Ok. Now stuff goes DOWN. (This is probably my longest chapter yet and for some reason I am so proud of myself for this fact.)

By the way, Spot Conlon is in this chapter, and I'm going to use his Gabriel Damon's Spot instead of Tommy Bracco's (I mean, what if Musical Spot and Musical Tommy Boy ran into each other?) If anyone has any problems with that, I'm probably halfway across the country/globe from you so I won't be able to hear them anyway. AnywayIn any event, the song in this chapter is "Can't Help Falling In Love" by Elvis Presley (I know, original choice, huh?).

Chapter 9

The following morning, the newsies crowded around the breakfast table in hushed voices. Crutchie plopped down in his seat, his crutch on the floor beside his stool. He leaned in, ready for the new plan.

"Okay," Jack murmured while spreading butter on his bread slice. "Now that we know about Cinnamon's… situation, we need to learn how to hide it."

Cinnamon nodded nervously, and Crutchie felt a pang of concern for the girl sitting a seat away from him.

"Crutchie! Race!" Crutchie snapped to attention, as did Race, who was sitting between Crutchie and Cinnamon. "You guys are closest to Cinnamon, right?"

"Uh… yeah?" Crutchie replied. Race nodded seriously.

"You keep an eye on her. You know how the Delanceys are around girls; they can't wait to get their hands on one. Once they find out about Cinnamon… well, you know what's at risk."

"Of course," Racetrack and Crutchie replied dutifully. Crutchie didn't notice that he had snaked his hand around Race's lap to lace his fingers into Cinnamon's (and that she had met his hand halfway) until a few seconds later. He looked up to see Race looking down at his own lap in utter shock and astonishment. He looked between the two newsies, not knowing how to react to their hands intertwined over his lap. Race then turned to Cinnamon, a quiet sibling-like conversation flitting between them. They moved through itn fluently, as if reading each other's minds or simply speaking a second language. In the end, Cinnamon made a hopeful grimace that seemed to say, "Please don't tell?" Race considered for a second, then nodded, suppressing a smile.

They all turned back to the conversation with a new secret to keep.

After breakfast, Race pulled Crutchie to the side as the other newsies went to get their papers from Weisel.

"So," Race spoke so that no one else could hear, a slight teasing tone to his voice. "You found yourself a Katherine, huh?"

"Shaddup, Racetrack," Crutchie chuckled as he swiped Race's cigar from his hand, although after a moment, he gave it back.

"But it's true, isn't it?" Race said after a moment of fumbling around with his cigar.

Crutchie only nodded.

A pause. Then, a grin spread like butter across Race's face. "Well then, I got somewhere to take you, don't I?"

"I guess you do," Crutchie agreed, confused.

:::

"CINNAMOOOOOOOOOON!" someone screamed. Cinnamon turned sharply, nearly knocking over the person in front of her in line. Race was barreling towards her, Crutchie in tow. He was desperately trying to keep his crutch in hand, and he was grimacing in slight pain.

"Racetrack Higgins!" Cinnamon shouted to him. "You're hurting Crutchie!"

Race looked back to see that Crutchie was leaning forward and taking deep breaths.

"Whoopsie," he said. He let go of Crutchie and walked toward the banner stand.

"Two hundred, Weasel," he said airily. He barely paid attention to the fact that he cut an entire line of newsies, he just took his papers and gave half to Crutchie. "Hurry it up, Cinnamon, we've got someplace to be today."

Cinnamon paid for her hundred, got the papers, and then headed over to her two pals.

"Oh, and Cinnamon," Race started, then the leaned over and whispered in her ear. After a confused moment, Cinnamon nodded and dashed into the lodging house. She dashed back out to a confused Crutchie. After a moment, he noticed her cap did not cover her uncut hair, (that now almost reached her shoulders), and she was carrying her violin.

"What did he ask you to do? Besides this, I mean." Crutchie asked her, waving his hand up and down, gesturing to the hair and the violin at once.

