Racetack Higgens was anything but stupid, but trouble sure knew how to follow him. He wasn't like Skittery— all gloom and pessimism— he always saw the bright side to everything. And in hindsight maybe that was his edge. Jack had always told him that every street kid needed an edge to make it. So trouble seemed to follow Race, but he was somehow always able to pick himself up again. He could fix any problem. He was street smart and savvy, a gambler through and through. But he was loyal and a damn good fighter. Not as great as Spot, mind you, but nobody was as good as Spot in a fight. Racetrack was a thrill seeker, that fact was no secret, since he spent most his free time either at the races placing bets or at a card table playing poker.

Racetrack had done selling for the day, a good headline putting a spring in his step as he made his way to Sheepshead in Brooklyn. The first time he'd gone to Sheepshead, he'd turned a few heads. Truth be told, an Italian boy (and boy did he look it) traipsing around the Irish quarter was a bit unorthodox, but Race was likeable. Always quick to flash a grin and tell a joke. He was clever and easy to like: two things that made his presence acceptable. Sheepshead was like a second home to him. He knew most of the jockeys, helped in the stables, and had gotten into plenty of fights over bets he'd both won and lost. That Saturday Racetrack felt lucky. He had a hot tip on Quick Silver and an extra five cents from selling a few more papers that morning. Racetrack smiled as he approached the entrance, so excited to watch and place his bet, that he didn't notice a foot stretched out across his path.

"Jesus!" He stumbled and caught himself. He was about to tell whoever's foot he'd tripped over to watch it when he looked down.

A girl, not more than a year or so younger than him, stared up at him as she hugged her legs against her chest. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled wide-eyed.

"S'okay," Race turned to face her. "Don't worry 'bout it."

The girl slumped against the wall and put her head onto her knees. She looked warn, cold, and pale. But her dress — Racetrack noticed right away— didn't match her current state. She'd clearly been on the streets for a while, but her dress didn't look like the ones the girls from orphanages wore. It wasn't finery either. It just wasn't the kind of a dress a girl from the street of New York would wear. She had a blue ribbon in her hair.

"You's alright?" Race came down to her level and crouched onto his knees. "You's got a place to stay for tonight?"

She pressed herself against the wall in the vain hope that it would swallow her whole.

"I'll be fine," she said, her voice dry with fatigue and dehydration. It was firm none-the-less.

"You's ain't lookin' too fine," said Race delicately.

"I just had a moment. I'll be—"

"Fine," Race finished. "Yeah, so you's keep sayin'."

"If you would have let me finish," the girl raised her head slightly. Shocking blues looked up at him and Racetrack shifted his weight nervously. "I was going to say I'll be leaving now."

"You's ain't in no shape to be goin' anywhere in Brooklyn. Besides, it'll be dark soon."

"And?" The girl tried to get up by using the wall for support.

Race saw her legs shake, even with her skirts covering the most of them, and put his arm out so she could support herself on him. She was thin (too thin, Race noticed by the way her dress wasn't fitting her anymore) and too cold.

"And you's a goil alone in Brooklyn. Brooklyn ain't no place for a goil like you's, sweetheart. Especially not after hours."

"I've managed before."

"That don't make it right," said Race. "Look, ya don't need to say yes or no until you's see the place, but at least let me take ya to where I's stay okay?"

The girl stared up at Racetrack. She hadn't eaten in days, she had almost frozen to death the night before, and she was running out of options. "I don't have any money.'

"No problem," said Race. "Klopmann's a good guy. I'll talk to 'em and tell 'em you need a place for the night."

"He wouldn't mind?"

"A nice goil like you's?" Race grinned. "Ya gotta be kidden' me."

"I could be a criminal," the girl took in a sharp breath as Race helped her to her feet.

"With a lace trim collar. Seems 'bout right. You's got a name, sweetheart?"

The girl tried not to hold onto Race as they walked. "Hannah."

"Easy there," Race caught her as she lost her footing. "I'm Racetrack."

"That's your name?"

"Round here it is," said Race. "I'm from Manhattan. That where we's goin'."

"But you wanted to go to the races."

"I go all the time," Race examined Hannah's pale face. "Plus you's need ta lie down."

"I'm fine."

"You's keep sayin' that, but I's jus' don' believe ya."

They walked, Hannah begrudgingly allowing Race to support her more fully.

"What's so dangerous about Brooklyn?" She asked. She knew that even her question gave her away as being pathetically naive. She quickly collected herself. "Who says I can't take care of myself?"

Racetrack snickered at her determination. She was stubborn, he'd give her that. "Plenty of things, sweetheart. An' as much as I don't doubt you's can look out for ya self—" he pulled her to his side when he noticed a man eye her up and down. "There's lookin' out for ya self an' then there's not knowin' no better. I'm sure you's smart, probably even went to school I bet, but you's don't know the foist thing about New York…especially this part of Brooklyn."

