It's time! The moment you've all been waiting for! But first...

Review Responses:

JustVildaPotter: I'm glad you're this excited for every chapter! It makes me happy. Yes, one of the greatest lines ever! (I'm talking, of course, of Henry's "Yeah, what of it?" Such a great line. I don't know which one you'd be referring to otherwise...) SUDDENLY, I'M RESPECTABLE, STARIN' RIGHT ATCHA, LOUSY WIT STATURE! All in good time for the Smallsper, don't worry. Sniper and Finch need to give each other some hugs, that's what I say.

Dylan Quagmir: Welcome to the party! I'm looking forward to that review as you get to reading this!

AndrewKeenanBolgerFan: Yes yes yes, KONY time! And thank you very much, hearing that means a lot.

Okay, making this official now: Race wins for longest chapter. This one's almost 4,000 words. No one can beat him, he's the King of New York.

Enjoy!

Chapter 46- Race

Sunday, September 19, 1999, 10:20 a.m.

Henry was standing on top of a table, staring down at Race like he had four heads but still only two eyes. This Race did not appreciate. He also didn't appreciate the younger boy's question of "Yeah, what of it?" in response to his declaration of fame.

"Well, are ya stupid or what?" Race questioned, lowering the newspaper he had been displaying to his newsie audience. He rolled the paper into a column so he could wave it around as he spoke. "When yer famous, the woild is ya erster."

Despite that being a common saying, no one seemed to understand Race's phrase. Henry asked, "Ya what?" as he continued to look down at the other boy.

"Ya erster," Race repeated, a bit more slowly this time, hoping that would help his friends to understand.

"What?"

"Ya erster."

"What're ya sayin'?" wondered Albert, glancing at the rest of the group, every member of which shared his befuddled expression.

For the third time, Race clarified, "Ya erster."

"What the fu-" Davey coughed in the middle of Albert's question, and the redhead quickly censored himself- "hell is an erster?"

"Ya fancy clam wit da poil inside!"

At Race's exasperated cry, Henry pressed his palms together, raised his hands, fingertips up, to his face as if he were praying for something, then brought his clasped hands down through the air sharply so his fingertips pointed at Race. "Oyster."

"Ain't that what I said?"

"No, you said 'erster'. It's oyster. As in, the world is your oyster."

"Yeah, erster. Da woild is ya erster."

"Sound it out with me: Oy-"

"Oy..." Race copied Henry. Was there a way, he wondered, to make a person look more foolish than he currently felt?

"-ster."

"-ster."

"Oyster."

"Erster."

"Oh, forget it!" Henry dropped his hands to his sides. "Yer hopeless."

"I'm famous."

"Yeah, yeah, we heard. What's the big deal?"

"Don'tcha know what happens when you's famous?"

"What happens is... the world is your oyster?" Henry was as skeptical as ever. "What does that even mean?"

"Do I hafta spell it out fer ya? If yer famous, then yer rich, an' when yer rich..."

"You have a lot a' money?"

"Ya don't need money when yer famous, they gives you whateva' ya want, gratis!"

"Such as?"

Race stopped. "Such as whateva' ya want, ya stinkin' idiot."

"But there's gotta be limits of some kind, right?" Davey queried in a matter-of-fact way. "So you mean, whatever someone wants... within reason."

"I mean anythin' money can buy. When yer rich an' famous, ya can have whateva' the hell ya want!"

"Like what, exactly?"

"Literally anythin'! Like... like, I dunno..." Race quickly scanned his companions, trying to grasp something, any sort of idea for what he could buy now that he was filthy rich. His eyes fell on Specs' feet, which were stretched out as far as they could go while he sat in one of the many chairs. One of the boy's shoes had a gaping hole in the sole. Bingo. "Like new shoes," Race declared, gesturing to Specs. "Best quality ya can think of. An' with laces that actually match," he added after a look at his own mismatched shoelaces.

"You've just proved my point, then," remarked Davey. "You're sayin' we can buy anything within reason."

"No, that ain't what I'm sayin'," Race rejected the statement. "Shoes're just a beginnin'. Me, bein' rich an' famous, I'mma buy myself a permanent box at da races."

Henry smirked. "So yer gonna waste all yer money gamblin'?"

Climbing up onto the table so he could surpass Henry in height, Race shot back, "If yer so smart, mister smarty-pants, why don'tcha tell me what you would buy wit unlimited dough?"

"Oh, that's easy." Henry looked dreamily into the distance. "Pastrami on rye, wit a sour pickle."

"Uh... you're kiddin', right?"

"'Scuse me?"