"I'll tell you on the trolley. Anyway, where to, Race?" Cinnamon asked.

"My sellin' spot, of course. No pun intended."

"What do you mean?" Crutchie wondered. Then he swallowed hard. "Oh no, not Brooklyn."

"Oh, yes, we're goin' to Brooklyn," Race declared, grabbing the two nervous newsies by the hands and hitching them onto the trolley. "And off we go to see the King!" he shouted in a singsong voice.

"But why are you taking us?" Cinnamon asked.

"Us, of all people?" Crutchie continued Cinnamon's question.

"You silly lovebirds!" Race said. Crutchie and Cinnamon blinked at the nickname. "You never really thought that Cinnamon was the only girl newsie in all of New York, did ya?"

"No, we didn't – wait, WHAT?!" they shouted.

As the trolley began to move, Crutchie asked, "Well, you still haven't told me what Race told you to do besides bring your violin and take off your cap."

"He told me," Cinnamon replied, "to undo my breast bind a little bit."

At this, Crutchie looked utterly bewildered, and Cinnamon laughed. "Now I know why, so you'll understand soon."

After a long explanation, the trolley finally reached Brooklyn.

"Woah," Cinnamon gasped upon looking at the Brooklyn Bridge.

"That's what I was thinking," Crutchie muttered, his arm wrapped around Cinnnamon's shoulder. They stared at the landmark in awe until Race hopped off the trolley and slapped his companions on the back, startling them. "Before we see Spot, we gotta do something first."

"And what is that?" Crutchie asked.

"Here, lemme show you," the other boy said, putting his cigar in his pocket and climbing on the rail of the bridge.

"Get off, Race, that's dangero-" Cinnamon began.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Race put all his lungpower into a scream that resonated off the metal bars that made up the Brooklyn Bridge.

Breathless, he hopped down from the rail and pushed Crutchie and Cinnamon towards it. "Every newsie does it during their first time in Brooklyn."

Cinnamon climbed onto the rail after a moment, but Crutchie looked at Race hesitantly. "I don't wanna sound like a killjoy, but I don't know if I can do it, Racer. My leg –"

"Aw, lemme help you with that," Race said, picking Crutchie up and swinging his legs around into a sitting position on the rail. Cinnamon and Crutchie both faced the water, their hands wrapped around each other for support. Race waited, his friend's crutch in hand.

"Ready?" Crutchie asked.

"Ready," Cinnamon replied.

They then screamed the loudest they ever had, the sound reaching Lower Manhattan.

"Wowie," Race muttered as his friends hopped off the rail. 'Even I can't scream that loud. Now," he said, shaking off his astonishment, "to the King."

Soon enough, the three Manhattan newsies reached an open area full of glass bottles (intact and shattered) and slingshots scattered across the ground. Lots of longish buildings surrounded in an almost semicircle.

"So, Race, we meet again," came a gruff voice from behind them.

The three turned around to see a short boy sporting a checkered shirt, red suspenders, an oversized cap and catlike smirk. He leaned on a pimp cane, and he had an aura of superiority surrounding him. His accent was much more pronounced than any of the Manhattan newsies she knew.

"Well, who do we 'ave heah," he said, sauntering towards them. "Higgins brought friends." Spot set his piercing gaze on Crutchie. "I know you. Youse da boy with dat bum leg everyone talks about." Crutchie shivered. Spot then turned to Cinnamon, his blue eyes like ice. "And I've nevah seen youse befoah." He scanned Cinnamon, his eyes pausing on her chest area for a second. "But youse look different. Are youse a goil?"

Cinnamon nodded, a little shyly.

"Yep. I thought so afta seein' that-" Spot pointed to Cinnamon's hair – "and that." Spot then gestured to her chest area. Once again, his eyes lingered there for a moment before Crutchie elbowed Spot.

"Hey, her eyes are up here," Crutchie said protectively.

"Well," Race began, moving on before the moment could grow any more, "You heard about the violin-playing newsie from Medda's?"

