A/N: I just realized… I should have titled this story
"How I Spent My Summer Vacation"…Hyuk hyuk. Sorry for the delay for this chapter, I was away from my computer for
three weeks. Hope it doesn't disappoint,
after all that waiting. Please keep
reviewing and expect more soon!
I met Race in the square, just as we had agreed upon. He tossed me half his breakfast roll and we started toward the gates, where the other newsies were gathered, listening to Jack. I couldn't wait to hear them sing the chorale, but right now it looked like Jack was still just warming them up.
"A'right, listen up!" he shouted. "In a minute, dey's gonna open da gates. An' whatta we gotta do?"
"Soak da scabbahs!" came the loud response.
"Right! Seize da day! Nobody messes wit da newsies!"
Racetrack tapped my shoulder. "Hey, Margaret, you shoah you wanna stick around? Dis could get ugly."
And he didn't know the half of it. I pictured the grown men with their chains and clubs and gulped. Yay for seizing the day and everything, but what difference could whether I fought or not really make? So long as they had Brooklyn…
"That's actually a good idea, Race," I admitted. "I'll just, uh, find you later."
He looked relieved that I had actually agreed for once, and went to join the other newsies. I was feeling like a bit of a chicken, and I bit at a hangnail worriedly. What if, by some fluke, Brooklyn didn't come? Maybe I wasn't going to fight, but I could still help. I caught David by the sleeve.
"Hey, Davey, where would I go to find Spot?"
"The piers by the Brooklyn Bridge, I guess," he replied, looking surprised. "Why?"
"Which way?"
He pointed down a street and looked confused. "What are you—"
"Thanks, Davey, you're a pal!" I called over my shoulder as I jogged off in the direction he had indicated.
I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge—no time to shout over the side, unfortunately, and found a group of newsboys hanging out at the docks.
"Well well well, what's dis?" I heard someone say, and several newsies stood up, seeing me.
"I'm here to talk to Spot," I said, trying not to sound as intimidated as I felt.
"Oh yeah? Is dat so?" one of them challenged me, stepping up closer.
I swallowed and fought the urge to step back. "I've got word from Jack Kelly."
Some of the newsies looked at each other, as if unsure whether or not they could believe me.
"What's goin' on, boys?" I heard, and I relaxed, never so happy to hear Spot's voice. The newsboys quickly split to either side as Spot approached through the middle of the crowd. He swaggered up to me, holding his cane, and looked me over.
"Woid from Jacky-boy, you say?" he asked me.
"Uh, yeah. Kind of. It's like, you said they'd have to show you that they were gonna stick with this strike thing, and… and they are. The thing is, today they're going to be faced with a little more than they can handle, and if they don't get some outside help, things are looking pretty bad."
He crossed his arms and gave me that Spot Conlon Look. If it wasn't so scary in person, I would have melted into a little Margaret puddle. "And what's dis gotta do wif me?" he said, cocking one eyebrow.
"Well Spot, if you wanna see that Jack's newsies are gonna stick it out no matter what comes their way, you're gonna round up your newsies and run over there to help them out. But then, if you're scared…" I drew out the last word and tried to shoot his look right back at him.
He leaned forward, raising his stick at me, and gave me a hard look. "Didn't nobody say we was scared," he said.
"Then you're coming," I said.
He seemed to be thinking it over. "Den we are," he finally said, and I fought the urge to fling my arms around him. You just don't do that to Spot Conlon.
It wasn't long before he had rounded up every newsie in Brooklyn—they seemed to spend all their time hanging around the docks anyway, nevermind selling papers—and we headed toward Manhattan, Spot at the lead. I ran ahead and showed up at the circulation desk right in the thick of the fight.
Blink grabbed me right off. "Margaret! What're you doin' heah? Bumlets, you take 'er and get 'er outta heah."
"No, wait!" I tried to protest, as Bumlets caught me by my elbow. Damn this chivalry mess!