"Tha's whatcha want? A sandwich?"

"Yeah."

"A regular old sandwich that you could buy right now?" Race, frankly, thought Henry had lost his mind. After all, they were in a diner.

Henry seemed to realize this too. "Ya underestimate me, Race. It ain't jus' a sandwich I want. I'm famous, I'm buyin' a whole deli!"

So he was sane. "Now yer talkin'." Race hopped down from the table. "Finchy, what about you?"

"Aw man, don' ask me that," Finch complained, an edge of whine to his voice. "I ain't got a clue what's goin' on here."

"Jus' say what you'd buy if ya could buy anythin'."

"There ain't nothin' I want."

"C'mon, whateva' pops inta yer head!"

"Whateva' pops into my..." Finch's fingers flew up to the bandages on his cheek. "So... so say I wanted, um, my face on a wooden nickel? I could have that?"

"Yeah, I guess so..."

Sniper raised her eyebrows. "Why the hell wouldja want that?"

"I dunno, I jus' thought of it."

"What purpose does havin' yer face on a wooden nickel serve?"

"Snipes, I don't know! Tha's what I came up with, so I'm goin' with it."

"Okay, geez."

"Face, wooden nickel? That's yer final answer?" Race had to confirm, "Are ya sure?"

"Yes," replied Finch. "That's what I'm askin' for."

"Finchy, be serious," said Albert, coming over to the trio. "Surely, there's somethin' real ya want, 'specially if yer rich enough ta buy anythin'."

"Jus' that, then. Ta be rich an' get outta here."

He and Sniper exchanged tiny smiles, before she proclaimed, "I second that."

"You're next, Al," ordered Race.

"Alright... I'm joinin' Finchy an' Snipes on da road trip ta whereva'-"

"Ya weren't invited," Finch cut in.

Albert told him to shut up. "Anyway, then I'm takin' all my money an' blowin' it all on Vegas."

"What a solid life plan you have," was Sniper's sarcastic addition.

Albert told her to shut up as well.

While the other three continued to tease each other, Race hung off to the side, not knowing what to say next. He couldn't help but notice that all three of them wanted to get away from New York City. Just like Jack. And that of course brought up the fact that Jack was still missing. Race had tried repeatedly to get ahold of him, but his efforts had gleaned no rewards. He'd spent the morning trying not to panic internally, wobbling on the balance between worrying and not worrying. His only worthwhile distraction had been the headline, and the prospects of fame that came with it. But now, even focusing on being rich wasn't working.

"Race?" Albert snapped his fingers to get his friend's attention. "You there?"

"What?" Race ceased staring into space, realizing he'd stopped following the conversation minutes before. "Sorry, were ya askin' me somethin'?"

"I was, but... neva' mind. What were ya thinkin' about?"

"Well, I was gonna say that while you three run off ta Santa Fe or-" Race forced a smile- "god knows where else, I'll be stayin' here, rulin' Manhattan."

"Tha's right," Albert remembered, "you's King a' New York now."

"Hell yeah I am!" Race jumped up onto a chair, spreading his arms wide. "Ain't I pretty?"

"The prettiest," teased Sniper.

"Put a sock in it."

Finch told him, "Hey, don't tell 'er what ta do."

"You shut up too, Finchy. This is my city now."

"Yeah, okay."

Albert leaped up next to Race. "Ya laugh now, but when Racer here rules this town, you'll be sorry."

"But Snipes an' I are gettin' outta here. We ain't gonna be here ta see da city go down in flames."

Lowering his arms, Race said, "Whaddaya mean by that?"

Sniper reasoned, "If you're at the wheel, then the world's endin', an' we're headin' fer the bunkers."

"Oh." That felt like a punch in the gut.

Albert ruffled his best friend's hair. "Ya ain't exactly a leader, Race."

"Right," laughing forcefully, Race stepped down. "'Course." He dashed over to the other side of the room, coming to a stop at the table Henry was now sitting on top of with his legs hanging over the edge. "Jojo!" Race addressed the person seated beside Henry. "What d'you want, seein' as you's rich an' famous now?"

Jojo grinned. "A solid gold watch. One a' those fancy pocket watch types, the things that flip open where the clock part is, an' come on a chain so's ya can twirl it around."

"Tha's certainly betta' than Henry's sandwich," Buttons joked.

"You be quiet, lice shampoo."

Race gave Buttons a look, worried for his sanity. "That's yer wish?"

"Yes," said Buttons, unashamedly. "A lifetime supply of lice shampoo. I need it." As if to add evidence to his point, he scratched the thin layer of hair that was now growing back on top of his head.

