Hey hey hey, I could've updated sooner, but wanted to keep to my usual Sunday post.
Review Responses:
Huffelpufdraws: That poor cliff's had a lotta people thrown off it lately... YEAH PRETTY SARAH AND TOMARAH! Woo, you like the twins more! ...I could still care less about them... Tommy Boy is more important. I'm glad you thought it was beautiful, and I hath returned from the dead to give you more!
Dylan Quagmir: New record! Gee, I wonder who that could be... Silly Tommy Boy, no one's allowed to be straight here. (Kidding.) GO CONSUME WATT DYLAN I CAN PROVIDE LINKS! Tomarah fans, assemble! Hopefully you will see this, and it means In will have already pestered you.
emz05: Ay, you got an account! Hello there! Simps, they are simps, that is what they are. I AM BACK! Oh dear. My deepest sympathies for that English teacher of yours. They deserve a raise.
Okay people, this is probably the last bit of happiness we're gonna have until like... The end of the story. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Chapter 65- Sarah
Tuesday, September 21, 1999, 4:45 p.m.
Sarah's greatest discovery of the day was that Les' pal Tommy Boy had a pretty face. It was all proportional as far as most faces went, and he had received more than his fair share of eyebrows from the genetic pool. Sarah wanted to photograph his profile and hang it up on her wall-
"Sarah! You're slipping again!"
Crap. She needed to stop getting distracted. For the third time, she readjusted her grip on the sign Buttons was painting, trying to dispel all thoughts of the quiet but charming guy whose dark eyebrows didn't match his sandy blonde hair...
Why on earth was she so hung up on eyebrows?
Buttons flicked some paint at her, causing the sign to completely drop as she reached up to brush it from her cheek. "Are you even on this planet?"
"Not likely."
Of all the newsies that weren't her brothers or Jack, Buttons was the one Sarah was most familiar with. They had taken Home Economics with her the year prior, and she remembered being in awe of his natural sewing skill. Painting, on the other hand, was not one of Buttons' strong points.
"Y'know you ain't helping me finish this quickly at all?"
"If only we knew a guy who was artistically inclined," grumbled Sarah, not bothering to answer Buttons' question.
"Jack's welcome ta take over if 'e eva' actually comes," Buttons retorted. "An' we could always swap places."
Sarah eyed her camera, packed up in a corner where the wings met the stage. The rally was going to be such a photo opportunity, but not so if she was forced to stand around holding a sign all night.
Race drifted by with his roll of tape, and Sarah called him over, gesturing to the piece of wood at her feet. "Hold this fer Buttons, will ya?"
"Oh hell no!" Buttons yanked the sign away, disgusted. "The wall will hold it. I'm done with you people."
Sarah shrugged. Just as well. She strode over to her camera, leaving Race to bother Buttons. While she adjusted the strap around her neck, Ike- most likely- popped up next to her.
"So where d'ya think Jackie-boy is right now?"
Sarah twiddled the focus dial, trying to get the image to appear sharper on the tiny screen. "How should I know?"
"Interesting," said Ike. "So you two ain't close at all?"
Ugh, not this again. "No. We're not."
"That's funny. I seem ta recall you two havin' a fling during freshman year."
"What do you know?" demanded Sarah, letting the camera fall and bump against her stomach. "Who told you?"
"The person in front a' me."
Sarah cursed herself.
"So you like Jack?"
"I do not. Hardly did, then. But he was my age, and he was a fairly attractive guy... He defended me from the Delanceys one time- which I didn't need, for the record- an' stuff between us just happened. I was never in love with him, though, let's be clear."
Ike seemed fairly startled by the sudden info dump, but that didn't stop him from asking, "How come you ain't still with 'im?"
"'Cause he's an asshole."
"Go on..."
"He kissed me once an' dumped me fer Katherine in the same night."
"Damn! So you don't like him?"
"Not sure how much clearer I can make this... I. Hate Jack Kelly's guts!" She punctuated each word with a clap of her hands.
Ike backed off. "Good ta know, good ta know. Entirely unrelated... what're you doin' tonight?"
Quizzical look on her face, Sarah gestured at the setup around her. "Take a wild guess."
"Oh yeah. That rally thingie."
"If you're trying to ask me out, you're failing miserably."