Hannah swallowed hard, feeling Racetrack's arm tighten around her shoulders. "I can walk without your rigorous assistance."

"I's doin' it for ya own good. So they's that passin' by think you's with me."

"What?"

Race cast a sharp glance at a boy passing by. The sun was starting to set.

"We's betta hurry up. Can you's walk alright still?"

"Yes," Hannah answered firmly.

"We's need ta get ya to Manhattan before dark."

"I can manage."

Racetrack gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You's a strong one, sweetheart."

"My name is Hannah."

"Nobody goes by there real names 'round here," said Race. He weaved them through the crowds of people, pulling her against himself when the wrong pair of eyes looked her way. "Everybody's got their sad story 'round here. Cowboy, he's our leader, he made sure we all have nicknames. Made sure our real names got forgotten. That way nobody can trace us. If nobody knows where ya came from, ain't nobody gonna come following ya."

Hannah nodded her head weakly. "Hence Racetrack."

"Somethin' like that."

"I'm sorry you missed your race," said Hannah.

"Think nothin' of it, Sweetheart," said Race. He flashed her a small grin.

"I suppose that's your name for me, then?"

"What… sweetheart?" Race chuckled. "If ya want it to be."

Hannah shrugged. "You seem to like it well enough."

"It suits ya."

"Oh," Hannah flushed.

They walked in relative silence, Racetrack watching for unsavoury characters and looking down at Hannah every once in a while when he felt her step falter. She was determined, but she was fading fast. He'd promised her a place to stay, but it had been gamble. And though he craved the high of a good bet, he didn't like the fact that he had taken a gamble on Hannah's safety. He knew the lodging house was safe. It had been safe for him for eight years. The thing he hadn't considered was the fact that Hannah was a girl. He didn't know if Klopmann would take too kindly to him bringing a girl to the lodging house. He was prepared to beg, though, because Hannah really didn't have many options. It took one last look at her calico dress for his spitfire determination to kick in. He'd get her in the lodging house, at least for one night, come hell or high water.

"This is it," He stopped in front of the familiar building. "It ain't much, but it's home."

"You live here?" Hannah followed Race inside cautiously.

"Me an' about twenty other fellas."

"Twenty?"

"It's for newsies, Sweetheart. Manhattan newsies lodging house," said Racetrack. Thankfully the boys were all settled upstairs. Nobody went out much on a weekday.

"So you—"

"Sell newspapers," Race finished. "Have since I's seven."

Hannah nodded at this. She had so many questions, but it was taking most of her energy to stay standing. She felt Race guide her over to a desk.

"Racetrack I—" Hannah closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. "I don't want to be an imposition."

"You's ain't no such thing," said Race. He rang a bell and looked around the corner until a elderly man appeared.

"What you got there, Race?" The man looked down at the pair with a raised eyebrow.

"This here's Sweetheart," Race smiled down at Hannah. "She needs a place to stay."

"You know I can't take girls, Race."

"I's know Klopmann, I's just thought, what with her havin' no place to go an—"

"No!" Hannah looked up quickly. "I won't have you bending rules for—"

"You's not going back out there," Race met her fierce gaze.

Kloppman muttered something under this breath and checked over a page in a large brown book. "She can't sell."

"I's know that," said Race.

"I can cook," Hannah said quietly.

"Can you clean?" Kloppman asked, avoiding Racetrack's increasing grin.

"Yes sir," said Hannah. "And mend and sow and bake."

"I won't be able to pay you much, but it'll be enough to tide you over."

"So she can stay?" Racetrack's eyes widened with hope.

Kloppman considered the boys' question for a beat. "I'll move a spare bunk to the storage room. It won't be pretty, but it's better than nothing."

"I'll work and do whatever you need me to do, sir, I…" Hannah closed her eyes again, a faint dizzy spell taking her by surprise.

"Easy there," Race looked up at Klopmann. "She needs to lie down."

"I'll ask one of the boys to help."

"Cowboy," said Race firmly. "Get Cowboy."

Klopmann nodded and left.

"Racetrack, I…"

"Shhh," Race put a careful hand to her forehead. Hannah jumped at the contact. "S'alright," Race used his thumb to stroke her temple in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "I's just checking ta see ya ain't burnin' up."

Thankfully, she wasn't, and when Jack and Klopmann came down the stairs again, Race breathed a sigh of relief. He helped Hannah follow behind the two carrying the spare bunk and nodded his thanks.

"You's okay?" Jack watched Racetrack help Hannah sit on the bed.

"I'm fine," Hannah blinked up at them.

Race's lip twitched in amusement. "That ain't the foist time I's hearin' that."

"You's need anythin'?" Jack glanced over at Race and then back down at Hannah. "Some water or somethin' from Tibby's?"

"I'm—"
"Bring her some soup," Race didn't let Hannah finish. He handed Jack his extra five cents. "And a ham sandwich and a danish."

"Where did you's…?"

"Had a good day sellin' today," Race answered Jack with confidence.

