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The next morning, Bright Eyes told the Manhattan boys her plan. When she told them of her new occupation though, there was chaos. "What da heck ya tink yer doin'? Woikin' fer Pulitzer like dat? I mean, does he know who ya are?" Racetrack insisted. "No he doesn't have a clue. He's still caught up in beatin' Willy Heaist. Now listen, I cain't do dis widout you boys. I even got Spot ta help me, so kin I trust dat you'll do da same?" There was silence. "Sure we trust ya Bright. Hit us wit' yer plan!" Racetrack burst out, his shout followed by the other's shouts. "Okay, but it ain't gonna be pretty, an' you boys have gotta try out dose actin' skills." The boys looked at each other slyly and grinned.

After the meeting, Jack, Racetrack, Boots and Kid Blink went to Brooklyn, while the rest of the boys stayed and sold their papers, with a constant grin on their faces. Bright Eyes went to the World and turned in her article. The article contained the views of the people on the Newsies and orphans in their city. She stated, that they were merely illiterate, lying, cheating, argumentative street rats with no other purpose than to burden others and make money to feed themselves, when they could actually try to get a real, paying job. Pulitzer was thrilled. "This is wonderful! If you can write more of these, I'll print them! I don't care! This is a perfect view on our society today!" And Pulitzer ordered it to be put on the front page rather than in the middle of the paper. "Let those Newsies see this! Ha! At least now they'll now that somebody else holds my opinions." Pulitzer gloated to Seitz, who merely rolled his eyes and sat back further in his chair.

When Bright Eyes walked out of the World building later that afternoon, she was met with dozens of angry scowls. There were dozens of Newsies standing straight and tall, their arms folded across their chests. Bright Eyes attempted to walk around the boys, but boy after boy stood in her way. Finally, Mush stepped right in front of her, blocking her path. He looked off to the side and noticed a police officer standing near the spot. He grinned and spoke louder than usual. "Where do ya think yer goin' Bright?" Bright Eyes looked troubled as she gazed into the burly boy's angry brown eyes, then glanced to the police officer and spoke loudly. "I was gonna go git sometin' ta eat. Is dat okay?" Mush sniggered. "You won't be eatin' anytin' but doit Bright, afta we're through wit' ya!" Bright Eyes eyed him. "Don't overdo it." She muttered two seconds too late. Mush's fist connected with her jaw and Bright Eyes, umbrella and all, was knocked to the ground. As Mush raised his fist for a second time, he paused, the sound of a police whistle coming to his ears. "Cheese it! Its da bulls!" The boys scattered every which way, leaving Bright Eyes in the dust, fingering her swollen jaw.

"Are you all right miss?" The policeman queried as he helped Bright Eyes to her feet. She scowled in the direction that Mush had gone and rolled her eyes. "I'll be allright soon I think officer. I just need a cup of tea I think. And some ice for this bruise." The policeman looked at her curiously. "Don't you want to press charges against those boys?" Bright Eyes shook her head. "No, it just proves what Mr. Pulitzer's paper said I suppose. Those Newsies are just street rats. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll get that cup of tea now." The policeman looked after her curiously, then went up to a small newsboy and requested a paper.

The city was in an uproar over the article. Some were thrilled with it, others were shocked. David Jacobs was astonished. He hadn't been there for the meeting about the plan between the boys and Bright Eyes. He hadn't seen the boys since Christmas. But he did know who Andy McClaen was. He just couldn't believe that Bright Eyes would write such a thing. He unbelievingly bought a paper on his way home from school and showed his family. The Jacobs and the citizens weren't the only people angry about the article. Fights between newsboys began to break out all over the city, convincing the unbelievers of the truth of the article. The fights weren't terrible, but the worst was yet to come.

After Bright Eyes finished rubbing lotion on the bruise on her cheek, she emerged from her room in the Lodging House. She walked down to Central Park and strolled among the budding trees happily. As she walked home, a sound reminded her of what had occured that afternoon. Actually it was more of a group of sounds, the cacophony
of boys yelling and screaming. She ran towards the sound and her eyebrows raised at what she saw. The distribution office was a wreck, papers were flying everywhere. Boys were throwing punches right and left. It was Brooklyn. As Bright Eyes' wide eyes ran over the scene, she saw Jack Kelly lying on the ground, with Spot Conlon on his stomach, smacking his face repeatedly. Bright Eyes ran to Jack and attempted to pull Spot off of him.