"As much as I wish I could," Ike sighed. "There's someone else."
"You have a girlfriend?"
"What? No, I'm talkin' 'bout Tommy Boy."
Why god why. "You and him? I had no idea." Sarah tried to mask her disappointment, but she couldn't stop the frown. "But good for you, I guess."
Ike tilted his head. "Good fer me? For what?"
"That thing you just said."
"What'd I say?"
"About Tommy Boy. Your boyfriend."
"Huh?"
"He's... dating you."
"If Ike's datin' Tommy Boy, then I'm the Statue a' Liberty!" crowed Race, suddenly.
"But-" Sarah couldn't wrap her head around it. "But he just said-"
"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah." Mike climbed onstage from the steps to the audience, shaking his head. "You. TB. Date. Tonight."
Oh… OH.
"You don't hafta-" Tommy Boy insisted, but Sarah waved him off, beaming.
"I'd love to."
"Really?"
"Of course!"
Without warning, as she stood smiling at Tommy Boy and appreciating the sheepish grin she was getting in return, the house lights flipped off. Thankfully, the stage remained lit, but several shouts of alarm could be heard from the audience.
Davey jogged out from the opposite wings and took center stage, ordering, "Places, people!"
A mad scramble to get places on risers followed; Sarah wasn't sure where to go until Tommy Boy grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the first level, at the base of a bunch of assorted Manhattan folks. In some other part of the theater, music rumbled to life. If Sarah strained her ears, she could pick up a faint sound of marching footsteps just outside the hall.
"What the hell is happening?" she whispered, a bit unnerved.
"I dunno..." right as he said so, the middle set of theater doors burst open, and Tommy Boy got an answer. "Oh my god. It's Brooklyn."
It was. Spot Conlon, in the brightest red tank top one could imagine, led the charge of a couple dozen similarly dressed people.
...And Elmer, for some reason.
"Newsies need our help today!" Spot yelled, hands cupped around his mouth.
The Brooklyn kids behind him echoed the chant. "Newsies need our help today!"
"Tell 'em Brooklyn's on da way!"
"Tell 'em Brooklyn's on da way!"
"We're from-"
"Brooklyn!"
"We are-"
"Newsies!"
"We are Brooklyn-"
"NEWSIES!"
That last shout was met with resounding cheers and applause from everyone else packing the theater. Sarah noticed- for the first time- the handful of regular Roosevelt students who had shown up, now situating themselves in the balcony seating. As she kept her eyes on that area, a few more groups filled in the seats.
"Hey Manhattan, da cavalry's comin'!" Spot cheered, making his way onstage. Five of the Brooklyn newsies (one of which was still Elmer) followed him up, while the rest seated themselves in the areas Race had marked off. Many of them held strike signs of their own, a couple of which designated the neighborhood they were from within their borough. Sarah could make out Brighton Beach Prep, Prospect Park High, and P.S. 17: Navy Yard Pier. Hotshot, next to Spot, held a sign reading Lincoln High.
"Have no fear, Brooklyn is here!" Hotshot announced to more cheers from the crowd.
"Ya hear that Mista' Pulitzer?" yelled the only girl of Spot's core four. "We's here fer payback!"
Those watching roared their approval. The sheer amount of sound in the auditorium was getting to be far too loud. Next to Sarah, Tommy Boy was grimacing.
"Ain't this fun?" she asked sarcastically in his ear, suddenly aware that he still had hold of her hand.
"Define fun!" he replied, moving his head away from her.
She laughed. "You mean you don't like huge amounts of loud noises?"
"Hate 'em. Wish they would die." He paused, clearing his throat. "Y'know, I can't wait ta get outta here wit you afta' this."
"Likewise."
"LOUD AND CLEAR, BROOKLYN'S HERE!" the other two guys in Spot's entourage shouted.
"You's loud an' clear enough," muttered Tommy Boy. Sarah nodded her agreement.
Elmer finally broke away from the Brooklyn gang, looking thoroughly scarred by the experience.
"Excitin' guys, ain't they, El?" asked Mike, pulling Elmer onto the second riser.
He glowered, malice in his eyes, mumbling, "Friendliest place on Earth my ass."
A shrieking laugh burst out of Sarah, making Elmer not the only one being stared at like a mutant.