"Yeah, bud, I was there. Really good playah, too. Wonder wheah he learned it."

"Actually…" Cinnamon muttered, holding up her violin. Spot gaped.

"Youse da violinist? Youse got skills!"

Cinnamon blushed in reply. Crutchie stepped forward, ready to put matters into his own hands.

"Well, Spot," he started. "We heard from Race here that there's a female newsie here as well."

"Oh, Punch?" Spot turned and cupped his hands over his mouth in an O. "EEEEEYYYYY, PUNCH! SOMEONE'S HEAH TA SEE YOUSE!"

A short girl (shorter than Spot!) sauntered out of the furthest house to the left. She wore baggy clothes, and she had a sort of hairstyle Cinnamon simply could not find a name for: half of her head was buzzed, while the other half fell down to her shoulder, covering a large purple bruise on her left eye.

"Whaddaya want, Conlon?" she asked. Cinnamon noticed that she spoke with a Southern drawl that nearly brought her words together, yet somehow Cinnamon could understand her.

"Youse ain't the only goil 'round heah," Spot said to Punch. He gestured to Cinnamon, who waved awkwardly. "I'm Cinnamon," she said, stuttering a little out of nervousness.

"So," Punch said, circling Cinnamon, examining her. "How long have you been with the Manhattan newsies?"

"Six years," Cinnamon said. "I've been with them since I was nine."

Punch grunted in approval, then continued to circle Cinnamon, murmuring things like "aristocrat", "reader", and "love interest".

At the last one, Spot raised an eyebrow at Cinnamon. "Love interest?" he mouthed, a catlike smirk forming on his face. Cinnamon mouthed, "Oh, shut up" in harsh reply.

After a moment, Punch straightened and recited: "From what I could see, you were raised in a wealthy family, but your parents vanished somehow, and you wandered the streets for some time. Afterward, you joined the newsies and formed close relationships with Race and Crutchie, Race as a brother, and Crutchie as more." At this observation, Race stifled a laugh, and Spot guffawed. Crutchie frowned at them, and shuffled closer to Cinnamon. Cinnamon looked at Punch, trying to see a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. She found nothing.

"Punch is always like dis," Spot informed the Manhattan newsies. "She can tell just about anything about you by just looking at you." He tried to sneak his arm around her, but he gave him an unexpected (and HARD) jab to the ribs.

"I told you not to do that again, Conlon," she snapped, before gesturing to Cinnamon to come with her. As she picked up her violin case, Spot muttered, "Dis is also why we called 'er Punch. Feisty goil. Like youse probably are." He winked. Cinnamon stuck her tongue out at him and walked in the direction Punch was going. As she was leaving, she turned to see Crutchie and Race waving.

"So, how old are you now, Punch?" Cinnamon asked, twiddling her thumbs. They were both sitting on a bunk in on of the lodging houses. Punch brushed the hair out of her left eye and looked up at the Manhattan newsie. "I turned sixteen yesterday."

"Oh, well happy belated birthday," Cinnamon said. She pulled out her violin and played "Happy Birthday". That pushed a little grin out of the older newsie.

"I turned fifteen in May," Cinnamon said as she put her violin in the case again.

After an awkward silence where neither knew what to say, Cinnamon piped up. "Well, Punch, how long have you been a newsie?"

"Six years, like you."

"Did they know you were a girl the entire time?"

"Yeah, but they had me dress up as a boy in public so I didn't get harassed or anything." Punch responded. "Spot's been chasing me around just about since I got here. Between you and me, I honestly don't mind it." She blushed, and Cinnamon was pleasantly surprised. She didn't think Punch would be the type to blush.

"It's fine with me. As you know, I have a crush of my own…" Cinnamon stood up and balanced on her left leg, her right leg going limp. Punch giggled and said that yes, she knew as soon as she saw how closely positioned the two newsies were.

After some pleasant small talk, Cinnamon asked about the elephant in the room.

