My cat is on my legs, and I cannot move.

Review Responses:

Hufflepufdraws: I can neither encourage nor prevent you from hurting Snipes' dad. YOU FEEL BAD FOR FINCH BECAUSE I FEEL BAD FOR HIM! Oh hell yeah, my boy got some character development up in here. (He was never pro-Smallsper before but he wants his bestie to be happy and the best way to do that is help her get a girlfriend, so yeah.) GO SNIPER GO! My apologies for ending the chapter like that. By the way, you get no resolution for that yet. Have fun!

citysfinallysleeping: If you were expecting Jackie-boy last time, you're in luck today! Hey now, what did that baguette ever do to deserve contact with Mr. Wah? SORRY MY BRAIN KNOWS PHYSICS THINGS IT AIN'T MY FAULT! Feelings do suck quite a lot, I agree. *virtually holds hand so you aren't lonely*That was very deep, excellent job.

That awkward moment when the last time the main character had a chapter was Chapter 42-

I have absolutely no idea how I neglected to write Jack's perspective for 18 chapters, but we move.

Chapter 60- Jack

Tuesday, September 21, 1999, 1:30 p.m.

Jack normally didn't let stuff get to him. If he was called names, told he was worthless and that no one wanted him, he usually took it. More often than not a little part of him had been saying those things anyway, so it didn't hit very hard when others said the same. But today... he couldn't exactly explain why hearing his friends saying all that had hit so hard. Well, no, he could explain. With Crutchie gone and anxiety about the strike, as well as waiting for when Medda would inevitably tell him to get lost, the dark cloud hanging over Jack was full to bursting. The internal downpour that came with it was nothing short of shitty, but he couldn't stop it.

The guys had said they didn't need him, that he was useless, that they never should have called him leader in the first place. That they were better off without him. And Smalls had given him the cold shoulder when he'd tried to reason with her, just before he'd headed back to the theater to hear the discussion. He had hovered in the wings listening, with nobody noticing him there- except Racer, when it was too late. And that had been the breaking point. Jack had run from the building and hadn't looked back.

He'd gotten lost in the city for a bit, not sure where to go. A part of him had ordered himself back to the Refuge, not because Crutchie was there to possibly make things better, but because that was the only place for him. After all, it was where kids were sent when they'd messed up too many times and nobody in the world wanted them around. Exactly where Jack belonged.

He never should've escaped. Snyder had always said he was a good-for-nothing vagrant, and he had been right. He had been so, so right.

However, the sense in Jack had told him not to go there, and since Duane Street didn't want him either, he'd headed back to his only option: Medda's penthouse. She'd given him a key, and as Medda was a busy woman, Jack expected her to be out.

But no. Not today, because the universe had decided to double the damage on random New York teenagers. No breaks for Jack Kelly.

He slipped into the apartment without drawing attention to himself, intending to go right to his room and just wallow in darkness, but his eyes immediately fell on the cluttered dining table. Medda had bought more new clothes and other basic things a seventeen-year-old boy would need, but that wasn't what caught Jack's attention. The dark blue sweatshirt he wore practically every day, stained with paint from years of wear and tear, was sitting neatly folded along with the new clothes. And sitting on top of that were an envelope and a sheet of paper that twisted Jack's stomach into knots. They were smoothed out, but had dozens of crumple marks all over them, and he didn't have to look closely to know what they were.

Though his mouth was going dry and a lump was strangling his throat, Jack managed to call out "Medda?" and she came immediately from one of the other rooms.

"I didn't expect you back so early," she said, as if nothing was wrong. "I was gonna grab lunch soon, you hungry?"

So this was how people acted after an invasion of privacy. "You went through my stuff."

Following his gaze towards the offending objects, Medda tried to play it off. "I was putting a load of laundry together and found 'em sticking out of your sweatshirt pocket, I didn't know what they were."

Past tense, as in, she knew what they were now. But this was Medda. She wouldn't- Jack had too much trust in her, he knew she wouldn't.

Would she?

"You didn't tell me you heard back from Santa Fe."

No. No no no.

"Must've been bad news."

"You read it?"

"No."

Liar.

"Jack, why didn't you tell me you weren't accepted?"