Once the moment had passed, Ike congratulated, "Hey, yer back ta normal!" leaning down to give Elmer a pat on the back.
He made a confused sound, then asked another question in words that definitely were not English.
"Aw man," Ike sighed, "I thought Brooklyn fixed ya."
"Few more days with 'em an' maybe dey will," suggested Mike.
Elmer groaned. "Kick me 'alfway to fucking Queens to make it work."
That elicited another screeching laugh from Sarah.
"Keep cursin' an' maybe you'll get betta'," said Tommy Boy.
Elmer did so. "Of all the goddamn dumbass times to wear red."
Sarah doubled over, letting Tommy Boy's hand go as she covered her mouth. She was being absolutely murdered. Not that the situation was all that funny; her humor had been broken a long time ago and there was no use in questioning it.
"Pulitzer tried ta soak us, let's see how 'e likes it when we do da same ta him!" Spot bellowed to his audience. The cheering became cacophonous, and seemed to carry on for years until Spot raised his arms for quiet, both fists clenched. "Let's end 'is career, whadda youse say?"
From above, Race hollered, "Newsies united!" jumping hard enough to shake the entire riser. Sarah wasn't going to be surprised if she woke up temporarily deaf tomorrow.
Medda floated out from the wings to greet the crowd. Spot signaled again for silence. Sarah couldn't help but notice how the samplings of the boroughs obeyed him, far more than anyone did Jack or Davey.
"Welcome, newsies of New York City!" came Medda's voice, loud without her even trying. "Welcome to my theater, and your revolution!"
There were whistles and cheers from those who knew her, polite clapping from all others, but nothing special. Nothing just for Medda. In other words, nothing that signified Jack's presence. Sarah felt her stomach drop with dread.
"Let's have a big hand for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!"
Now people called out Spot's name. The Brooklyn newsies all got to their feet, stomping and shouting like their lives depended on it.
As the king hushed everyone again, a voice near Sarah murmured, "He's not here." Her eyes easily found Davey, waiting to take the stage.
"Not yet," she tried to assure.
Medda drifted back over. "All set?"
Davey looked wildly around, as if expecting Jack to pop out of the wall. "Where is he?"
An anxious look Sarah had never seen before crossed Medda's face. "Sorry, no sign of him. Looks like yer doin' a solo tonight."
"But he was the whole reason we pushed it! No one's expectin' me alone! Without him, I can't-"
"Yes. You can."
"You got this." Sarah encouraged.
Oblivious to anything going on elsewhere onstage, Spot prompted, "Let's give da same kind a' welcome to the famous Jack Kelly!"
And so Sarah watched as her younger-by-one-year little brother took center stage and towered over Spot Conlon, to cheers of "Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!" She tried her best to start a chant of "Davey! Davey! Davey!" but it was in vain. Only Medda joined in.
"Newsies of New York!" Davey, somehow, managed to quiet the crowd like Spot had, though his arms were shaking before he lowered them. "Look at what we done! We got newsies from every borough and every neighborhood here tonight. Manhattan!" That section of the crowd, decked in mostly blue and gray, rose up, applauding as hard as they could. "Harlem!" The blips of yellow speckled within the blue took to their feet. "Flushing! Richmond! Woodside!" Two sections of newsies wearing purple- the Queens kids- plus a third in the orange jerseys of Staten Island, responded to their call to action. "And of course Brooklyn!" With that, only one section remained unrecognized and empty, although it was barely noticeable behind the seats packed with red tank top-wearing guys screaming themselves hoarse.
"Hey," Sarah consulted Tommy Boy, "has anyone got a clue where-"
With a slam, the doors to the theater were thrown open again, bringing the answer to Sarah's question. A horde of mostly girls in a hodge-podge of dark green plaid uniforms came barreling in, led chiefly by Smalls, who looked out of place in her simple t-shirt and shorts. "We're here!" she cried out, running up the aisle and abandoning her borough to get onstage. "Brooklyn's here, and so's da Bronx!"
Brooklyn. Is. Here.
And look at that, it's the title!
And Smalls got her line! (Yes, it's hers, it's not Sniper's. I don't care what anyone says.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on this energetic high for the rest of the day.
Please review if you're ready for me to ruin everything (or to scream about how un-ready you are), and I'll likely see you again Friday!