Race scooted away, turning to the other people at the table. "Anyone got somethin' more excitin' than shampoo?"

Awkwardly, Tommy Boy leaned away from his dog, which he had been petting. "So dog shampoo's out, then?"

That, Race decided, did not even warrant a response. Les was next to voice his wish, without being prompted. "I want a new apartment, so's I can have my own room, an' a bathroom I don't gotta share!"

"Yes, please," Davey gave Sarah a pointed look. "More than one bathroom would be a dream come true."

"Try sharin' wit five a' these guys," said Specs, making Davey shudder.

Four guys, Race corrected silently. There came those thoughts again. Crutchie was missing too, and no one had any clue where he was. Maybe with Jack, but that would mean they were both-

"Mush, how 'bout you?" He inquired of the boy sitting on Blink's lap.

"You're gonna judge me," Mush answered. "It's a real boring wish."

"Jus' say it anyway." While giving this instruction, Race fished around in his jeans pocket, fingers searching frantically for his box of cigarettes.

"I wanna haircut."

"Tha's great..." It wasn't, but Race was too busy trying to find his cigarettes to care. The box wasn't in any of his pants pockets, not in the pockets of his jacket either. Had he left them over on the counter earlier?

"If ya want a haircut, then go get a haircut," Blink instructed his boyfriend.

Mush turned his head to the side so he could make eye contact despite the unconventional way he was sitting. "But I need money."

"Oh, right."

"My father's got a barber," Katherine put in. "Maybe you could see him."

"Ooh, do we get perks now?" Blink asked her, "Do we got ourselves an inside wit da fancy people?"

"Yes," Sarah smiled in admiration at the student teacher. "An' you owe it all to Katherine."

"Here's hoping this article pays off," Katherine agreed.

"Yeah, Race-" Race had been walking towards the counter in search of his cigarettes, but was pulled back by the sound of Davey calling his name- "if anyone's King a' New York-"

Sarah corrected, "Queen of New York."

"Yeah!" Springing up onto another table, Race shouted, "Da nerdy lil' punks're right! Kath's da King a' New York!"

Katherine looked sheepish. "Who'd a' thunk? I'm the Queen of New York!"

"Darn right," said Jojo, "We'd be sunk withoutcha."

"Pitiful," Henry added.

"Pulitzer was drownin' us, then you came along an' fished us out," praised Buttons.

"Thank you," Davey told Katherine. The others at the table echoed him with more or less the same phrase.

"You're welcome," she waved away the barrage of compliments. "You bunch a' wet noodles."

"Pulitzer's poodles!" cried Les. When everyone gave him concerned looks, he shrugged. "I just wanted ta rhyme."

"I got one a' yer poodles right here," Tommy Boy said, scratching his dog behind the ears.

"Kath, we should have a celebration or somethin'," Race suggested, twirling a curl of his hair around his finger. "Y'know, since we's all rich an' famous now."

"You're absolutely right," she decided, rising from her chair. "We should celebrate... I know, let's go get drunk!"

In unison with Albert, Race bounced a foot in the air. Nearby, one of the twins jumped onto his brother's back. "Yeah!" The four excitable boys yelled, beaming at the prospect of alcohol.

Stunned by this reaction, Katherine literally stepped back. "Hold on, how old are you?"

"Legally adults," Ike announced.

"Old enough," insisted Mike.

Sarah raised her pointer finger. "Katherine, aren't you only nineteen?"

The student teacher frowned, mumbling, "Twenty in a few months..."

Race's face fell as he prompted, "So when ya said, 'let's get drunk'..."

She sighed. "I meant not with liquor, of course I did." But her face expressed disappointment even as she said this. "But fame works quicker when you're famous, as far as intoxication goes."

"Yeah."

"You don't need a drinking problem anyway, Race."

Davey nodded. "Jack certainly wouldn't like it."

He wouldn't. Race knew Jack would lose his mind if someone allowed his friend to get drunk. But Jack clearly wasn't concerned with the younger boy's decisions at the moment, seeing as he hadn't been in contact. To stifle the lump that was steadily forming in his throat, Race made his way to the counter. Next to the cash register, to his relief, was his cigarette box. As he selected one that looked as if it hadn't yet been completely destroyed by him fidgeting with it, other conversations broke out among his companions. They all went on as if nothing had happened, like no one had mentioned Jack, still high on fame as they all were. Race, however, was steadily finding that he was thrilled about the headline on the outside, but on the inside he felt dead. As numb as if this were a dream, because this reality that his face was in the pape, that the newsies had actually accomplished something, was too good to be true.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Race started, whipping his head in the direction of Albert. "You good?" The redhead asked, a touch of concern to his smile.