She'd read it. She knew. She'd seen everything the school had told him: how he wasn't adequate to study there and never would be, not in a year, or two years, or ever in the history of the world. He was nothing, and now Medda knew exactly how nothing he was, and now she-

No. No. This couldn't happen. Not now. Not today. Please no.

"It was none a' yer business."

"If you needed a letter of recommendation or something, I could've written one. I still could, actually, if you need it for when you apply again."

Back up. "Whaddaya mean, apply again?"

"Well, you aren't going to just give up, are you? You're not like that."

"Ya don't know what I'm like."

"Listen. You could take this last year, raise your grades, whatever needs to be done, and try to get in again. I'm happy to help if you need it."

After all the time, money, and effort it had taken to apply the first time? Uh-uh. "They don' want me, ya saw the letter."

"I told you I didn't read it."

"Then how do ya know they rejected me?"

"It's a thin letter, it's far too early, an' I haven't seen you jumpin' for joy anytime these last few days."

"Well maybe I was keepin' it to myself."

"I have no doubt you were."

"You got no proof they didn't want me unless you read-"

"Ya just said it yourself."

Goddammit. "Still-"

"I'm a teacher, Jack. I know how these things work. And as your teacher, I have to encourage you to try again."

So he could get his dream shut down again? "It doesn't matter. Ain't that big a deal."

Medda pressed her lips together. "If you say so."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"If you ever need to talk about anything, you know I'm here."

Sure. Sure, she could say that. But Jack knew she wouldn't be. Or maybe she would be, for a bit... until she wasn't. Medda would be there for him right until the moment Jack let her down, disappointed her so much that she wouldn't want him around. She liked him for his charm, his natural aptitude, the work he did in the school theater, and maybe for company once in a while, but that was it.

"I'm fine. Don' worry about me."

End of conversation. Jack started heading down the hallway.

"Stop," ordered Medda, and Jack turned. "We're not doing that again."

"Doin' what?"

"You, lying to me. Stop puttin' on that happy face because you think I can't handle whatever's going on with you."

What the hell? "'Scuse me?"

"I know how it feels to be rejected, Jack. God knows I've had my fair share of it. And I also know you've had a lot thrown at you recently with the strike and everything."

"I'm fine, I swear." He wasn't. "I don't care about Santa Fe no more." He still did, terribly. "An' the fellas an' I got the strike figured out, we know what we're doin'." They were falling apart faster than you could say Poughkeepsie. "Really Medda, I'm good." Jack did his best to make the statement sound so genuine she couldn't argue.

And for a moment, it seemed to work.

Until it didn't. "If it's going so great, what are you doing back here?"

"I forgot somethin'."

"Somethin' important enough ta drag you all the way back to Long Island Sound in the middle of the day?"

"What's it ta you?"

"Jack, tell me the truth, please."

"That is da truth."

"You an' I both know it isn't."

"Ain't none a' yer concern."

"That doesn't stop me from being concerned."

"Well if it troubles you that much ya can always go through my shit again!" He hadn't meant to yell, but he didn't regret it. Served her right for not trusting him.

"All I want is to help you, Jack."

"You can help by not gettin' involved!"

"Oh sure, and next thing I know you're in juvenile jail!"

Jack had never seen such worry on Medda's face, nor had he ever heard her raise her voice at him in anger. He didn't like it. No, that was an understatement. It made his skin crawl. "Who are you, my mother?"

"I might as well be, since I seem ta be the only person even trying to look out fer ya!"

"I don't need no one lookin' out fer me! I can take care a' myself!" His last shout hung there for a moment, wavering in the silence. Jack could feel the weight of it, an anvil above his head.

Then Medda said, "Fine," making Jack's words plunge to the floor with a horrifying clang. It was coming, any second now. "If you truly don't need to be looked after, the door's right there." He had to give her points for originality, as she hadn't explicitly kicked him out. "I've got some work ta get back to now, and if you want to leave, you're welcome to. If not, I'll see you later."

"No, you won't."

"Of course." She walked away.