Spot's hand in turn, flew backwards and caught Bright Eyes in the mouth. She grasped it in pain and threw a punch toward the Brooklyn leader's head. Her hit struck home and Spot howled in pain, and turned to Bright Eyes. The two Newsies fought tooth and nail, their arms grasping at each other for an advantage to put the other to the ground. At one point in the fight, Spot grinned and held Bright Eyes' arms away from his face protectively. "Havin' fun Bright?" Bright Eyes returned the grin and pushed his arms away from her face. "Neva had so much fun Conlon!" Bright Eyes grappled with each other for the rest of the fight that was soon broken up by the police. The Manhattan boys struggled to their feet, while Brooklyn took off as the police surrounded them.

Bright Eyes ran to Racetrack as the policemen went around asking questions about the fight. "What was goin' on?" Racetrack shrugged and wiped up the fresh blood flowing from his lip. "Spot was frustrated 'bout yer article, an' when Jack told him to fergit about it, Spot goes fer his throat. An' da rest is histry." Bright Eyes ran her hands through her hair nervously. "I don't undastand it. He knows dat its jest an' article. So do you boys. But Mush gave me dis dis aftanoon. He's doin' too good at da plan." Bright Eyes said, motioning to the bruise on her cheek. Racetrack touched it gently. "It doesn't look too bad." Bright Eyes winced and caught the boy's hand as it drew away. "It hoits though." Racetrack grinned and grasped her hand tenderly. "Don't worry 'bout it an' it'll go away soon enough."

That evening, the Newsies who did not know the plan did not speak to her. Angry glances were tossed across the room as she walked in the door, but none of them touched her, Jack having placed his protection on her. It was an ordeal for Bright Eyes at dinner also, for when she asked anyone to pass her food, she was ignored by everyone, save Racetrack, Kid Blink, Fish, Jack and a few others. When she stepped out of her seat, she was tripped by Snoddy, who laughed in his hands while she picked herself off the floor. He had half expected her to smack him, but she didn't. She merely stood up straight and tall, her teeth clenched and walked out of the room to her bedroom to write her article for the next day.

When Racetrack picked up the morning paper and gazed at the headlines, he shook his head sadly. The next article was even worse than before, slamming the Newsies right and left, only she stated that perhaps the senators and other men in power should do something to help them. The paper reported that fights in the streets were now becoming a common thing. Even school children would come back into the school house with bloody noses and bruised faces for coming near one of these fights. Younger children, even Newsie children were coming home with sprained wrists and ankles, one young boy even suffering a broken arm. It was on this occasion that Jack Kelly decided that he had to go to Brooklyn and see if things could be patched up.

When he arrived, he was met by a guard of over twenty boys, each with a purpose. "Heya boys! I came ta see Spot. Is he available?" Jack asked, forcing a smile. A large burly boy named Jass stepped closer to Jack with a smirk. "Brooklyn ain't seein' anyone right now. Dat includes Spot. You'll jest hafta come back at a lata date, eh Cowboy?" Jack smiled and wiped his forehead, placing his hat on his head. "Look, I gotta see Spot. Its 'bout unitin' wit' dis whole newspapa ting. We ain't happy 'bout it neitha. We wanna join wit' ya's." Jack insisted. Jass rolled his eyes. "Let me tell ya in plain english. SPOT AIN'T GONNA," "Spot ain't gonna what?" A cool voice remarked from behind Jass. When the surprised boy turned around, he saw that a path had been cleared by the boys and in the middle of this path, stood Spot Conlon, his arms on his chest.

"Well, Spot, I," Jass stuttered. "I tol' ya ta tell me whoeva wanted ta talk to me. 'Specially if it was 'bout unitin'. Didn't I say dat Jass?" Jass hung his head sheepishly and nodded. "What? I didn't hear ya!" Spot remarked. "Yeah, Spot. An' I'm sorry." Spot nodded, dismissing the boys out of hearing. Spot sauntered over to Jack, spit on his hand and offered it to Jack with a grin. Thankfully, Jack took the offered hand. "So, whatcha want wit' Brooklyn Cowboy?" Jack eased himself on top of a wooden crate and lit a cigarette.