"Fine!" Race flipped the cigarette over with the fingertips of one hand, rapidly repeating the motion multiple times in succession as he always did. "I'm King a' New York!"

"I know, it's just, ya looked..."

"I'm fine, really! How could I not be? I mean," Race reached across the counter to snatch up the newspaper, "look at this pape! Tomorrow, people might be usin' it ta wrap fish an' whatnot, but today-" he hopped on top of yet another table- "today, we's stars, Al."

"That's fer sure."

"Manhattan Newsies!" Race led the cheer, magnifying the sound by way of the rolled up paper.

"Carrying the Banner!" Everybody cheered in response.

In the second of stillness that followed, a different voice demanded, "Why is ev'ryone so happy?" Race's eyes found Smalls, who had just entered the restaurant. Trailing behind her was Katherine's reporter friend, Brenton or whatever his name was.

"Smalls!" Sniper rushed over to her friend. Her expression was one of joy, not worry, as she asked her next question. "Where were you?"

"It don't matter where I was," Smalls shoved Sniper out of her way, heading straight for Race. "Don't you guys know what's goin' on? Strike news is blacked out, an' youse're cheerin' an' laughin' like it's nothin' ta worry about."

"It is nothin' ta worry about," Race replied as his torrent of internal worries came flooding back. To avoid focusing on them too hard, he began to chew on his cigarette.

"It's only a little roadblock, Smalls," said Sniper, edging her way into the other girl's line of sight. "We're gonna be fine."

"Are ya kiddin' me right now, Sniper?" Smalls spat, "We're powerless without the press. Powerless, ya hear?"

Sarah cut in, "Yes, Katherine's been blacklisted, but we still have Denton. No one can stop them from working together."

"Well..." Denton, the reporter guy, stuffed his hands in his pockets as he sighed, "that's the thing. As Annie here already knows-" by Annie, he was referring to Smalls- "my boss was not particularly pleased... scratch that, Pulitzer wasn't pleased with my boss for allowing me to consort with his daughter. If I work with her again, I'll lose my job."

"Ugh!" was the sound Katherine made. She stomped her foot into the ground as if she were a toddler that wasn't getting her way. "If I wasn't his daughter, we wouldn't be having this problem!"

"Are ya sure they'll fire you?" Race interrogated Denton, "'Cause if ya could risk workin' wit us, just once more-"

"Race," snapped Smalls, "don't be ridiculous."

"I was just thinkin', that maybe-"

"No offense," said Denton, "but I'm not going to do that. This is where my work with you kids ends. Except for you."

He turned to Katherine, who asked, "Huh?"

"The editor of The Sun chose to let your article run despite Pulitzer's orders, purely because he recognized the talent you possess. He'd like to offer you a job. You'll need a new byline, of course, but that's easily done."

Race could see Katherine struggling to process this. Her mouth opened and closed several times like that of a mechanical doll before she choked out, "Wh- what exactly is the position?"

"At first it'll be nothing more than wheezing your way through the flower show, because... rules. So it won't be the same as covering this strike, but I'm sure that eventually-"

"'Eventually' could be any number of days from now," Katherine interrupted. "I'm sorry, Mr. Denton, but I cannot settle for an eventual prospect."

"Katherine," started Sarah.

"No. I won't do it. My students need me more than The Sun does."

Denton nodded. "The editor thought you might say that. He'll give you a few days to consider."

"I don't need time to consider. I'm turning down the job, plain and simple."

"You aren't thinking about the the future right now. That's understandable, your lack of rationality."

"Don't try to tell me I'm not being rational! I've made my choice."

"If we don't hear from you by the end of the week, we'll know you're serious about this decision."

"I..." Katherine's gaze circled the room, finally coming to rest on the floor. "Fine." She looked back up, locking eyes with Denton. "But you won't be hearing from me."

"I don't doubt it. It's been a pleasure working with you, Miss Plumber. And the rest of you-" Denton's eyes happened to land on Race- "I wish you luck." With that, the reporter took his leave. He had to make way for the sudden arrival of a tall, dark-haired boy in a bright red shirt before exiting properly.

After Denton had disappeared, this new kid sought out Race with the simple action of pointing at him and declaring, "You!"

"Me?" Race stared at the new arrival, bewildered.

"I got a message fer ya from Spot Conlon."

"Um..."