Jack didn't know whether to stay or go. His stubbornness wanted to leave and prove Medda wrong, but that meant losing her. The little rationality he had knew staying meant proving Medda right, but keeping her in his life. Only it also meant having to stick with the strike, which Jack didn't want to do. But he couldn't tell her he'd quit. He couldn't admit how much of a failure he was. Except Medda would want him to do that if he stayed, and that wouldn't work either. If he didn't open up, she'd get upset, which would spoil everything anyway, so… That settled it. Better to duck out and distance himself now rather than later.

Mind made up, Jack made his way down the hall to Medda's office. The door was cracked open, so he pushed it in, the words "I'm leaving" on the tip of his tongue. He could at least congratulate himself for not leaving without saying goodbye.

Medda happened to be on the phone right then, and she held up one finger for Jack to wait as he entered. He did, tapping his foot impatiently. This was supposed to be easy.

"Yes, this is Medda Larkin," she told whoever she was speaking with. "I'm just calling to let Mr. Pulitzer know I'm running late to our meeting. He did say we could reschedule if something came up, and... something's come up." Silence as the other person spoke, then: "It's just I'm with my-" She got cut off. "Yes, I'm still planning on being there, just a bit later." Another pause. "Yes, I signed the contract. Thanks." Not sounding thrilled with the outcome of her call, Medda hung up, turning to Jack. "Let's hear it."

Well, all that mental debating had been a bust. No way he could go now. Not when there were meetings and contracts between Medda and Pulitzer. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing." Medda spun towards him in her desk chair, tight-lipped smile on her face. "None of your concern."

"But I am concerned." Whatever this was, Jack had to get it fixed before leaving for Santa Fe.

"Please don't be. There's no reason for it."

It wouldn't be right to leave Medda in her time of need. He was responsible for her now. "But-"

"Who are you, my son?"

Oh, this was very funny, what Medda was doing. Really freaking witty. She was trying to trap him, force him into saying stuff he didn't believe. Not on his watch. Waving away the feelings that comment had stirred up, Jack plowed on. "I wanna talk ta Pulitzer. Today. Wheneva' you have to."

"Jack, I told you not to worry, didn't I?"

Okay, forget it. He didn't need to know what was going on, only how to make it better. It was time to start bargaining. "If ya let me fix this fer you, I'll be honest with ya."

"This is my meeting."

"Please. It's the least I can do."

"Honey-"

"Then I swear I'll tell ya everythin' that's goin' on." With any luck she'd be so grateful after he helped her, the fact he'd even made this promise would be forgotten.

"I can't ask you to do this for me."

"But ya didn't ask. I wanna handle it." Jack looked at Medda, pleading with her, and she looked at him, with an expression that telegraphed the very firm 'no' she wasn't saying aloud. He tried a compromise. "At least let me go with you."

"I really don't think-"

"C'mon, please? I just want my favorite teacher ta keep 'er job!"

The whining felt embarrassing, like something Les would do, but it worked, quenching Medda's hesitation. "…I suppose you can put in a word or two for me."

"Great!" As he privately celebrated, a new idea sparked to life. "An' y'know what, I'll tell Dave I'm seein' Pulitzer, maybe we can make somethin' of it." Yes, this would be the perfect time for- Yes. He could do that. "So in an hour or two? Pulitzer's office?"

"As long as you wait here until we go."

She wanted him to stick around for another few hours. Jack could do that. Strictly for business reasons of course, nothing more.

"I'll be here, don't worry." Now Jack made for the bedroom he'd been staying in, already formulating what to say to Davey when he gave the heads up. He didn't want to face the rest of his friends, but he knew Dave would listen to him. He didn't know Jack well enough yet to think like the others did. All Davey wanted was to make Jack happy, just like Medda.

Jack's task now was not disappointing them.

Which wouldn't be hard, because it was all going to work out this time. The other newsies wouldn't be laughing anymore once they heard his new plan. And when she saw him in front of Pulitzer, Medda would feel foolish for thinking he wasn't alright. Jack was going to do this, prove everyone wrong, or he truly was nothing.

But no matter what, he wasn't going to let that get to him.

Aight, I'm tired as hell. Somebody else is gonna have to tell me if this chapter made any sense at all. I've read it over so many times I can no longer tell if it's any good.

So, leave a review if you please, and I'll bet you a virtual pastrami on rye with a sour pickle that I'll post again tomorrow. (Three cheers for Fall Break!)