"I can't take your money," Hannah's eyes widened.

Race sat down on the bunk next to her. "Think nothin' of it, sweetheart. Who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll get another hot tip an' make three times that."

"I'll pay you back in full," said Hannah.

Jack looked down at the pair as Kloppman wrote in his book. "You's got a name, kid?"

Hannah swallowed thickly. "It's Ha— it's Sweetheart," she looked down at her hand-me-down boots.

Race grinned. "You's gonna like it jus' fine here."

"Thank you both," Hannah fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve. "You didn't have to do any of this."

"Ain't no problem," said Jack. "I's gonna run off an' get ya soup. I'll be back in two shakes."

"Thanks Cowboy," said Race. He watched Jack leave before looking over at Hannah again. "Okay, jus' me now. You sure you's feelin' alright?"

Hannah closed her eyes again. "It's just…" she tried to find the right words. "The world is spinning so fast and I feel dizzy sometimes… I'm so sorry, Racetrack. You hardly need my burdens."

"When's the last time ya ate somethin'?"

"I was trying to apologize."

"An' I's askin' you's a question."

Hannah felt like hiding. "I don't…I don't…"

"Remember?" Race finished for her. He sighed deeply. He knew the tole true hunger took.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop sayin' that," said Race. "You's don't need to apologize for nothin'."

"It's just," Hannah paused. "You have a life here. I have done nothing but intrude on it."

Race tried to read her expression; guilt mixed with fatigue. "You's done no so thing. I's been doin' the same thing for years. You's the most interestin' thing that's happened ta me in a long while. Besides," he smiled at her. "I's always lookin' for a little adventure."

Hannah found herself smiling back. "You were born here, then? In New York?"

"Yeah," Race helped her lie back so she could prop herself up against the pillows. He stayed sitting on the edge of the cot. "I's only ever seen New York. Grew up right here in the lodging house, jus' like all the other boys. You's not from here, are ya?"

"No," Hannah folded her hands over her lap and looked down at them. "My Ma and Pa owned farm land in Wisconsin."

"Wisconsin?" Race could't help but stare at the girl. "You's come all the way from Wisconsin? Why'd ya take off?"

"I…" Hannah took in a shuddering breath. Race mentally slapped himself. He really needed to learn to think before he spoke. He knew better than to ask someone why they ran away. Jack had always told them to leave people's past in the past. Asking where someone came from was one thing, but asking why they left was not okay.

"You's don't have ta answer that," Race tried to make eye contact with Hannah. "Whatever happened to ya is no business of mine."

Hannah nodded and exhaled slowly. "We can trade."

"Huh?"

"A truth for a truth. I tell you one true thing and then you have to tell me one true thing."

Race considered her offer. It was a fair trade. "Sure, I'm all in."

"So you want to know why I left?"

"If you's okay with tellin' me," said Race.

"It's alright," said Hannah. She closed her blue eyes again, as if collecting herself, and then opened them to meet Racetrack's hazel ones. "My Ma and Pa… they were having trouble making ends meet. We had a hard winter and then a drought the next summer… Ma had to sell her good dress and the only two pieces of jewelry she owned. There were seven of us. I knew I was a burden, always sickly and too small to work in the fields, so I decided to go. I saw an advertisement in the town's store catalogue for factory workers in New York. I told my older sister Sarah of my plans to leave and help save the farm. I knew I could find factory work in the city, so I cut out the advertisement, told Sarah where I was planning to go, and left in a freight train." Hannah stopped for a moment, unsure of how to continue. "I haven't been able to send them anything. Not a penny."

"Jesus, Sweetheart," Race put a comforting hand over Hannah's. She looked up at him in shock. "Sorry," he pulled his hand back.

"No, no, it's alright," Hannah reached for his hand. "I'm just not used to it, is all."

"Not used to it?"

"I wasn't allowed to befriend boys."

"Ah," Race nodded. "Your folks real strict then, huh? Go to church every Sunday?"

Hannah shrugged. "Somethin' like that," she imitated Racetrack's New York accent.

He grinned. "You's learin' real quick, Sweetheart."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Race forced a quick smile.

"How did you become a newsboy?"

"Oh," Race chuckled. That wasn't as bad as he feared. "Well… I's ran away from home when I's about seven. Tried pickpocketing for a while an' that's how Jack— we call him Cowboy— that's how he found me. Tryin' ta steal some rich fella's wallet. Cowboy took me back to the lodging house an' showed me the ropes. I's been sellin' papes since."

Hannah knew there was more to Racetrack's story, but a faint knock on the storage room door kept her from asking more questions.

"That'll be Cowboy with ya soup," said Race. "Want me to go or…?"

"No," Hannah held his hand tighter as he made to get up. "Can you stay?"

Race sat back down. "Course I can."

"If you want to. If you want to join your friends, I understand."

"I's stayin' right here," said Race. "An' it's 'cause I's want to."