"Hey Punch?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you handle your period?" Cinnamon blushed. "I'm sorry to ask, it's just that I'm new to all of it, I only got it just yesterday and –"

"Naw, 'tsall good," Punch replied with a chuckle. "I got mine when I was fourteen. I told the boys, cos I didn't know what to do either. They said that it must be a girl thing, and they took me over to the owner of the nearest pharmacy, who's a woman."

"I had to ask Katherine, Jack's girlfriend," Cinnamon answered with a giggle.

The two unexpected friends continued to chat on and on.

"Say, wheah do ya think Punch and ya goil're at, Crutchie?" Spot asked. "They've been at it foah ovah an hour."

"I dunno," Crutchie replied.

"Maybe something happened…" Race muttered, concerned.

As he said this, Cinnamon and Punch walked out of the Lodging House, chatting and laughing like old pals.

Spot looked genuinely shocked. "She nevah warms up to 'em this fast."

Crutchie noticed Cinnamon nudging Punch, and saying "Tell him, go on! You can do it!" and Punch was blushing furiously and staring at the floor.

When they finally reached the boys, Punch walked up to Spot, taking a deep breath. She seemed to compose herself, then spoke.

"Spot Conlon." She spoke with a sort of rigidity that Crutchie recognized as the kind you use when you're nervous. Spot jolted to attention.

"I have one thing to do that'll probably explain everything for you," she said. Crutchie held his breath, expecting a slap or something.

Punch moved toward Spot, and Crutchie flinched –

But she didn't hit him.

She kissed him.

Spot looked as surprised as literally every newsie stared, shocked, at the uncharacteristic act. Punch broke the kiss, and then ran away, red as a tomato.

"Wait up!" Spot yelled as he chased after the newsie. As they ran off together, Crutchie heard, "I'll write to you, Cinnamoooon!"

"We should probably leave them alone, huh?" Cinnamon laughed as she took the hands of her best friends and turned to head home.

::::

All the newsies were in the Lodging House a few hours later, full from dinner and chatting lazily about their day. Cinnamon was about to ask Mush about how many papers he sold when Jack and Katherine barged in.

"Gathering at Medda's! She let us have the theater tonight!" Jack hollered.

The newsies rejoiced gleefully. "Yeah, but what for?" Bumlets shouted from the corner of the room as he "played" Fifty-two Card Pickup.

"Talent show!" Katherine exclaimed. "Come on, there's no time to waste!"

An extremely energetic sprint to the theater later, the newsies were all in their seats as Medda stood on the stage. The theater seemed full; even some of the other newsie groups showed up!

"All right Manhattan newsies," she called. "When your name is called, you come up to the stage and do your act. When you're done, go back to your seat. 'Kay?"

There were murmurs of agreement from the front rows of the theater where the Manhattan newsies sat.

Then the show began. Each newsie had a talent, whether it was big or small, silly or serious. Davey wowed the audience with a technically perfect piano performance. Race could do tongue twisters without skipping a beat. Jack drew Elmer nearly immaculately while blindfolded. Jojo tucked in his ears (somehow, he did). Romeo chose armpit farting as his talent and got heckled offstage. Finch shot an apple off of Button's head with a slingshot. Les performed some magic tricks he learned from Davey.

When Cinnamon went onstage, she did ran a small obstacle course while playing "Oh Susannah" at top speed on her violin. When she jogged back to her seat, Crutchie patted her on the arm.
"You did great," he beamed.

After a moment, it came to Crutchie. The house went quieter than usual as the cripple hobbled onto the stage, biting his lip out of nervousness.

"So, Crutchie," Medda announced. "What will you be doing for us tonight?"

"Um," Crutchie began, his bum leg twitching. "I'm going to… going to…" he seemed to choke on his words. Cinnamon could tell that whatever he was going to do, he had never done it in public.

"Yes?" Medda urged.

"Tonight…" Crutchie continued, mustering up his courage. "I'm going to sing."

A murmur passed through the crowd as Crutchie tugged over the piano and two stools.