"I think ya know don't ya?" Spot smiled. "Yeah. Dat article dat me dearest friend wrote 'bout us. She cain't rightly do dis can she Cowboy? I mean, I know dat it's da plan an' all, but still. She's crossed da line. Again." Jack shrugged and blew a puff of smoke from his mouth. "She kin do whateva she wants. She's woikin' fer Pulitzer." Spot began to pace back and forth in front of the crates. "Dats anotha thing I don't undastand. Why da heck would she woik fer him? Afta all da things he's done to us Newsies. I don't see how you kin put yer protection on her Jacky boy." Jack looked up at Spot and grinned. "I can. 'Cause if I didn't put my protection on her dere wouldn't be anythin' left of her afta da boys roughed her up!" Spot smiled, then frowned. "Yeah, I guess. So ya wanna unite den?" Jack nodded. "Well consider Manhattan an' Brooklyn united. Wheneva ya need us, jest send a runner trough. We'll git through dis togeda." Jack and Spot spit shook.

"Ya know Spot, ya could jest cut da kid a little slack. You know she ain't doin' nothin'." As Jack spoke amiably, Spot's head shot up and his gaze spat fire. "I gave her a chance, she didn't tell me anythin' so its her problem if she don't have no friends. Ya cain't make me say uddawise." Spot drew himself up proudly. "Brooklyn has said all he's gonna say on da subject of Bright Eyes O'Connor. Her name has been rubbed off da walls so ta speak. So jest drop it Cowboy." Jack was silent as Spot paced, ranting as he did so. "She's rubbed of da walls till ya take her back ya mean." Spot stared incredulously at Jack. "Who says I eva will?" Spot questioned, almost sneering. "You will. Like Bright always said, you was 'hard as a rock an' tough as steel on da outside, but on da inside, you'se as soft as mud.'" Spot turned away, face red. "Jest leave her be Jack. Brooklyn an' Manhattan is united now don't misundastand. But I can easily break dat unity wit'one woid. Don't push it. I got tings ta do." Spot trudged away, proud to the last. As Jack watched him go, he sighed and shook his head.

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Racetrack Higgins entered the Lodging House with a contented smile on his face. There hadn't been many fights in the streets that day. He had sold all of his papers and had even won twice at the track. "Life cain't get any betta dan dis." Racetrack murmured happily to himself. As he walked past the living room, Racetrack stopped and backed up, looking inside the room itself. Bright Eyes was sitting in the rocking chair, rocking back and forth gently, her eyes unfocused and gazing into space. She was still dressed in her work clothes but her fancy shoes were kicked off and lying in a heap on the floor. Racetrack coughed softly so as to break the silence.

"Hey Race. I knew you was dere. Ya didn't hafta cough." Bright Eyes said dismally. Racetrack forced a smile and sat in the chair across from the rocking chair expectantly. "So, how did woik go teday Bright?" Racetrack asked. Bright Eyes scoffed. "Oh great. I wrote anotha article fer Pulitzer, he took it an' slapped it smack dab on da front page. I got yelled at in da street. Some kid grabbed my stuff an' I got 'em back. I ran here afta bein' chased an I fell down in da mud 'cause of dese stupid, idiotic, wretched SKIRTS!!" Bright Eyes yelled with emphasis. Racetrack glanced down at the muddy skirts and hid a smile that quickly vanished as Bright Eyes spoke. "I shoulda known dat it wouldn't woik. I neva shoulda come back."

Racetrack stared at the girl who finally looked him in the eyes. He took her hands into his as he spoke softly and convincingly. "Bright, if you had neva come back, I don't how I coulda lived wit' myself." Bright Eyes stared at Racetrack, confused. "Whaddya mean? It wasn't your fault!" Racetrack smiled and shook his head. "How was I suppposed to know dat Bright? I sold my papes every day, hopin' ta see ya on da street. I didn't see ya anywhere. I ate wit' da boys, went to da track, an' lost as usual. Nothin' was da same widout ya. I came home, went ta bed an' I prayed." Bright Eyes gazed at Racetrack, her eyes thanking him over and over for what he was saying. "What did ya pray for?"

"I prayed dat you would come back. Every night I prayed dat. I prayed fer da daylight ta come, jest so dat I could pretend like my heart wasn't breakin' in a thousand pieces. I thought 'bout ya every night, wondrin' two things. One, if a person actually does die from heartbreak, an' two, if you were eva gonna let me git some sleep!" Bright Eyes broke into laughter as Racetrack spoke, easing the boy's mind. "So ya see Bright, I couldn't eva, eva want ya to neva come, 'cause if ya hadn't come, I probably wouldn't be here right now." Bright Eyes smiled and lovingly traced her finger on the boy's beaming face. "Thanks Race, it really does mean alot to me." Racetrack and Bright Eyes sat staring at each other, till Racetrack spoke up,

"Bright?"

