till he finds ya, den who knows what might happen!" Race glared.

"Youse ain't worried bout me! Ya tink dat if he finds me, he'll find ya. Den he'll take youse back too! Dat's all ya cae about!"

And with that he turned and stomped up the stairs, not even pausing to sign in. Jack sighed as the lodging room door slammed and he turned to the desk. Slowly, he made his way out the door and sat down on the front steps.

The boys were silent. They were used to spats between them, maybe a fistfight between two of the boys who didn't get along so good, but Jack and Race were always the best of friends.

Always teasing and picking on each other, but never taking it badly. Both had been there for, it seemed like forever. And they were close, almost like brothers, Blink had commented once. Jack and Race had only looked at each other and laughed. When Jack took control, Race was always given allowances when it came to certain things.

If Race climbed in the window late at night while the rest were sleeping, Jack didn't blink an eye. If someone else did it, they got a lecture about being out late. Most assumed it was because that Race had never listened to Jack anyway, and he had simply given up.

No one could ever really remember seeing them fight, not like this. Sure, everyone had their little spats. It was inevitable, living in the same room with twenty other boys. But the fights rarely were like this.

That night, Race pointy ignored Jack, and everyone else, preferring his quiet game of solitaire to the poker game in the corner. When Blink had asked about it, Race had snapped at him, telling him to "Keep yer nose oudda audder folks bizness."

This caused Jack to step in and argue that Race was not mad at Blink, and didn't need to be mean to the ones he wasn't mad at. Race retaliated with, "Whudda ya, me mudda?"

Then Jack glared at him, long and hard, before answering, "Nah, I'm da closet ting ya gots." At this, Kloppman decided that enough was enough and sent the boys to bed.

As he flicked off the lights, Race crawled into bed, and had to fight, for the first time since he was a child, the urge to cry.