"I'll need Davey and Cinnamon for this, though."

As Cinnamon stood up, reaching for her violin case, Crutchie mouthed, "No violin." Cinnamon walked up the aisle with Davey, confused, as she thought, What does he want me to do, then?

As she sat down on the stool, and Davey sat at he piano, Crutchie said, "Tonight, Davey will be accompanying us on the piano, and Cinnamon will be singing with me."

Cinnamon tried to stand up as if to get off the stage, but Crutchie held her arm and whispered, "Please?" So she sat back down. I mean, how could she resist him?

Crutchie went over and whispered to Davey, then leaned over and whispered to Cinnamon. She could feel his breath tickling her ear for just a moment before he sat back down. He gestured to Davey, who began to play. Crutchie took a breath, then began to sing. The entire theater went completely silent. Even Medda seemed intrigued.

"Wise men say

Only fools rush in.

But I can't help falling in love with you.

Should I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?"

As he sang this, he looked at Cinnamon, a soft smile spreading like butter on his face. Cinnamon felt herself blushing as she smiled back at him. She knew that she had to carry on his tune and sang the next verse. As she did so, she could tell that it was just her, Crutchie, and the music.

"Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be."

The theater remained silent, as starstruck with her voice as they were with Crutchie's. When she neared the end of the verse, she took Crutchie's hand, and a collective gasp rose from the room. Davey glanced back to see what all the commotion was about, and he fumbled a note out of surprise when he saw the reason. Embarrassed, he turned back to the piano. Cinnamon continued,

"Take my hand,

Take my whole life too,

For I can't help falling in love with you."

Crutchie's smile grew bigger as they shared a verse:

"Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes,

Some things are meant to be.

Take my hand,

Take my whole life too,

For I can't help falling in love with you.*"

The two harmonized on the last line of the song as they drew closer to each other. Cinnamon never noticed how Crutchie's smile was just the perfect amount of lopsided, and she had never noticed how soft his hand was on her cheek.

"For I can't help falling in love with you."

Their lips met as the song ended. They didn't care who was watching. All they cared about was each other.

Around the theater, people were going crazy. Jack's eyes grew as wide as wagon wheels, while Katherine smiled faintly, remembering her first kiss with Jack. Davey gaped. Les screamed, "OH MY GOD!" while Race stood up in his seat and screamed, "ATTA BOY!" Most of the Manhattan Newsies stared in surprise, while the rest of them cheered encouragingly.

As Crutchie and Cinnamon pulled deeper into the kiss, their arms wrapped around each other as if it were their only lifeline to each other, the other newsies chattered, confused. All they saw was a boy kissing another boy intensely onstage. Crutchie swept Cinnamon up and hugged her even closer to his chest.

And then Cinnamon's cap fell off, letting her hair (which she had, again, forgot to cut that afternoon) fall free around her neck.

Then entire theater went silent as the realization fell upon them. The realization that it wasn't a boy kissing another boy. It was a GIRL kissing a boy.

Some of them stood up, whooping, while the others just sat dumbfounded.

When the lovestruck newsies pulled apart, they held hands as they walked offstage to hoots and wolf whistles.

"Come on, Mona," Crutchie whispered, smiling. He gave Cinnamon a quick kiss on the forehead as he wrapped his arm around her. "Let's go to the Lodging house."

"My thoughts exactly," the girl newsie replied as they left as fast as they were able and headed towards the Lodging House, chatting excitedly.

But as they did so, they didn't notice two stocky shadows, one slightly taller than the other, in an alley with wicked smiles on their faces.

"Did you catch that, brother?" one snarled.

"Sure did, and I can't wait to get my newest pair of brass knuckles out for 'em," the other growled, his ever-growing smile growing more and more dangerous by the second. Their eyes glinted with evil plans as they watched the two unknowing newsies walked through the door of the Lodging House together.

The Delanceys were on their trail.

(*When the text is bold AND in italics, they're singing together.)