"Yeah."

"Do ya, well,"

"Yeah?"

"What I'm tryin' ta say is,"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I think dat, I,"


At that moment, as Bright Eyes and Racetrack stared into each others eyes, hands clasped, a certain force bringing them together, Mush banged open the door, startling the two. "Race! Bright! Brooklyn an' Manhattan got united! Jack went ta Brooklyn an' explained everytin'! Dis is great ain't it? YES! WE'VE GOT BROOKLYN!!" Mush jumped up in the air and threw his hat as far up as possible, the hat hitting the ceiling with a soft tap. Bright Eyes stared at Mush in shock, while Racetrack realized the news had mixed meanings for them both. Brooklyn was uniting with Manhattan, which was good for him and the rest of the boys, but for Bright Eyes, it meant more rejection from Spot and the boys in the Lodging House and maybe even more soakings. As Mush ran out of the room whooping, Racetrack took Bright Eyes' limp hands back into his own. "Listen, I ain't gonna let Spot hoit ya eva, ya undastand?"

"Somebody say my name?" Racetrack turned and Bright Eyes lifted her head in shock. Spot stood, leaning into the doorway with his hands over his chest, a smirk on his face. "My dis is touchin'. Mind leavin' me an' Bright alone fer a minute Race? We gotsa talk 'bout some stuff." Racetrack squeezed Bright Eyes' hands and eased out of his seat, eyeing Spot as he passed him by. Spot smiled and sat down in the chair previously occupied by Racetrack. "Well, dis is nice. Romancin' wit da enemy eh Bright?" Bright Eyes' face turned a bright red and she looked the boy straight in the face. "I wasn't doin' anytin' of da sort an' you know it!"

Spot grinned at the girl's agitation and leaned back in his seat. "Oh sure, an' dat whole kissin' ting at Christmas? Dat was nothin' too right?" Bright Eyes face became even redder and her eyes flashed fire. "Dat was different. I was dared an' Race made da foist move!" Spot rolled his eyes. "Oh sure. So ya heard da news?" Bright Eyes rolled her eyes and her hands instinctivly crossed across her chest. "Yeah I heaid."
"Jack cain't protect ya fereva ya know."

"I know dat. But I can protect myself Spot Conlon. I had a good teacher."

Spot smiled scornfully. "Yeah, who was dat? Yer mudda? Oh I fergot, she's dead. Along wit' everybody else right! An' I jest got added to dat family right?" Thank goodness for Spot that he had quick reflexes, for as Bright Eyes' punch sailed straight towards his eye, Spot lifted his hands in protection, blocking the blow. "Dat was smooth Bright. I guess you ain't fergotten lotsa stuff I tol' ya. But I guess ya did ferget dat it was me who taught ya, an' I don't easily ferget me own tricks." Bright Eyes stood her ground, her hands at her sides, her fists clenched, glaring at Spot. Spot smiled and stood as well, staring at Bright Eyes mockingly. The two were the same height, and so they could see directly into each others eyes, each knowing what the other wanted to do to each other.

Spot turned and began to walk away smiling, until he felt a jarring pain on his shoulder. It was only a slight pain and it had only lasted but a minute, so he paid it no mind and continued to walk out the door. But when the pain spread to his head, where he had hurt it during the second rally, he whirled around to face Bright Eyes, who was standing where he had left her, a slingshot poised in her hand, a marble ready to be shot the instant her expert fingers let go. Spot paused, as if frozen in his tracks as he watched Bright Eyes, her slingshot directly on her target. "I don't think dat ya really wanna do dat Bright." Bright Eyes scoffed and her weapon held. "I jest want ya ta take it back. All of it. 'Bout me mudda, 'bout you an' me, an' 'bout Race. Take it all back or I'll let dis go."