"You hafta go," Bumlets said, trying to pull me away. "Dis is no fight for you."
Then, cue the trumpets, and the Brooklyn boys appeared on the roof, slingshots in hand.
"It's Brooklyn!" I heard Mush yelling, and we all took up the cry. Momentarily, slingshot stones were raining down on the fight like bullets, hitting our attackers with precise aim. I even punched some guy in the ear (okay, I'll admit I was aiming for his nose) before the fight was won. When the others heard it was me who brought Brooklyn, I was practically crushed in a massive group hug. Then Denton appeared with his camera and, typically, I got knocked to the back of the crowd as the flash went off.
"Dis calls for a celebration!" Jack yelled over us. We cheered and headed off toward Tibby's, practically dancing all the way. It was the coolest thing at Tibby's, I was treated like some kind of hero or something. Everyone fought over who got to buy me a drink, though I suspect the money was really Denton's. After we ate, Spot leaned over the table and asked how exactly I knew there was going to be trouble.
"Uhh… woman's intuition?" I suggested, flashing a grimace of a smile. All the Manhattan guys, being in on it, grinned like mad.
Jack leaned over and his face was deliciously close to mine as he said, "It's been pretty useful havin' you around, Margaret." I flushed with happiness and mentally recorded the moment. Then Racetrack reached between us to grab a sarsaparilla and Jack had to move to the side. Just as well, I guess, seeing as I am, unfortunately, aware of the fact that in the end, my dear Jack does end up with Sarah. I had a brief joyful moment of plotting how to sabotage that relationship, but remembered my resolve not to screw with the movie plot. Dangitall.
I thought for a moment about what I had done, going to get Brooklyn. They would have come, wouldn't they, even if I hadn't gone? It didn't seem like they had been planning on it. What if, somehow, just the fact that I was here with them had caused some sort of rupture in the Newsies universe? They say a butterfly fluttering its wings on one side of the Pacific can cause a hurricane on the other, or something like that. Could it be that my presence had caused enough tiny little chain reactions that Brooklyn wouldn't have come, which would mean the newsies would have lost that fight, possibly been jailed, some of them maybe even—gulp—killed, and the strike lost? Ay yi yi yi yi. Now instead of just making sure I didn't screw the movie up, I was going to have to watch every step of the way and keep it running as it was supposed to. What a weight to put on my shoulders.
Luckily, these thoughts were put on hold as Denton entered the restaurant, newspaper in hand. All right, my favorite part of the movie! The music started to play—I will never understand how they can just ignore it, (when you ask them about it, they all go, "What music?")—and I got up on a chair and danced away my troubles.
When we were done, we all crowded around the table to make plans for the rally, which everyone thought was a great idea, but made me feel kind of nervous, knowing how it ended. But then the waiter brought a tray of drinks (I think only Kid Blink and myself noticed that Mush didn't get one, ha!) and I raised my glass in a cheer to Denton just like everyone else.
I was back at the lodging house later, working on signs as usual, when Snyder came in to look for Jack. I held my breath and stayed hidden behind the crowd, my heart catching in my throat when Jack slipped around behind Snyder's turned back. If he'd gotten caught… but he didn't, and I could breathe again when he had left. Left to go sleep outside of Sarah's room, I remembered sourly, but at least he was safe. Soon after, Blink and Mush walked me to my hotel, and I fell into bed.
I was thinking too much to sleep. Everything I'd thought about in Tibby's was churning through my mind again like dirty socks on spin cycle. I almost felt that I should go home right then, lest I should interfere with the movie more, but then how did I know if things would sort themselves out? Plus, how would I get home? My throat seized up with fear when I realized I had no way of getting back to the year 2000. It's not like I came in a time machine or anything. Sure, it was great seeing all the newsies practically 24/7, but eventually I would want to get home, see my family, my pets, my computer, take a nice long shower. But I felt my thoughts begin to slow as I got sleepier and sleepier, and resolved that I would think about it tomorrow.