"An' here it is: He says you's an idiot." Like Race hadn't heard that phrase before. Even so, his stomach was churning at the idea that Spot thought of him in that way. "He also told me ta tell ya to neva' scare 'im like that again." Now, that was something new. Only Jack had ever said anything along similar lines, and with him those instances were few and far between. Spot's messenger continued, "An' I'mma add on, 'cause I feel like it: ya look like a goddamn raccoon, Racetrack. Don't be so reckless." The boy flashed him a grin.

It was funny, how much that sounded like Jack talking. Really freaking hilarious. Race managed to speak enough to get out the words, "Great, thanks," before he stormed out of Jacobi's.

He rounded the corner, pressed his back against the wall, and squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenched at his sides. The King of New York's reign was coming to an end faster than the words "suddenly respectable, lousy with stature" could be used to verbally describe such a ruler. Race's celebration had been a bust, and everyone thought he was the biggest idiot on the face of the earth. This wasn't to say Race didn't know they were right, but it still hurt like hell, being constantly insulted and underestimated. He was sick of it. So, so sick of people saying that there was nothing he was fit for, aside from comic relief. But he was also so, so lonely, and if acting dumb was what it took for people to like him, then he would have to continue doing that. Although, it didn't much matter. There were so many things he wished for, but couldn't seem to get, despite all his efforts. He wanted Jack to be alright, and he wanted a family, and he wanted Spot to actually care he was alive, to show up and yell at Race himself instead of sending one of his friends to do so on his behalf. It was a god-awful feeling, this crippling isolation that had been building inside Race over the past week. Spot had been one of the few he'd let down his walls for, and the way that had turned out... Race wasn't sure what he thought. All he knew was that there were tears flooding his eyes and an imaginary golf ball constricting his throat. He hated both of these feelings equally. The only thing emotions were good for was furthering the belief that he was weak, useless.

"Racer!" Albert's voice, trying to locate his friend, rang out from around the corner.

Quickly, Race rubbed his eyes dry. He couldn't let anyone, particularly his best friend, see that he was falling apart. Couldn't make himself any more of a fool than he already-

"Aha!" Too late. Albert had found him, and Race knew he didn't look alright, so there was no use in trying to lie. The redhead studied him for a moment before saying, "I knew ya weren't fine."

Race croaked, "Now is not da time ta say 'I toldja so'."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Albert threw an arm around the other boy. Race laid his head on his best friend's shoulder, all manner of attempts to conceal his breakdown fading away. "Ya need me ta soak that guy fer ya?"

As a reply, Race muttered into Albert's shoulder, "He's right about me bein' an idiot. Even Jack'd agree, if he was 'ere."

To that, Albert reprimanded, "Don't talk like that. You's King a' New York, rememba'?" He pushed Race's head up from his shoulder. "Hey, look at me." Race did, and Albert placed one hand on either side of his friend's face. "Everything's gonna be alright, you got that? We'll find Jack, an' this'll all get back ta normal."

"You don't know that."

"C'mon. I do occasionally say smart stuff."

Race laughed, batting Albert's hands away. "Sure ya do."

"Don' worry 'bout all that otha' shit right now, okay? An' I know sayin' 'don't worry' just makes ya worry more, so don't do that eitha'. Jus' think about... how the Delanceys are gonna react when dey see we made da front page."

Trying to picture it, Race found Albert was right. Imagining Oscar and Morris with their mouths hanging open did make him feel a bit better. "Bet they'll wet themselves, they's gonna be so shocked."

"Tha's right," Albert thumped Race on the back. "An' hey, 'bout what that kid said..." he hesitated, then went on. "There's always gonna be people callin' us idiots. Ya can't let 'em get ta ya."

"Easy fer you ta say."

"You don't let people push ya around no more, alright? Ya let me know who I need ta soak, an' I'll do it."

"Yeah, alright." Race smiled.

"Good. 'Cause you's one high-falutin' son of a gun, an' only I get ta call ya an idiot."

"Thanks."

Albert grinned, returning his arm to Race's shoulder. "Now, whaddaya say we get back inside? Mouth's sister's takin' pictures of da celebration."

"What're we celebratin' now? I thought everyone moved on from da headline."

"They did. But ain't I toldja the new good news?"

"No."

"Put it this way: yer gonna be seein' a lot more a' Spot Conlon."

"Okay... an'... what does that mean?"

"Racer."

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

"Racer, we got Brooklyn."

Brooklyn, baby! Things are falling into place!

So there's that. The official KONY chapter! I hope you enjoyed, and if you'd review to tell me just how much you did enjoy (or any other questions, comments, etc.) that would be much appreciated.

P.S. I made a fanfiction-related Instagram account! (Which I think most of you know about already, but anyway, it's vw_the_obsessed if you don't already know.)

See y'all next time!