Spot smiled now. "Dats all ya want Bright? Fer me ta take it back? It could be so easy couldn't it? Why don't ya jest have me grovel on my knees fer a bit why don't ya? Dats what ya want isn't it?" Bright Eyes still kept the slingshot on Spot, but her hands began to quaver as she spoke. "Jest do it Spot. I know how ta use dis ting, an' you know dat I can shoot you right between da eyes wit' it an' not miss." Spot grinned and pulled something out of his pocket. Spot had pulled out his slingshot and began to fit it with a marble, then easily training it on Bright Eyes. "I can do dat too Bright. Now put it down. Ya know dat Spot Conlon neva takes back stuff he means."

The two stood their ground, each with their slingshots trained on each other, a fierce light burning in their eyes. "Why cain't things be the way they were Spot?" Spot had to crane his head slightly in order to hear Bright Eyes' whisper, but never shifted his slingshot. "Because Bright. You left, everytin' changed. The rally ruined us an' cost us a few boys, just 'cause somehow dose guys got in witout us knowin'. Den immediately afterwards ya left. It makes me wonda, if maybe you was behind some of dat." The marble hit Spot hard on the lip, making it cut against his teeth and begin to bleed. Spot swore and shot his marble, but missed, as Bright Eyes had ducked, sensing what would follow. "You take dat back Spot Conlon, or next time I won't miss." She whispered fiercely, her slingshot again focusing on Spot with a new marble.

"Don't be stupid Bright." Spot sneered. "You cain't hoit me bad. You cain't now an' you neva will be able to. You wanna know why? 'Cause we were raised wit' each udda. We grew up tagetha, we were a family at one point in time. Dats how I know Bright." Bright Eyes quivered, her arms lowering slightly. The marbles came so fast that the two of them didn't know how to react. One hit Spot on the cheek and another ricocheted off of Bright Eyes' temple. The two Newsies held their hands to their injuries and gazed at the door. Racetrack and Red stood side by side, slingshots raised. "Wish I didn't hafta do dat Bright, Spot. But you was gonna make a big mistake uddawise." Racetrack said quietly, avoiding Spot's glare and Bright Eyes' look of shock as she clutched her head.

"Alright! Who fired da shot on me? Huh? Which one of you scabba's did it?" Spot jumped up and stared into the two boy's faces. "I did Spot." Red spoke up, quietly gazing into Spot's angry eyes, knowing that all he would get from Spot would be a fierce talking to. "So, Race. You hit me?" Bright Eyes said softly. Racetrack didn't dare look into Bright Eyes' face, but instead stared at the floor and shuffled his feet. "I've leained a few tings from Brooklyn, includin' da slingshot stuff. Red's been teachin' me. I meant ta hit ya on da arm, but as ya can see, I still ain't got da aimin' thing right yet. Ya hafta undastand, I had ta." Racetrack murmured. Bright Eyes glanced at Spot, who was still obviously mad at Red for spoiling his fight. Bright Eyes walked up to Spot and stared at him in the face. "Just so ya know Brooklyn, I still care 'bout ya. Even if ya do hate me so much dat ya might even wanna stoop ta killin' me." Bright Eyes stepped past Spot, who stared off into space, trying to ignore her completely.

Racetrack followed Bright Eyes out the door, leaving Spot and Red alone. Spot began to pace as Red stood in the doorway. "So whaddya think I should do wit' ya Red? Huh?" Red shrugged. "Don't rightly know Spot. I thought I was doin' da right thing. Ya don't really wanna hoit Bright Eyes, Spot." Spot stopped pacing and stared at Red. "Oh I don't do I? Oh, no. You bet I wanna hoit her! If given da chance I could wring her scrawny, little, scabba neck, if I wanted to dat is." Spot spoke with a sort of vigor that Red couldn't really understand. Spot's intentions sounded genuine, but his voice betrayed him. "You cain't hoit her Spot. You can threaten and yell an' scream, but it won't change the inevitable. You love her like a brudda should, in yer heart leastwise. You really don't wanna hoit her Spot."

Spot collapsed in the chair and held his head in his hands. "I cain't hoit her Red, yer right. Jest why is it so hard ta say, I'm sorry, an' I take ya back? Why?" Red glanced down at his shoes in thought. "Well maybe its, I dunno Spot. I guess its jest one of dose things dat only God undastands maybe." Spot shrugged. "Maybe." Spot straightened and then turned to Red with a sort of half grin on his impish face. "Did ya see da way she handled her slingshot? She didn't fergit any of it. She knew, she knew exactly how it was done." Red nodded, an inner smile suppressing against his lips, glad that his friend had found one thing the same with his wayward sister and confidant.